Game Play

by Lynda Aicher

  “You’re a great coach,” she insisted, meaning it.

  “And you have the potential to blow me out of the water.”

  His honest declaration almost pitched her right off the couch. She sucked in a breath and let the words sink in. Past her old walls and tired mantra. Past the lingering envy and soured resentment to the core of who she was. She loved being a coach. Yet…

  “Can I ask you something?” She was drilling in on the one thing that held her back both professionally and personally. “So I coach these women, great players. Some of whom can skate circles around the men, for what point? There’s nowhere for us to go after college. It’s not a career option for us. We can’t make millions doing what we’re great at. So I coach, work them, make them better, to what end? So they can get a ‘Great job, thanks. Now go find something else to do with the rest of your life?’”

  She sat back, not realizing she’d crept forward in her earnestness. She’d never voiced her harbored resentment so clearly, let alone to the man who was offering her a job, yet she valued his response too much to allow her embarrassment to shame her into looking away. His expression had softened somehow, his smile warming around the purity of his reaction.

  “Do you want to know why I love coaching women’s hockey?” Coach finally asked. Her emphatic nod pulled an appreciative laugh out of him. “Each and every woman out there is skating because they love it. They aren’t in it for the money or the prestige or the chance of fame. They’re there to play something they love and earn a degree while doing so. And no, right now, there aren’t a lot of options for women hockey players after college. But that might not be true ten or even five years from now. If you base your future on the right now, you’re going to miss out on so many opportunities.”

  Was that what she was doing? Molding her future based on her present? “But your future is a byproduct of your present. How do you change that?”

  “Exactly.” He slapped his thigh, triumph lining his face. “You do it by changing your present. If you sit back and accept where you are and what you have, then that is precisely where you’ll be in the future. But if you get out and challenge where you are, question why you’re there, then you become an active participant in your future instead of a bystander.”

  “But I’m going after what I want. I’m getting my master’s so I can have a career.”

  “Then you have to ask yourself if it’s the future you still want, or can it be modified to make it even better? I sincerely hope in this case that’s true.” He stuffed his folder back in his briefcase and stood, swinging the case over his shoulder. “Think on my offer and what I said. Look through the papers and talk to the school, see what they say about the online program. I don’t want to push you, but I need an answer by next week.” He checked his watch. “I hate to rush this, but I have to leave if I want to catch my flight home.”

  She shook his offered hand and followed him to the door. There was so much swirling in her mind that she had no room left to think. “Thank you, Coach,” she finally said before he stepped outside. “For the offer and the talk.”

  “Larry,” he said with a friendly wink. “If you’re going to be working with me, you can call me by my name.”

  Her laugh burst free in a raw, jagged hitch. “I don’t know if I can do that. You’re just Coach. Period.”

  “You can work on it then. Call me with any questions,” he added before heading down the stairs. She waited until he was in his rental car before she closed the door.

  She grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and dropped onto her futon with a complete lack of grace. The place was so silent after the brief stint of company. The missing ambient noises from inside or out left plenty of quiet for her to think.

  Her hand shook when she lifted the bottle to her mouth. She’d never been prone to nerves, never overthought her plays or moves, which made her recent bout of jitteriness more disturbing. This wasn’t her.

  Bits and pieces of conversations filtered through her mind, one after the other until she squeezed her eyes closed to hold them all in. They didn’t stop though. Coach’s visit only highlighted everything she’d been missing since she’d fled Minnesota and all things hockey.

  She fumbled for the remote and flicked the TV back on. She could focus on that, get lost in the mindless drone and forget her own issues. Because avoidance had worked so well so far…

  The endless commentary on the play-offs offered little distraction, yet she couldn’t get herself to turn it off as she read through the entire offer Coach Ford had left. It was a phenomenal opportunity. A position that most worked years to attain. Her lack of past coaching experience meant she wouldn’t get this offer from anyone else.

  Her leg bounced where it was propped on the coffee table, her excitement slowly simmering to the surface. For a moment, she released her baggage, all the bitterness and anger that had weighed her down, and let her instincts guide her.

  She wanted that job so damn badly, she ached with the need to take it. Coach Ford had been right about coaching women who were there for the love of the game. It was a joy and so damn fulfilling. The few practices she’d made had proven that to her. But she had to be certain she could transfer that thinking over to Dylan. To him and his teammates, who got to revel in the accolades and wealth of being pro hockey players.

  “The Glaciers are heading into the conference championships without one of their star defensemen, Dylan Rylie, who’s been on the injured reserve list since the end of February.”

  Her attention jumped to the TV at the first mention of the Glaciers. The camera panned wider to show Dylan sitting next to the three announcers. Her breath hitched in time with the twist and drop of her stomach. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  In an instant, she noted everything that had changed since their last video chat session five days ago. Dressed in a black suit and gray tie, hair cut shorter than she’d ever seen it, his play-off beard darkening his square jaw, he was the manly version of the pretty-boy image. His hands were clasped on the desk in front of him, his smile a relaxed curve that was also welcoming. Somehow, the little differences had him coming across every bit the professional. Confident without being cocky. It worked, yet something about it was off on him.

