Two days after the win in Tampa, we flew to Pittsburgh for a Friday night game.
It was back-to-back away games — Pittsburgh on Friday and Baltimore on Saturday. We flew out Thursday evening to get settled, and with a home win under our belt and a three-game winning streak flying with us, we were confident.
I held onto that confidence, onto the fact that we knew what we were doing, and we had the chance to really have the league’s attention if we won these away games, too. That would be five games in a row.
Tampa hadn’t won five games in a row since 2015.
Nothing motivated me like the potential to make headlines, other than the chance to silence sports analysts and their assumptions about me and my team. I could do both with these wins, and I kept that in the forefront of my mind.
After the morning skate on Friday, I went back to my hotel room to do my usual pre-game routine. But something felt off.
I couldn’t place it, but I knew without overthinking it that I needed to shake things up.
“I’m going somewhere.”
Maven peeked up at me from where she was working on her phone on the couch in my suite. She wore olive sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt that swallowed her small frame. Her bare feet were tucked beneath her, no makeup on her face and her hair natural. I didn’t have to guess that she also didn’t have a bra on under that shirt, which killed me as much as it made me count my lucky stars.
It stole my breath a moment, seeing her like that — comfortable, relaxed, like she was just wasting away an afternoon in her own home.
I’d been buzzed the night after our home game, but I still remembered everything. I remembered following her out of that bar, remembered the exact moment I realized she wasn’t mad at me.
She was jealous.
I didn’t need her to confirm it, because when I’d backed her into that wall, her body had betrayed whatever lie she was trying to tell me and herself.
She’d kissed me.
It had taken everything in me not to take her right then and there. The way she melted into me when I kissed her back, how she trembled when my hands framed her face and my leg slid between her thighs. I loved pushing that skirt up to her hips, loved pushing that girl to the edge even more.
Neither of us had said a word about it since.
I knew why I hadn’t. I told her all I needed to that night — that if she wanted me, she was going to have to admit it. She was going to have to use her big girl words and say it out loud.
But she hadn’t broached the subject either, either because she was still pissed at me, or she was trying to convince herself it didn’t happen.
Regardless, it didn’t bother me.
I was a patient man.
Or so I told myself.
“Okay?” she said carefully when I didn’t elaborate.
“You don’t need to come,” I said. “It’s nothing that needs to be covered.”
That made her eyes narrow in suspicion, and she set her phone aside before sitting up a little straighter. “Where are you going?”
I shrugged. “Just somewhere to clear my head.”
She watched me a moment longer before hopping up from the couch. “I just need to change real quick.”
“You really don’t have to come,” I said. “If you want a break.”
“Twenty-four-seven, remember?” she reminded me, and then she slipped out of my room and over to hers to change.
I smirked in victory. Reverse psychology worked a little too well on this woman. She was nothing if not stubborn, but sometimes, that worked to my advantage.
Though we hadn’t spoken about what happened between us, I felt a charge of electricity anytime she was near. When we sat next to each other on the plane, her laughing and playing cards with Carter while I pretended to listen to a podcast, I saw the hair on her arm stand on end when she brushed against me, felt how she drew her breaths a little shallower.
The guys had taken my coaching from that night at Boomer’s and done everything to make sure Maven felt comfortable with us — whether we were in the public’s eye or alone in the arena. I didn’t know why Maven had felt vulnerable enough to open up to me about what happened with her ex, but I knew one thing.
I didn’t want to be lumped into the same category as him, and I wanted my team to prove to Maven that we weren’t all the same.
When we were in the back of the black car I’d arranged for us, she watched the city pass out the window, taking in the cool, gray day painting the city.
I watched her.
She frowned when we pulled into the parking lot of the old, beaten-down rink — first at the scenery, then at me, and then again at the building as we both got out of the car. I tapped the trunk twice with my fist until the driver popped it, and then with my duffle bag slung over my shoulder, I led the way.
“What is this?” Maven asked.
“You’ll see.”
It was quiet when we walked into the rink, save for the sounds that always came with it — skates gliding, pucks being hit, sticks scraping the ice. I smiled at the familiarity of it, of how it took me back to a simpler time when Mom and Dad put me in pads as a kid and told me to just have fun.
Bobby Green stood in the box, his hands on his hips while he watched the kids skate around on the ice. He had a whistle between his teeth, and he shook his head at something before he glanced over at where Maven and I had just walked in.
