He gapes at me, his eyes immediately widening when he realizes what he’s said. He clears his throat. “I mean, yes, Coach. I did all the things I was supposed to. I iced on the flight, and I have new packs in my bag to strap on once I’m in bed.”
“Did they just look at your ribs? Or did you get a full exam?” My curiosity about his acceleration from earlier resurfaces. “You seemed like you were a bit less explosive than usual, even before you took that hit.”
Kane’s gaze darts away before snapping back to mine. “I’m fine. Just a little sore. You know how it is when you reach my age.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because if something is bothering you, even if it seems inconsequential, you need to tell someone. Culture of accountability.”
“I’m fine, Coach,” he says before coming to a stop. “Well, this is me.”
I stop as well, our rooms, evidently, across the hall tonight.
“Neighbors for life,” I joke, wanting to cut through the chill that’s lingered between us since I asked him about his injury.
Beckett scans his card, turning to face me as he pushes into his room. “Lucky you.”
If Tantalus was lucky to be constantly surrounded by fruit and water without ever being able to eat or drink, then sure, I’m lucky, too.
I wash my face and get ready for bed, my mind on what’s happening across the hall. Is he tucked in bed for the night? Watching film for the upcoming game? Was he able to get his ribs wrapped so the ice stays on? Did he have to call a trainer?
After spending the last few nights together watching film and answering random questions about ourselves in what has become an unofficial ritual, it feels weird not to be with Beckett. I roll through a list of excuses I could make to visit him, like checking on his injury, practicing for the competition, or needing to talk to him about matchups for tomorrow. But they all feel flimsy. Especially for this time of night.
If I ran into Rob in the hallway, would he really believe I was headed to a player’s room in the middle of the night to talkmatchups? Well, Rob might believe it of me since he’s been on the receiving end of many a late-night strategy call, but I don’t think it would fly with literally anyone else from the team.
Though, it is just across the hall. How likely is it that I’d run into someone in the seconds I would be exposed?
I drop heavily onto the bed. I shouldn’t do it. For all I know, Beckett has his own rituals for decompressing after a game, and if it happens to be of the female variety, I’d rather not know.
As his coach.
Even if I haven’t heard any evidence of that since he moved in across the hall.
There’s a soft tapping from the hall, and after a moment, a deep voice whispers, “Queenie.”
I jump from my bed, and when the comforter catches on my foot, I’m thankful for all the agility drills I’ve done over the years that allow me to perform a spin in the air to free myself before rushing to the door.
“Hey,” I gasp, swiping strands of hair out of my face.
He’s here. Beckett is here.
“Hey,” he replies, his voice low, his gaze penetrating. “Can I come in? I had a film question about tomorrow.”
I don’t even try to hide my skepticism as I pull the door open wide, gesturing him in. He passes by so close that his sweatshirt-covered chest almost touches mine, and every last one of my nerve endings snaps to attention.
I close the door before asking, “Film question, huh?” I force myself to face the man I can’t seem to ignore.
“Yeah. Do you want to watch film together?”
I let out a laugh. “That’syour question?”
“It is a film question, Queenie.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname’s reappearance. “What kind of coach would I be if I supported you watching film at four in the morning?”
“The kind who knows I’m not going to bed for at least another hour anyway.”
I glance around my room, knowing I should say no and turn him away, but also wanting nothing more than to slip into our comfortable routine.
“Fine,” I say. “But we’re watching forty-five minutes of Sutton’s highlight reel for Philadelphia. No game film or you’ll be here way past your bedtime.”
