“Okay.” He nods. “I’m just throwing it out there. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you have a lot on your mind, and it’s more than the playoffs. So, if you run into trouble, find me. I can help. That’s partly why I’m here. I’m your coach, but a true coach cares about you on and off the ice. Guys with off-ice trouble don’t produce on the ice. I know that from personal experience.”
What does he see that tells him I have something going on? Can people tell that Holly and I aren’t in love? Am I not being properly attentive? Because if something like that is happening, the one person who’ll know is my mother—and she’s like a dog with a bone if she thinks something is going on in my life.
“Why do you think this?” I ask finally, my mind racing.
He shrugs. “Something in your eyes. A gut feeling I have. I’m a bit of an empath—you ever fucking repeat that and I’ll bench your ass.”
What the fuck is an empath?
I stare at him.
“Empaths are people who are more in tune to other people’s thoughts and emotions.”
“You think I have emotion?”
He laughs. “I hope so, buddy. I really hope so. But yeah, you’re holding something back. I don’t know if it’s personal or professional. If it’s professional, let’s talk about it now, before it impacts your game. If it’s personal, like I said, I’m here for you. Everyone needs someone neutral to listen when shit hits the fan. Or when they have a difficult decision to make. Whatever it is, I’m here if you need me. That’s all. No pressure.”
With that, he gets up and walks away.
Leaving me wondering what the hell he sees that I don’t.
Chapter Twenty-One
Holly
The Thunder wins game four, and we all head back to New York for game five. It’s a big deal because if they win, they’ll be the conference champions so he wants me to be there for it. I wasn’t a huge hockey fan before, more interested in football, but now that I’m married to a hockey player, I’ve had to learn quickly. Serena and Jayne have been really helpful getting me up to speed because I didn’t want Viktor to realize how little I knew.
My father-in-law has figured it out, though, so he sits next to me at the games and explains things when I get confused. Icing. Crosschecking. Off-sides—I really dislike this one. It makes no sense to me. Mr. Maslak explains it best, though.
“You know there are three different zones on the ice? The offensive, neutral, and defensive?”
“Yes.” Kind of.
“Until the puck is in offensive zone, you cannot come into this zone before the puck arrives. Until it crosses the blue line, you cannot go.”
I think about that for a second. Then I chuckle. “Thank you. That one always trips me up.”
“Takes time,” he says, gently patting my knee.
“I’m learning as fast as I can.”
“Is not race.”
My phone buzzes and I see a text from my mother, which is rare. I quickly open the app to read it.
MOM: Your father would like you and your husband to come for dinner at your convenience. If there’s a time that works best for you, please let me know so I can arrange it.
I swallow.
This is the last thing I want to do but at some point, I have to suck it up.
HOLLY: I’m in NYC for game five of the playoffs. We’ll be home tomorrow but then Viktor will be resting, getting ready for either the finals or game six. His parents are also here from Russia, so he’s spending time with them.
She doesn’t respond right away, which means she’s conferring with my father.
This can’t be good.
I watch the game while keeping an eye on my phone.
