Page 23 of Almost Ours
I groaned, sinking lower into my seat. “Right on his shirt. Like, full-on soaked him.”
She tilted her head, intrigued. “Who was it?”
I opened my mouth, about to answer. “Ryan–”
“Ryan,” Nina said at the exact same time as she looked toward the tunnel entrance.
I froze. “How did you–?”
She was already nodding toward the ice. “The other coach. He just walked in. He’s been gone for like a week–family stuff I think.”
Ryan.
I nearly dropped my coffee.
No. It couldn’t be. There had to be more than one Ryan in town. Ryan was a common name. Not the same Ryan who I doused in coffee earlier today.
My pulse spiked as I turned my head slowly, following Nina’s gaze. And there he was.
He stood at the edge of the rink, dressed head-to-toe in team gear–a fitted black track suit that did nothing to hide the broadness of his shoulders, skates laced tight, a helmet tucked low over his dark hair. A hockey stick rested casually in one hand, a clipboard in the other, and a whistle hung from his neck.
Ryan.
The name echoed in my head as memories from the morning collided with this new realization. The registration. The woman who mentioned Coach Ryan. I hadn’t put it together.
Not until now.
Looking at him–those same piercing blue eyes–there was no question. It was him.
And he was staring right at me.
Our eyes locked, and for a split second, his expression was unreadable–cool, composed. Then, just barely, the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and the unmistakable glint of amusement flashed in his eyes.
My cheeks burned all over again at the memory, and I could feel Nina’s gaze shift toward me even before she spoke. Her eyes flicked from Ryan to me, one brow arching with a quiet sort of knowing as she took a slow sip from her coffee.
“You okay?” she asked, her tone casual enough, though, curiosity threaded through the words–sharp and amused.
I hesitated, staring down into my cup like it held the answer to everything.
“That coffee incident this morning I told you about…”
Nina blinked. “Yes?”
I let out a sigh, barely above a whisper. “On Ryan. It was Ryan.”
There was a beat of silence before she leaned forward, a grin spreading across her face. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week.”
I groaned and dropped my face into my hands.
The soundof skates carving into the ice echoed through the rink as the kids coasted toward where Nina and I were sitting, their energy still high even after a full practice. Connor was among them, face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead under his helmet, grinning so wide it practically split his cheeks. I couldn’t help but smile.
Ryan dropped to one knee, lowering himself to their level. Shane followed suit beside him, arms crossed, his usual stern expression in place.
“Okay, team,” Ryan began, his voice carrying clearly across the ice, “we’ve got a big game coming up this weekend. We’re playing the Wolves, and they’re one of the toughest teams in the league.”
A few groans rose from the circle. I saw Connor glance at the boy beside him, eyebrows raised, before Ryan lifted a hand to settle the noise.
“Yeah, they’re good,” he continued, calm and steady. “But so are we. You’ve been working hard. You’ve got speed, skill, and more heart than half the league combined. That’s what wins games. If you show up like I know you can, we’ve got a real shot at taking them down.”