  “What are the chances of you playing in the upcoming games?” one of the announcers asked.

  Dylan tilted his head. “It’s not off the table. We’re taking it a game at a time right now.” His voice was pitched lower, smooth with a poised control.

  “How hard has it been to sit on the sidelines watching instead of playing?”

  “I’ll be honest, it sucks.” He flashed a grin. “Every player would rather be on the ice. But our team is skating great, and I’m happy to support them however I can.”

  Canned. His statements were so rehearsed and canned.

  “Your new contract has you staying with the Glaciers for another six years. How does it feel to be locked in like that?”

  Dylan sat back, nodding. “Pretty darn good, actually. I feel fortunate that the organization is willing to invest in me, even though I’m recovering from an injury. Their faith in my game only makes me more determined to get back and play harder than ever next season.”

  He was saying all of the right things, performing as expected for a star pro athlete, yet it wasn’t him. She knew his habits and mannerisms, and this wasn’t the man she talked to every day. Plus, it was a completely different image from the one he’d fostered his entire career.

  Gone was the charming, laid-back guy. The one with the southern drawl and cowboy ease. She bolted up, feet dropping to the ground. It was gone. All of it. Her eyes shot to his trademark cowboy hat sitting on her breakfast table. What in the hell is he doing?

  Everything that had made Dylan unique was stripped from the man currently on the screen. Hat, drawl and she’d bet money his cowboy boots were replaced with pricey loafers.

  Why? Sure, he needed to mature away from the party image, but that shoul
dn’t mean leaving behind who he was, and the cowboy was him. The overdone version he’d lived for the media could be toned down, but eliminated altogether? No way!

  How had this happened?

  The rest of the brief interview was lost on her as she twisted through the mess that was her life. She fired a text off to Dylan about the interview but she expected it to be awhile before he could respond.

  This brought her full-circle back to her earlier question of resentment. When had it become so bad that she’d completely shut out the one thing that had always made her happy? How had that angry green beast grown so big and all-consuming? She gone over this a dozen times before, only this time the answer settled so soft and clear within her she almost missed it.

  At some point she’d let the idea of what she should accomplish overpower the fulfillment of what she had accomplished. She was an outstanding hockey player. A good mentor. A solid coach, and she loved being all of those things. Regardless of how much money anyone else made playing hockey, she would always be happy on the ice—playing and coaching. Money would never be able to fulfill her like that.

  Resenting anyone, especially Dylan, for something he had no control over was pointless. She’d known that all along, but right now, right this second, the weight of that old, festering hurt slid away. She had a chance at a career she could excel at. A new, exciting opportunity that gave her everything she enjoyed, possibly even more so than simply playing the game. Everything else seemed frivolous after that admission.

  And love. She’d been at peace with Dylan for those few weeks at his house. Happy in a relaxed way that’d settled over her with such ease that she’d missed when it’d happened, but knew exactly when it’d disappeared.

  She wanted that back. She wanted him back. Hockey back. Her friends and the life she’d left back. And she could get them. Her old determination charged through her, revitalizing her lagging awareness until she vibrated with the need to act.

  She swiped up the papers and her phone, already dialing as she stood. She was ready to come home.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sam shifted on the long seat, tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She swore there was a hive of bees building a nest in her stomach with the way it kept jumping around. She took another long breath. It didn’t settle her nerves. How could it? She was sitting in a stolen truck in an illegal parking spot in the dark. There was no way her pulse was slowing down until this was over.

  She checked her phone. The hockey game had ended with a win over an hour ago and she’d received three texts from Meg but none from the person she was depending on. She’d called in every favor she’d needed to on her return to Minneapolis yesterday. Hell, she owed more than a few people at this point.

  It didn’t matter. She’d gladly coach Feeney for free even if this didn’t work. She shook the thought away. Failure wasn’t an option. Not with so much at stake.

  It’d taken just over a week to get back to where she belonged. Transferring to the online master’s program had been incredibly easy. As had repacking her car and driving home. The ease of stowing her belongings at her old house had her grateful she’d paid in full on her rental contract when she’d left. Her excitement over her new job was growing every day. It only reconfirmed that it really was what she wanted.

  She still had some friendships to patch up, and a trip home to her parents was a sooner-rather-than-later task. But this right here was the most important thing she had to do.

  This right here was the future she was betting on. The one she’d put on hold until she could love him like he deserved.

  A text buzzed, and her heart leaped to her throat. We’re on our way. The terror was right there, blurring the screen and making her head sway. Feeney had come through again. He’d become her surprise ally in her Get Back To Dylan campaign. Something she’d managed to hide from Dylan so she could do this. She could admit it was a bit over-the-top. A grand gesture that might not be needed, but she wanted to make it—needed it, even.

