Page 23 of The Big Puck

“No. The limit on that card is only five thousand. Knock yourself out.”

She laughs, and the sound chases me out the back door, and I think if I let it catch me, I’ll never leave because I’ve never heard anything so tempting, so irresistible as that authentic, unfettered joy. How does she do that? How does she not let life weigh her down? Clearly, she’s had a recent setback of her own.

“Good luck today,” she calls after me. “Give old man Gavonza hell.”

I’m out the door before my mouth curves up dangerously, and I thank fuck she can’t see that errant bud of a smile. No use encouraging her. Getting old man Gavonza to notice anything will be a major accomplishment.

An inexplicable lightness takes hold of my mood as I start Aunt Hildie’s old pink Cadillac Coupe De Ville for the short drive to the rink. Maybe it’s nice knowing someone believes in my mission, or at least that she wouldn’t think I was crazy for including the pipe dream clause in my contract. And though I didn’t tell her about it, I want to, which is ridiculous because I’m not a sharer by nature. I’m a keep it close to the vest kind of guy, which suits me fine. My tight lips won me the trust and respect of my teammates, coaches, and players in the past.

As I drive to the rink, I should be mentally preparing for the day, but my mind sticks on Lainey. Shit. My attraction to her—or whatever it is—is too out of character and raw to be anything but a symptom of being without a woman in my bed for too long.

Not that I have time to deal with a woman now because it is truly the least of my concerns. Maybe it’s a good idea to call Shonda and invite her for a visit. We need to make a decision about having a long-distance relationship. The way we left things in our last conversation was unsettling. Neither of us had much enthusiasm for a long-distance commitment, but we didn’t rule it out either.

Now that the reality of going the whole season without a woman or the time and energy to find someone new hits me. Under these circumstances, facing Lainey every day forces me to consider giving a shot at a long-distance relationship with Shonda—even if I suspect it’s a long shot.

* * *

After some quick preparation in my office, I take my iPad and head for the rink. Anticipation quickens my steps as I head for the locker room. Rafe arrives at the door at the same time as I do, and I extend my hand with a rare gravity-defying grin tugging at my mouth.

“If it isn’t the youngest coach in the NHL.” He claps my back and draws me in for a bro hug that feels sincere down to the bone. I hug him back, meaning it.

“If it isn’t one of the oldest players in the NHL,” I say. He laughs. “But if the tapes I’ve been watching are right, you’ve found the fountain of youth.”

“Sure, if the fountain of youth is a strict diet and workout regimen, regular sleep, and no alcohol, then I’ve found it.”

“Good man. We’re all going to learn a few things from you.”

He laughs. “I hear you have a new baby.”

I nod, and my talkativeness dries up.

Still, Rafe knows who I am from early in Montreal, and he clamps a hand on my shoulder and speaks in a quiet cool voice. “I know what it’s like to be faced with raising a baby girl alone. I lucked out and found a good nanny. I hear you lucked out, too.”

“You’ve been talking to Jason,” I say. The kid has a big mouth.

Rafe nods and smiles. “Don’t hold it against him. I heard about the baby—everyone has. It was in the sports news and all over social media.”

“Swell.”

He laughs. “We have a lot of parallels with our baby girls and nannies showing up in a pinch. I married my nanny. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky, too.”

“Lucky?” His words set off all kinds of alarms, fire alarms if the heat roaring through me right now is any clue.

He chuckles, and I push the door open to the locker room and escape inside. After I walk through the room and welcome each player, I lace up my skates and tell them to be on the ice in ten minutes.

Leaving the guys in the locker room feels funny, but I’m the coach now—the fucking head coach—and the guys need to have the locker room to themselves. Waiting at the gate to the rink with my tablet, I check the formations and drills I want to start with after warm-ups.

Rafe is the first one to the ice, and he pauses at the gate with something to say. “I want you to know, Coach, when I got the news I’d be playing for Portsmouth this season, I was disappointed, initially,” he pauses, serious as fuck.

I nod. I figured as much.

“But when the entire roster came out, I started looking forward to being here, especially when I heard you were named coach.”

I nod again, not sure what to make of his confidence.

“I always thought you’d make a great coach. I wasn’t surprised to see what you did at St. Paul U last year.”

“I’m glad to have your experience in the locker room.”