Page 7 of The Coach

But I curse when I see I’m late to class and book it to the doors.

three

MICK

The thrumming pulse of energy in the arena was a wild feeling. I would never get over the shot of adrenaline it always gives me to come to the cold rink, ready and waiting to cheer on my baby brother.

This was my first home game in a while. The demands of my classes, plus work, kept me from coming to the last two, but I was determined to not miss another game.

It was another long day in classes, then work right after. The last two days, bits and pieces of my night with Tanner had continued to come to me. I remembered most of it, but there were some parts that exhaustion took away from me. I would finally get flashes of it at the most inconvenient of times.

There was the time when one of my professors had called on me in concern stating, “You look a little flushed, dear. Are you feeling okay?”

I didn’t have the balls or fortitude to tell her I was feeling “flushed” because I just remembered how Tanner had flipped me onto my knees and drilled into me from behind.

So I blamed the hot classroom. The one that had been famously labeled ‘the cold room’ for the entirety of my college career.

I drag Cassie, another master’s student and my roommate, behind me. She wasn’t big on hockey, but being one of my very close friends, I forced her to come with me so I would never have to sit alone.

“I can’t believe you talk me into this every time,” she grumbles, crossing her arms across her oversized black hoodie. “Why isn’t Vic here?”

“Vic is working,” I tell her, referencing another friend of ours. She wasn’t in college anymore, having dropped out after two years, and working her tail off at a tattoo shop in town. “You love it, and you know it.” I wink at Cassie, tapping my overfull beer against hers.

Cassie had a big heart, but she didn’t want anyone to know that. She was a book person, not a sports person, and I loved that about her. She had no interest in hockey, but because she was a good friend, she put up with hockey for me.

But, as she said, she draws the line at cheering.

“I love you,” she mutters. “And that’s about it.”

I wrap an arm around her. “You are the absolute best friend ever, and I will treat you to nachos.”

“I’m telling Vic, and you better,” she sighs, her eyes drifting to the rink where the team is already warming up.

My eyes scan the rink, as always, looking for my little brother’s jersey. I spot him on the far side, talking to his best friend, Crew Thatcher. Crew is a cutie and is always flirting with Cassie and I after games. It was harmless with him, but with my brother's other friends, not so much, which was why I never felt the need to join them at Charged, the bar in town that catered to all things hockey. Memorabilia covered every inch of that place and there was always a hockey game on the TV’s, whether it was hockey season or not, the owner had a mountain of tapes full of highlight games.

It rivaled the bar down the street from Charged, which catered to football.

“So,” my friend mutters, her eyes locked on the goalie. His stretching was rather impressive. “You never came home the other night, and I haven’t had a chance to ask you why.”

Immediately, my cheeks heat at the memory, and I take a sip of beer to cool them down. “Hm?”

She nudges me in the arm, her vibrant blue eyes drilling into me now.

“Hey, look, they’re doing their hip-thrusting stretches,” I say, trying to deflect.

“Quit trying to distract me, Mick.” Taking a sip of beer, she tucks a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “You never stay out anymore. Did you meet someone?”

I look over at her, my brows furrowed, and bite my lip. “Maybe?”

Her eyes widen and her mouth curls into a smile. “Shut up! You slept with someone?”

The words come out loud and surprised.

“Shh.” I glance around, grateful most everyone is focused on the rink instead of eavesdropping. “The whole place doesn’t need to know.”

“I am shooketh,” she responds, shaking her head. “You haven’t been with anyone since that frat guy in like, what, junior year?”

“I was a senior,” I admit. It’s been a long time since I’ve been willing to be with anyone, even for just one night. Dating—hell, only sleeping with someone—took too much time and effort and always ended the same way. I would get attached, and he would become a ghost.

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