She nods. “Now, I know you’re a solid player in your own right, but as you might’ve guessed, that’s not the only reason you’re here.”
“You need a leader for your team.”
“I need a player who’sgoingto be a leader,” she corrects. “And, apparently, you’re the guy for the job.”
I tilt my head slightly. That’s an interesting way of putting it.
“Apparently?” I ask.
Coach Blake tilts her head as well. “You’re a solid defenseman. Your turnover rate is practically nonexistent, your gap control is excellent, and your read on developing plays is one of the best I’ve seen. That said, I need someone to step up on and off the ice to help the team gel. Our coaching staff is highly competent, and, technically, our players are some of the best out there—even if they’re a bit young. But they aren’t clicking. Aren’t coming together as a team when they’re on the ice. Because—much to my annoyance—there is only so much a coaching staff can do to create those connections. That has to come froma player.”
She thinks about it before flicking her gaze back up to meet mine.
“It has to come fromyou, Kane.”
I nod. “I can do that.”
“I know you can.” Her eyes search mine, and I swear a flicker of disappointment moves across her features before she moves on. “But I also haven’t seen a lot of evidence of that in the film I’ve watched recently.”
I clench my fist against my thigh, forcing myself not to react, her words like a brand against my ego. What is this deficiency in me that coaches seem to spot but I remain blissfully unaware of? “Okay. Can you be more specific?” I ask, something building in my chest, causing the air between us to feel more alive.
“Of course. You’re smart, and you play well. You’re consistent. But I need more than that. As I’m sure you likely guessed, my plan is to put you on the first line with Li. Evan is solid, even though he doesn’t trust his instincts as much as he should. But the second line needs just as much of a veteran presence as the first does. They all do.”
“Okay,” I say, not hiding the skepticism from my voice. I’m not the fucking coach. How does she expect me to impact the lines I’m not even on? After years of putting my head down, focusing on whatIcan control, this feels wrong. Like wearing a skate that’s too big or playing with someone else’s stick.
Coach Blake gives me a small smile, as if she can read my discomfort, and something tells me it’s not something that she shares often. Then she starts walking me through it. The defensemen on the team. The support they need.
“You’re going to be paired with Li. He has good instincts, but he questions them. Overanalyzes everything. He does best when he knows what to expect, but, as we both know, that’s not hockey.”
“I can’t make him trust himself,” I grumble.
Coach Blake’s dark eyebrows dip toward each other. “And yet that’s exactly what I need you to do. But you can’t do it through drills or talking to him about it. He grasps it in theory. You need to show him thatyoutrust his instincts. If he respects you, which I have no doubt he will, that will have more impact on his trust in himself than anything else.”
With each word, I not only get a clearer sense of what she needs from me—and what likely caused me to be looked over for captain by the Cyclones—but also how Finley Blake was the woman who managed to break this particular glass ceiling. She’s fucking smart, not only when it comes to the game but the players. And despite the frigid exterior I saw at practice yesterday, I’m starting to realize it might be an act. She seems to truly care about the men who play for her. At one point, she even pulls up video clips of Larsen on her computer and walks me through what they’ve been working on.
“He’s young, but he’s damn strong. See how explosive he is? He doesn’t need you to tell him what to do; he’s had coaches his whole life. He needs to know that when he does something stupid, you’ve got his back. Because heisgoing to do something stupid. And he’ll do it so hard and fast that it creates waves of chaos on the ice.”
By the time my meeting with her is done, I have an entirely different perspective of what it means to be a leader on a team.
And I can practically see that C on my black-and-blue Yeti jersey.
Chapter 6
Finley
Idropmygrocerybags and my black backpack to the ground outside my door, digging into the pocket with the Yeti mascot on it to find the key to my door.
“Hey, Coach,” a low voice says behind me. I quickly pop up, key in hand, to see Kane moving down the hallway, followed by a petite blonde woman. His six-foot-three frame looks giant in comparison.
My stomach tightens, just slightly, as I glance between the two of them. I’m… annoyed. I just had a major conversation with Kane about how we need a leader on this team, and what? He immediately went to the bar next door to the arena and picked someone up?
Of course he did. He’s Beckett Kane.
Just because he isn’t one of those players constantly making the news thanks to his evening activities doesn’t mean he isn’t like that. It just means he’s smart enough to be discreet. Which doesn’t surprise me. After spending over an hour in my officewith him today, it’s clear he is intelligent—and not only about hockey. Honestly, it felt more like a strategy session with one of my coaches than it did talking with a player… which I will not be digging into any further at this time.
“Evening, Kane.” I meet his eyes. Something hot and irritated crackles up my spine. I move my gaze to the woman—beautiful, bright smile, two inches shorter than me, despite the heels she’s wearing. “Well, I’ll leave you two to—”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open, revealing Larsen and Li, looking like the human version of puppies as they tumble out, wearing matching Yeti joggers and T-shirts.