The whistle fell from his mouth, and a grin split his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. Vince Tanev.”
That made half the rink stop skating, and one by one, the kids lit up with recognition.
“Nice to see you, Coach,” I said, shaking his hand. His players had stopped skating, and were standing at various places in the rink watching us and whispering to each other.
“I thought you were joking, you know.”
“Well, here’s proof that I was serious.”
Bobby and I had played at Michigan together. But where I went to the show, he came back to his hometown to coach at the rink where he’d learned how to play. He wanted to give back to the community that gave so much to him, and to give more kids with lesser financial means the opportunity to play.
Hockey wasn’t exactly cheap, and I respected him more than I could say for giving up his own dream to help the kids in his community chase theirs.
I was far too selfish, too driven to be the best for me to ever do the same.
When we’d graduated, on our last night out, I told Bobby I’d come see him when I was in the city. He’d laughed me off, saying I’d be too busy fighting off girls to remember him.
Seeing his smile right now was worth more than any night I’d ever had with a puck bunny.
Without a word, he clapped me on the shoulder, his eyes speaking volumes. “How long do we have you for?”
“Maybe an hour.”
His eyes flicked behind me to Maven then, and he arched a brow at me before extending a hand for her. “Excuse my former teammate for being a rude sonofabitch,” he said. “I’m Bobby.”
“Maven,” she said, smiling as she shook his hand.
I realized then that only half the kids on the rink were staring at me, because the other half were very firmly staring at her. They had to be somewhere in the twelve to fourteen range, so I couldn’t blame them.
Maven was a sexual awakening if I ever did see one.
“Ah, you’re the one giving us all access to Tampa’s Hotshot Rookie!” he said, giving me a fake one-two punch with the words. He shook his head once he was upright again. “I think they should have you in front of the camera, if you ask me.”
Maven smiled. “I’m nowhere near as interesting as this one,” she said, pointing to me.
“And he’s nowhere near as jaw dropping.”
Bobby always had a way with the ladies, which was exactly why he was already married at twenty-three.
“Alright, easy there, Bobbers,” I said.
“What, you two dating?”
“No,” Maven answered quickly.
Bobby grinned, looking at me like he saw something I didn’t. “Then I guess I’m free to remark on her beauty all day if I want to, Vinny.”
“And I’m free to tell your wife about it?”
He pointed at me. “You win. Alright!” He blew his whistle, calling his team over. “Well, boys. We have approximately sixty minutes with Vince Tanev.” He grinned at me when they all buzzed with excitement at the confirmation of it really being me. When he turned back to them, he asked one simple question. “Where should we start?”
He was met with silence.
And then, every player talking over each other trying to be the one to answer first.
Once I had on skates and pads, I took to the ice, running drills with the team and offering pointers where I had them. When I’d look over at Maven, Bobby was always yakking it up beside her. The guy couldn’t help himself.
I spent about forty-five minutes on the ice, and the last fifteen taking pictures and signing autographs. Then, with one last hug from my former teammate and friend, Maven and I were back in the car and on our way to the hotel.
I already felt more refreshed, energized by the excitement of the kids at the rink.
“Bobby had some fun stories to tell,” Maven said as we rode across town.
“About all the records I broke at Michigan?”
“More about how many girls you left heartbroken in your wake.”
My smile flattened.
Damn it, Bobby.
Maven snuffed a laugh through her nose. “Don’t worry. I told him it was nothing I didn’t already know.”
I realized then she was preparing a post on her phone, a video of me skating drills with the kids pulled up. I covered it with my hand.
“Don’t.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Don’t post it.”
Her jaw went slack, confusion drawing her brows together. “But…”
“Some things aren’t for public consumption.”
I held my hand over her phone while she watched me, only pulling it away when I was sure I’d made it clear. She kept her eyes on me even after I removed my hand.
And there was something in her gaze, something that was becoming my new favorite drug.
Proof that I’d proven her wrong about me.
Not with any help from my former teammate, it appeared.
I looked out the window for the rest of the ride, and when we got back to the hotel, the rest of my pre-game routine was waiting for me. I didn’t have the nap, but I did have the pasta, and the pushups, the call to my sister and the closet light.
Maven and I didn’t fight, but then again, we hadn’t really talked at all since that night outside the bar.
So maybe it counted.
When we won in overtime against the Pittsburgh Venom, I decided that it did.
