Fate is a real asshole sometimes.
It doesn’t matter. I’m going to figure this out. I just need to talk to Ava—privately.
But first, I have to get through this meal.
“Is something wrong with your filet?” Coach asks, eyeing my half-eaten steak.
“Nah. Perfect as usual.” I slice off a bit of meat and pop it into my mouth, chewing enthusiastically, despite the fact that it hurts like a motherfucker.
I tore my frenulum eating Ava’s pussy last night. The pain is exhilarating. It’s the perfect reminder of just how fortunate I was to spend the night in her bed.
As if sensing my thoughts, she turns to me, her wineglass dangling from her fingers. “So how do you two know each other so well?”
It’s a fair question. I doubt there are too many coaches in the league who have a standing dinner date with the team captain.
“I met Coach when I was playing in the USHL. I was sixteen. I had just lost my parents, and I was in a bad way.” Those were dark fucking days. I’m not sure I would have survived them without him. “Coach was scouting talent for Waverly University, and despite the fact that I was making all the wrong choices, he saw my potential. While everyone else was betting on my failure, he helped me turn things around.”
It’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay.
“They were fools,” Coach interjects. “Anyone with eyeballs could see you were going to be great.”
I snort. “I don’t think it was my on-ice performance that concerned them.”
He waves me off with a grin. “They lacked faith.”
I raise my glass in a silent toast.
What I don’t tell Ava is that Coach and I are the same, both of us nearly ruined by grief. For Coach, it was a career-ending injury. For me, it was losing my parents.
We may not share DNA, but our experiences have forged an unbreakable bond between us, and I’d do anything for him.
Including cutting ties with Ava?
My gut hardens. Anything but that.
My phone vibrates again. This time it’s harder to ignore. My fingers itch to reach for it.
Instead, I force myself to take a sip of my wine, not really tasting it, and continue. “Coach and I kept in touch, and eventually he recruited me to play at Waverly.”
“Best damn college player I had the pleasure of coaching, too.”
Pride swells in my chest. “Since I didn’t have any family to protect my interests, Coach also helped me navigate the draft process. He must’ve hyped me up to every scout in the league. The man was relentless.”
Ava laughs, and it’s clear she’s experienced his persistence firsthand.
“I just told them the truth.” Coach turns to her. “I said, this kid’s the real deal. Waverly’s going to bring home a national title, or I’ll eat a bucket of pucks.” He turns back to me. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”
My phone vibrates with another notification, and though I want nothing more than to look at the message, I force myselfto remain present. “It was a team effort. No one wins the Frozen Four on their own.”
It’s the mindset I’ve carried throughout my whole career: team first.
“Yeah, well, if those clowns had listened, you’d have gone first in the draft. Or maybe second.” He drums his fingers on the table. “But even I have to admit San Jose was a good fit.”
Ava’s brows knit together. “If San Jose was such a good fit, how did you end up in Atlanta?”
“A nasty wrist injury, combined with the salary cap, left me exposed during the expansion draft.” I shrug. Those are the breaks. Just one of the many inglorious realities of being a professional athlete. “It all worked out for the best. Despite last season’s challenges, I’m excited to be home and playing for Coach again. I want to be part of something great, and I believe in what he’s trying to build here in Atlanta.”
Ava nods. “I couldn’t agree more.”