Page 43 of Press Your Luck

"To Coach Withers," Max called out, “who whipped our asses into shape.”

The team members cheered, holding their drinks in the air. I felt warmth from their appreciation and support. It was a stark contrast to the initial skepticism I'd faced when I first joined the team. I was finally being accepted by them.

"Thank you so much. I'm honored to be your coach, and I believe in each and every one of you. Together, we can go all the way. A championship run is within our reach."

"Damn straight,” one of the players hollered, and the rest of the team erupted in cheers.

As the celebration continued, I looked around at my team, their faces flushed with excitement. It was a testament to how far we'd come. Of course, Max had been the one to slowly rally the team around me.

"Thanks for the toast, Max," I said, turning to him. "And for your support."

"You're an incredible coach, and you deserve all the credit."

Max was a nice man and an excellent hockey player. He was a true friend, and it angered me that the media, which Todd egged on, was turning our friendship into something sordid.

"Here's to our fearless leader," Max continued, raising his glass high in the air. "To her dedication, her hard work, and her unwavering belief in this team. Thanks to her, we're on track for a championship run."

The team erupted in cheers, glasses clinking together as they toasted our success. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and I grinned from ear to ear, finally feeling truly accepted by this group of rough-around-the-edges hockey players.

“And to all of you,” I said.

"To us," the team echoed in unison.

I took a sip of my drink, savoring the taste of success.

I finished my drink and found myself in need of the ladies’ room. I excused myself from the celebration, heading to the hotel hallway in search of the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, basking in the glory of success. Not just that we were on a winning streak, but that the team was finally accepting that I could lead them to victory.

When I finished in the ladies’ room, I stepped out into the hall intending to return to the bar.

"Hey there, Coach,” Big Ed's voice slurred as he appeared in the hallway, his imposing figure blocking my path back to the bar. He took a swig from the beer bottle in his hand, his bloodshot eyes roaming over me with an unsettling intensity. For a big guy, booze went to his head quickly. "Why don't you come up to my room for a little while? I could remind you of what a woman should be doing."

I laughed, thinking it was just another one of his tasteless jokes. But as his dark eyes bored into mine, I realized he was serious. My laughter died in my throat. Big Ed stepped closer, his breath reeking of alcohol.

A surge of anger rose within me as I squared my shoulders and faced him head-on. "Back off, Ed. I'm your coach, not your plaything.”

“So, what? I’m not good enough for you? You only put out for Max?”

Dammit. “Show some respect."

"Respect?" He sneered. "You're too big for your britches. I won't rest until you're fired."

"Is that so?" I shot back, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Well, good luck with that."

Max appeared from behind Big Ed, his brows furrowed with concern. "Everything okay here?" He stepped to my side.

"Stay out of this, pretty boy," Big Ed growled.

"Ed, leave her alone. Go enjoy the celebration.”

“Fuck you. I want a little of what you’ve been getting.”

“You shouldn’t believe all that you read,” I said.

“Can you read, Big Ed?” Max’s cutting remark surprised me.

Big Ed’s face turned red, his temple throbbing with rage as he seethed. “You’ve got a big mouth and all your teeth. I’m about ready to remedy that.”

The tension between them crackled like electricity, causing the hair on my arms to stand on end.

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