Page 69 of Hard Check

The casual comment hit me hard. Coach knew. Of course, he knew. He'd been reading players for decades.

"Coach—"

"I'm not asking for details." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "But I've got eyes, Carver. I see how you light up when he's around and how he settles down when you're talking him through plays. That's not mentorship—it's chemistry."

I stared into Coach's eyes and saw no judgment. He was a vision of practicality, and he'd seen everything in the hockey world.

"What I want to discuss is your future. Post-retirement."

Realistically, I knew there were a lot of options, but whenever I tried to envision something, all I saw was either an empty void or sitting behind a desk trying to sell insurance.

"I'm offering you an assistant coaching position. Start next season, learn the systems, and work with young players coming up through the pipeline." His weathered face creased into something approaching a smile. "I've watched your instincts on the ice with Pike. You've got the brain for it and the respect."

My mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound emerged.

"Think about it," Coach said, rising from the bench with a grunt. "No rush, but I need an answer before Christmas."

He headed toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, coaching's a job that travels. Development camps, scouting trips, guest positions with other organizations." His eyes met mine with knowing intensity. "Flexible schedule for someone who might need to be in two places at once."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the possibilities I'd never dared imagine.

An assistant coaching position. A future that didn't end with my playing career but transformed it into something new—the chance to stay connected to hockey while building something beyond the ice.

For the first time since my first meeting with Coach about retirement, I could picture life after my final game, not as an ending, but as a beginning.

Pike's rookie camp invitation didn't have to be the end of our story. It could be a new chapter, one where we figured out how to build a life that honored both our dreams instead of sacrificing one for the other.

Chapter eighteen

Pike

Myphonebuzzedagainstthe nightstand, dragging me from sleep that had been more restless than restorative. I woke in the middle of a dream. I'd been skating through my childhood home, but the hallways kept shifting, doors appearing where walls should be. Carver had been there too, somehow both teammate and stranger, and I'd been trying to explain something important that kept dissolving before I could say it.

It was Thanksgiving. A text from my mother glowed on the screen:

Mom: ETA 45 minutes. Dad's driving, so maybe an hour. Love you.

I set the phone down carefully, trying not to disturb the warm weight pressed against my side. Carver's arm lay heavy across my belly, his palm flat against my ribs.

I felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest, where it pressed against my shoulder. In sleep, he looked younger—the permanent furrow between his brows smoothed away, mouth slightly open.

We'd been up until nearly two, talking about nothing and everything. The rookie camp invitation. His coaching offer. Whether The Colisée's vending machine actually dispensed edible food or just hockey puck-shaped cardboard. The everyday things felt enormous when whispered in the dark.

My parents were almost here. The same parents who still thought my relationship with Carver was purely professional. They believed the Forge was just a stepping stone, a "good hockey opportunity" that would lead to bigger things. They had no idea that the bigger thing might be the man sleeping beside me.

My stomach clenched. I hadn't seen them since preseason and hadn't talked to them beyond weekly check-ins that skimmed the surface of my life.

I crawled out of bed carefully and padded to the kitchen. My hands trembled as I measured the grounds. Through the window, November in Lewiston was gray, with bare trees creating skeletal patterns against an overcast sky.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent a text:

Matsson:Buzz when you get here. Parking sucks.

An ache settled in my chest. It was the dissonance between what was real and what I could share. I loved my parents, but my life had become complicated in ways I'd never anticipated.

From the bedroom came a soft groan, followed by the rustle of sheets. Carver was waking up. "Pike? You okay?"

I poured coffee into two mugs, adding sugar to mine and leaving his black. "Fine. Parents will be here soon. Remember?"

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