Page 93 of Defensive Desire

The truth is, I should be more worried than I am. A trade means uprooting my life. New team. New city. New system. Starting over when I thought I'd retire an Icehawk.

But all I can think about is Emma. About what a trade would mean for us. About the look on her face if, orwhen, I have to tell her I'm leaving Iron Ridge.

"Is that big head in the game, Kane?" Coach Brody barks from across the ice. "You're up."

I stand, running through my mental checklist before stepping back onto the ice. Stick grip. Edge check. Helmet strap.

For sixteen years, hockey has been my entire identity. Logan Kane, the enforcer. The Iron Wall. The guy who will take any hit, throw any punch, to protect his teammates.

I take position for the drill, realizing that for the first time in my life, hockey might not be enough anymore. Not when Emma's smile feels more like home than any arena ever has.

After practice, I linger in the locker room, taking my time with the shower, with taping my sore wrist, with packing my gear. Most of the guys have cleared out, heading home to girlfriends or whatever else occupies their lives off the ice.

"You're still here?" Coach Brody appears in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "Figured you'd be off helping your girlfriend with that stall she's been going on about to Natalie and Sophia all week."

I grunt, shoving my shoulder pads into my bag. "She's got it handled."

Coach studies me for a long moment. "Something on your mind, Kane?"

"You tell me, Coach," I say, straightening to my full height. "Big Mike been talking to you about the trade?"

Coach's expression doesn't change, but there's a slight tensing around his eyes. "So you've heard."

"Hard not to when everyone's whispering about it." I zip my bag with more force than necessary, breaking the zipper and chucking it on the floor. "Just wondering when someone was going to talk tomeabout it."

Coach sighs, stepping further into the locker room. "Look, Logan, nothing's decided yet. It's just talks."

"Just talks," I repeat flatly. "The kind of talks that end with me packing up my life and moving across the country?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." He sounds tired. It's only preseason and he's tired. "You've been in this league long enough to know how it works. It's business."

"Yeah, I know. 'Nothing personal.'" I sling my bag over my shoulder. "Except it's starting to feel pretty fucking personal from where I'm standing."

Coach doesn't flinch at my tone. After almost a decade together, he's seen me at my worst. "Look, I can't tell you what you want to hear. Just... keep an open mind. Nothing's done until it's done, okay?"

I nod once, sharply. "Is that all, Coach?"

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, studying me closer. "What's she like? Your coffee girl?"

The question catches me off guard.

Coach Brody isn't exactly known for his interest in players' personal lives. Not unless it affects their performance on the ice.

"Emma? She's..." I search for words that won't make me sound like a lovesick teenager. "She's good. Smart. Works harder than anyone I know."

Coach's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Must be something special to have you looking like you're about to put your fist through a wall at the thought of leaving."

I don't confirm or deny it. Don't need to. He can read it on my face plain as day.

"Do you remember when Team USA came calling for me?" he continues, his voice low. "Head coaching position for the Olympics. Best players in the world, representing our country on the biggest stage. The kind of honor most coaches would kill for."

I lean against my locker, suddenly interested. Coach doesn't usually open up like this.

I raise my eyebrows. "Yeah. I remember."

Coach's eyes go distant for a moment. "I nearly took it, you know. Had the contract in my inbox, ready to sign. Greatest coaching opportunity of my career."

"But you stayed."

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