Page 70 of Hearts on Ice
“Top three hockey movies,” Miguel said. “Miracle,Goon,Mystery, Alaska.”
“Good list,” I said. “I’ll swapGoonforThe Mighty Ducks.You’re too young to appreciate real underdog hockey.”
He laughed. “You just dated yourself, Coach.”
“That’s experience, not age.”
“Pump-up songs?”
I shrugged. “Springsteen—‘Born to Run.’ AC/DC—‘Back in Black.’ Tom Petty—‘Runnin’ Down a Dream.’”
Miguel grinned. “You’re basically a classic rock station.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Bad Bunny, Ozuna, something with enough bass to rattle the glass?”
“You know me too well, Coach.”
The way he said it—low, familiar—made something inside me tighten in the best way.
The rest of the podcast flowed easily. We finished with predictions:
“Two wins,” Miguel said. “One shutout. I’ll expect tacos as payment.”
“Two wins,” I said. “No brawls. And if you get that shutout, I’ll cook ’em myself.”
He grinned. “Careful, Coach, I’m holding you to that.”
The red light went dark. Recording over.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he reached across the table, slipped my headset off, and set it down beside his. His fingers brushed the side of my neck, slow and deliberate.
“Good episode,” he said softly.
“Yeah.” My voice felt rough. “Good partner.”
His smile was small and it undid me anyway.
Miguel leaned back in his chair, stretching, the fabric of his T-shirt pulling tight across his chest. His headset sat askew on the table between us, cords tangled like we’d left a piece of ourselves in the static.
“Guess we survived another one,” he said, voice rough with that post-record rasp.
“Yeah, we did,” I answered, smiling despite myself.
He reached out, brushed a thumb over the back of my hand where it rested on the table—just a ghost of a touch, quick enough that if anyone walked in, it could’ve been nothing.
It wasn’t nothing.
I stood, gathering the notes. “You’ve got practice in an hour.”
“Yeah,” he said, still watching me. “You coming?”
“I’m the coach, aren’t I?”
It came out dry, but he heard what sat under it.
His grin deepened, the one that always started crooked and ended up dangerous.
*****
