Her gaze continues to scan me before finally, she steps to the side, holding the door open. “Fine.”
I walk into her space, and my mind assaults me with memories here. Of us watching film together. Learning that her favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry. Laughing as she talks about what it was like playing on the boys’ hockey team in high school.
I can’t lose this.
“I’m sorry, Finley. I…” I pause. She doesn’t need a generic apology. She deserves the truth. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to keep her in my life.
“I told you how my dad played in the minors when I was growing up. He and my mom were high school sweethearts, and she wasn’t even twenty when she had me. We lived close to my mom’s parents so she could have some support, and my dad would move around all the time as he got traded from team to team. I’d see him when he could make it home. We’d talk on the phone once or twice a week, but you know how schedules are.” I shrug, focusing my attention on the photo of Finley and her dad.
“By the time I was seven, Dad and I only talked about one thing—hockey. He’d run through what I should be working on, where I should be at with various skills. He ended every call telling me he was sure I’d make it pro someday, just like hewould. That I’d get called up, and I’d wear a captain’s patch as I held the Cup over my head.” I pause and run my hand through my hair.
“I’m not sure about the details, but I think he got into drugs. I didn’t know it then, but I think by that time, he’d realized he wasn’t ever going to get the tap to move up. He crashed his car one night. Wrapped it around a light pole. It’d been six months since we last saw him.” I scratch my fingers through my hair, remembering the stream of tears that had poured down my mom’s face for the first month after we got the call. The itchy suit I’d worn to his funeral.
“My mom was devastated. But she took over his dream. Hockeywaslife. For both of us. She would work all the time to afford to send me to all the camps and to replace my gear when I outgrew it every year. She passed away two years ago.”
I turn and meet Finley’s gaze. “If I’m not wearing the captain’s badge and holding the Cup, I’ve let them both down. And I’m old, Fin. We both know I have one season, two at most left, and that’s if I’m lucky. Ihaveto get it next year.”
Her gaze searches my face like she’s trying to put it all together. “And you think if you admit you might be injured, you’ll get benched?”
I scoff. “Getting benched would literally be the least of my concerns. I’d be on IR. You’d bring up a young guy. You’d end up trading me because you don’t need an old, hurt player on your bench, taking up salary you could be deploying elsewhere. Even if you don’t, you’re not taking the captain’s badge away from J.D. for someone who didn’t play half the season.”
“You won the Cup with Nashville,” she says, like she’s confused.
I agree, warmth spreading through me as I tell myself she knows my career history because she was following it—me—closely. “Yeah. My sophomore season.”
“So, haven’t you achieved your dream?”
“Have you achieved yours?” I ask, knowing there’s always another piece of the dream to reach for. I shake my head, not waiting for an answer. “My dad was so proud of being the captain of his team. More than winning the championship, at least toward the end, he was just so certain I was going to follow in his footsteps and captain my team. When I finally earned it in high school, it felt good. In college, when they gave me the patch, it felt great. But I haven’t earned it at this level yet. And I can’t be done until I do.” I roll my shoulders back. “Iwon’tbe done until I do.”
“Sometimes, we don’t get a say in when one dream ends and another begins,” Finley replies softly as she stands in her kitchen, leaning against the countertop.
I shrug. “Maybe. But this, this I have a say in.” Rubbing my eyes with my pointer and forefinger, I realize I’ve veered off course. “Look, this isn’t about me and my future. You are the coach, and you have to do what you have to do. But, you’re also—” I pause, not sure how to put into words what she is to me. Sure, she’s my friend. Fuck, my best friend at the point. But, she’s also… “More.”
She quirks her eyebrow.
“And you don’t deserve to be treated that way. So, I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry for the way I behaved and for questioning our friendship when I got angry. It was inexcusable, but I saw my dad’s dream slipping away. I heard my mom’s voice reminding me of it, telling me to do whatever it takes to make it happen.” I take a deep breath. “I was scared. And I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.”
“You’re not the first hockey player I’ve dealt with who was mad because I told him he had to be checked out by medical.”
Her right cheek moves just slightly, and I realize she’s biting it. It’s her tell—one that’s too damn easy to miss.
“You’re not justsomehockey coach. You know you mean so much more to me. And I’m sorry I turned our friendship against you. It was wrong, and even if I don’t deserve it, I hope you forgive me.”
She nods once. “You’re forgiven.”
Relief floods through me, and I take three long strides to her, sweeping her into a tight bear hug. I pull her against me, breathing in her forgiveness.
Everything feels right.
After a moment, I realize what I’ve done. Oh, fucking shit. I’m hugging Finley. Aggressively hugging her. But I also can’t seem to let go.
Chapter 27
Finley
Itapmyfingerson the table, wondering how long this day can last. It’s hard to believe it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I confronted Beckett in the ice bath. The ice bath he was very naked in. Not that I noticed.
And after not sleeping well last night, my brain constantly replaying Beckett throwing our friendship in my face again and again, I’m tired. I understand being mad about being benched, but he made it personal. Like it’s my fault for noticing he’s hurt. Or maybe I’m feeling the mental exhaustion of having to maintain my coach façade during not one but four professional meetings with Beckett in that same timeframe. At least we got the few minutes together this morning to address this as us, not as who we have to be at the arena.