  At least the Glaciers were up three to two in the series. One more win, and they’d be the western conference champions and playing for the national title. Everyone would be on a high, and she hoped to capitalize on that.

  She set the song up and hit Replay on the fancy stereo before she rolled down the window. She plucked the cowboy hat off the seat and shoved the door open. The hinges squeaked a warning jolt into the silent parking lot. The house key she’d forgotten to return had simplified this portion of her plan.

  The usual collection of fans was absent from the back door, having been banned from the area during the play-offs. Her call to Coach O had granted her access to the otherwise restricted area. His parting “good luck” had been another surprise on her list that continued to grow.

  The air was cool for the end of May, a hint of winter sneaking back after a nice day. Goose bumps chased down her bare arms, but she wasn’t cold. In fact, she swore there was a small fire burning inside her.

  She slammed the truck door closed and settled the hat on her head. It was a little big, but she tilted it back and let the comfort of it settle her. She’d worn the thing most of the way home, like a talisman bringing her back to Dylan.

  Back home.

  The heavy door swung open at the back of the building, the walkway lights casting their yellow-white glow on the three men as they stepped outside. Their low chuckles tumbled through the air to poke at her nerves even more.

  “Can’t you bribe the doctor?”

  “Nah. I already tried.” Dylan’s voice reached her, unfiltered by technology, and she almost stumbled back from the force of it. Rich yet light, it tunneled into her heart.

  “That sucks.”

  That sounded like Bowser, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off Dylan to confirm it. He was watching the walkway, his profile launching another wave of memories. Him focused on his footwork on the ice, his tired exhaustion in the recliner after PT, the challenge when they debated a play. The love she’d seen when they’d lain in bed together.

  She sucked in every aspect of him as he came to a stop at the end of the walkway. His back was partially to her, his broad shoulders filling the black suit jacket. Light glared off the shorter strands of his hair, shadows darkened the beard that covered his jaw.

  The three men talked for a moment, their voices stretching over to wind her muscles tighter. She kept completely still, hands clenched at her sides. A gentle breeze lifted the ends of her hair and a car door slammed in the distance. All of those things were absorbed in her subconscious before she let them go.

  Let everything go.

  The tension drained down her shoulders, down her arms and out her fingers when she loosened her hands. She trusted herself and what she’d intuitively known for months.

  She loved Dylan Rylie. Pure and simple and complicated as that.

  He was nothing like she’d expected and everything she wanted. And she was finally able to love him without fear or restrictions or hesitation. Exactly how she was ready to live her life—with him.

  *

  “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Dylan said to Feeney and Bowser. He rocked back on his heels to take the weight off the pinch on his toes. It didn’t matter how expensive the damn shoes were, they were not his cowboy boots.

  Feeney punched him lightly on his arm, his gaze holding Dylan’s. “Don’t let her go this time.”

  Dylan frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The man had been acting funny all night. He’d never seen Feeney rush so fast to get out of the locker room, especially after a win.

  Bowser tugged on Feeney’s arm and took a step back. “Good luck.”

  Good luck? With what? Perplexed, Dylan turned away from his crap-talking friends and headed for his truck. He took two steps and froze. Blinked and recalculated the sight before him.

  It didn’t compute.

  His pulse increased at a steady pace with his slow comprehension. His throat went dry, air making it into his lungs in sh
allow breaths that failed to feed his brain.

  His granddad’s old pickup was parked lengthwise in front of his new one, blocking it in. It’d been locked in his garage when he’d left for the game, exactly where it’d been since he’d driven the new one home.

  That was secondary through. It barely registered next to the woman standing beside the old truck. In the shallow glow of the parking lot lights, she hovered in the halo. The bright royal blue dress shimmered silky over her curves, wind fluttering the hem around strappy silver heels.

  His heart constricted and his blood ran hot when his scan finally focused on her face. Samantha. Beautiful, challenging Samantha was there. His cowboy hat perched on her head, blond hair streaming over bare shoulders.

  He tried to swallow and failed. His mouth was too dry.

  She’d come back.

  Without thought, he took a step forward, then another. Everything faded away except for her. A fight could’ve broken out behind him and he wouldn’t have noticed or cared. Samantha had his full attention. Pretty much like she’d had since she’d skated into his life all those months ago.

  His forward progress halted when he could finally make out the stunning blue of her eyes. Enhanced by the dress color, they shined clear and bright, even in the dim light. Within them he could see his home, the big sky that welcomed and said he belonged there.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice floating across the distance to sock him in the chest. A hesitant smile lifted the corners of her mouth but she didn’t move toward him.

  The rolling notes of “I Don’t Dance” floated softly out the open window of his truck to hit him with a triple whammy of longing, hope and love.

  Her song.

  His keys dug into the tender creases of his palm, reminding him that this was real. Not a dream or song. It woke him up. Brought him out of his stupor to realize she was waiting on him.