Page 50 of Coach's Temptation

That's my goalie.

I feel movement behind me, catch a whiff of vanilla that doesn't belong in a hockey arena.

Natalie works the bench like a maestro, her hands quick and sure as she re-tapes Ryder's wrist. A line change happens before me and Logan rolls his shoulder, and straight away, she's there, working out the knot without missing a beat.

She's incredible at what she does. Professional. Focused.

Everything I should be right now, instead of remembering how she felt in my arms last night. The way she nuzzled into my chest when I carried her upstairs. That sleepy kiss that she hasn't even mentioned.

My jaw clenches.

Focus.

Something behind the bench catches my eye – Mike waves from his seats, his son glued to the action on the ice with hearts for eyeballs. Mike shoots me a wink, the arm around his son and the pride in his eyes saying thank you more than words ever could.

I give him a quick nod, forcing my attention back to the ice where it belongs.

The horn blares, signaling the end of the first period. Twenty minutes down, scoreless. Vancouver's shown their hand – now it's time to counter.

"Connor!" I call out as he skates past. "Hell of a save, kid."

He taps his mask with his blocker, that quiet confidence I've worked to build in him shining through. We head down the tunnel, and I feel Natalie fall into step behind me, close enough that I can sense her presence but careful to maintain that professional distance we've agreed on.

I give the team a quick rundown in the locker room. Short, direct. No time for speeches - they know what's at stake.

Back on the ice, the crowd's thundering in my ears. The energy's different now. Vancouver's showing their teeth, and my guys need to match that intensity.

They're nervous. The fans are nervous.

And I'm fucking terrified.

Logan positions himself for the face-off, solid as always. The puck drops, and then—

The hit comes out of nowhere.

Number twenty-seven launches himself at Logan's blindside, catching him high and late. The sound of impact cuts through the arena noise like a gunshot. Logan crumples.

"That's fucking boarding!" I'm at the boards, blood pounding in my temples. "Open your eyes, stripes!"

The refs wave it off. No call. The game continues while my enforcer's down on the ice.

Logan tries to push himself up, but his body betrays him. He's hunched over, one arm wrapped around his ribs, face twisted in pain.

This isn't Logan being dramatic. He's a touch guy. If he's stayed down… he's hurt.

Natalie's already moving, medical kit in hand. She glides across the ice with urgency, dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands are steady as she checks his ribs, her lips moving as she talks it through.

I watch every movement. The way she guides Logan to take shallow breaths. How she tests his range of motion. The gentle but firm way she assesses the damage to his ribcage.

My fingers dig into the boards. Twenty-seven's smirking on the Vancouver bench, and I'm cataloging every second of this.

That hit wasn't hockey - it was intent to injure.

Logan shifts, testing his movement one last time. Natalie's hands guide him through the motion, and when she turns to give me a thumbs up, the knot in my chest loosens slightly.

"He's good to continue, Coach," she calls.

I spin toward the refs, my voice cutting through the arena noise. "That's textbook boarding! You gonna wait until someone's carried off on a stretcher?"

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