Coach McCabe looked ready to blow a gasket.
He reminded me a little of my father in that moment, the way my dad would hold in his anger until he could go to the gym or get out on the boat. He never wanted us kids to see it or be on the receiving end of it. I loved and admired him for that, how he could bottle it up and find the proper release.
Coach, on the other hand, was ready to unleash — and I was his target.
“Look, it’s not a huge deal,” Dick said, my general manager much calmer than the red-faced man standing against his office window. Coach could barely look at me without seething. “It pulled in some good publicity for you and for the team, and it was a kind thing to do. But—”
“But it’s against your fucking contract,” Coach filled in for him, nose flaring. “What the hell were you thinking, Tanev?”
I swallowed, knowing that wasn’t a question he wanted me to answer. I was expected to sit there and take my lashing like a good boy, and I was content to do just that.
But anger simmered in me, too.
Because I told Maven not to fucking post about that day.
Our away games had gone just how we wanted them to. We were on a five-win streak and back in our city to try to make it six. Yesterday was a hungover flight home for most of the guys, and we spent the rest of the day recovering. I hadn’t seen Maven, other than where she was already sleeping when I boarded the plane. She was in the back, hoodie on, pillow against the window, and headphones covering her ears.
When we got back to Tampa, she muttered something about seeing me later before she disappeared. I had no idea where she’d gone, and I hated to admit how much I missed having her around — especially since I wanted her to talk to me about what happened the night before.
She was so goddamn stubborn, it infuriated me as much as it made me want her more.
This morning, when I’d shown up to practice, I’d no sooner laced my skates up before Coach was pointing at the elevator. Wordlessly, I followed him, and when he hit the button for the executive floor and handed me his phone with his jaw clenched, I knew I was in trouble.
Maven had posted a video of me at the rink in Pittsburgh with Bobby and his kids.
I only watched a few seconds of it before I handed the phone back, knowing my ass was grass.
“Oh, come now, McCabe,” Dick said, leaning back in his chair with that jovial grin of his. “The boy is fine.”
“He could have gotten himself hurt. Before a game.”
“But he didn’t.”
The way Dick said those words told me he wanted Coach to back off, and the way Coach fumed told me that was the last thing he planned to do.
“I’m sorry,” I said to both of them, and I meant it. “I needed to clear my head, and I knew my buddy from Michigan was coaching at that rink. I promise, I didn’t do anything that would have put me at risk.”
“Being on the ice period put you at risk,” Coach argued. “You weren’t even wearing a mask. What if you got a puck to the jaw? What if one of those kids wanted to prove he was big and bad and shoved you into the boards? What if you pulled a fucking hamstring? Anything could have happened. And then what? You would have been out of the game. And what would you have told your teammates?”
“Alright, he said he was sorry,” Dick said, holding out his hands.
Coach let out a hot exhale through his nose, running his hands through his hair and turning away from me. I’d never seen him so pissed, but I knew without him saying so that he was less mad and more scared.
He didn’t want to have to figure out how to win a game without me on the ice.
Dick pointed at me next. “Let this be a one-time thing, okay? It was a nice gesture, and I’m sure those boys will remember that day for the rest of their lives. But Coach is right. We can’t afford to lose you, son.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
Coach didn’t talk to me the rest of practice. He hammered my ass, though, and made sure I was sweating and sore as hell by the time he called it for the day.
And where he ignored me, I ignored Maven.
She was there, just like she had been the last two weeks, recording from the sidelines. When we were dismissed, I didn’t wait for her as I shoved through the doors that led from the stadium into downtown. I walked with my headphones on, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring everyone who walked past me and recognized who I was. A few of them snapped photos, others just pointed and smiled and called out my name. The best of them left me alone altogether.
I’d no sooner made it home and started my shower before I heard a knock at my door.
Maven didn’t look scared when I swung it open, staring down at her with my jaw set. In fact, she folded her arms and lifted her chin in defiance.
“Bad day?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?” She balked, catching the door before it could shut when I let go of it. I headed back toward my bedroom, to where I had the shower going. “What is wrong with you?!”
“You posted that video when I told you, I told you not to.” I spun to face her in the hallway, the sound of the shower serving as white noise behind our screams. “But you did it anyway. Because you’re Maven King and you just do whatever you want.”
She scoffed. “In case you forgot, you agreed to this.”
“Oh, my bad. I thought when I specifically asked you not to post something, you’d listen. Didn’t you tell me that in the beginning? That if I wanted anything off the record, all I had to do was say so?”
I didn’t know why I took that exact moment to take her in, to really look at her. Her eyes were as tired as mine, and yet still, she was glowing — her skin fresh and smooth, her hair curly and held off her face by a colorful bandana tied at the crown of her head. She wore her classic silver hoop earrings, a white t-shirt that fit her perfectly, and a pair of light-washed jeans that fit even better.
Even when I was pissed at her, I wanted her.
“This is a good thing,” she said after a moment — but it felt like she was trying to defend herself more than convince me. “Every news outlet in the city has picked up the story, along with some of the national stations. You’re welcome for the great publicity.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I wasn’t supposed to be there?”
She blinked.
“Yeah. It’s against my contract. I’m not supposed to play any kind of sport or do anything that can put me or my body in danger during the season. I can’t so much as swing a golf club without risking my job.”
The color drained from her then, and I knew I had her.
“Coach McCabe filleted my ass today.”
“Okay, well…” She stammered, then stood tall again. “Well, you let the kids take pictures, which I’m sure they posted. So what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that in those photos, I wasn’t skating on the fucking rink, Maven!” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. But there is a difference between me just hanging out with some kids playing hockey, as opposed to playing along with them. And Coach is pissed.”
Maven had the decency to shrink a bit at that, but then she squared her shoulders. “Yeah, well, I guess we’re even then.”
“How the hell do you figure that?”
“The picture? You kissing my hair? My girl?”
A smile curled on my lips, that anger I had before ebbing a bit. “What, not ready to admit that yet? Because let’s face it. It’s true.”
She shoved me, hard. Her hands found my chest and pressed until my back hit the wall. I let her think she had that power, that she could move my six-foot-one brick of a body with her slight one.
“This is my career,” she seethed.
“And this is mine,” I argued. “So, you’re right. I guess we are even.”
“It’s not the same. You got a slap on the wrist and some damn good PR. Do you realize how unprofessional that photo looked for me?”
“Are your bosses mad?”
Her mouth was still open, ready to fire her next argument, but it snapped close at my question.
I laughed, shaking my head, and then I pushed off the wall.
“You,” I said, moving slowly, step by step toward her as she matched my pace walking backward the other way. When her back hit the wall, I enveloped her, reveling in the little gasp she elicited when my hand found her throat. “Are such a little brat.”
I waited for her to slap me.
But she just swallowed, the movement vibrating under my palm, her eyes locked on mine.
“You’re so used to getting everything you want.” I tilted my head. “Well, almost everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I dragged the tip of my nose along the bridge of hers, smiling. “You want me.”
Her next breath shuddered out of her, her eyelids fluttering.
“You are seriously deranged.”
The words were a breathless lie, the warmth from them sweet like vanilla on my nose. I squeezed her throat a little tighter, her eyes dilating as my free hand slid over her hip. I trailed it up, the back of my knuckles slowly skating over her waist, her ribs, along the swell of her breast. I brushed against where her nipple was pulled tight before flattening my hand and pressing it against her chest.
“Your heart is about to pound out of your chest,” I said, voice low and taunting. I swore I felt her heart stutter under my palm. “Why do you fight it?”
She swallowed, her eyes flicking to my lips.
Then, she pushed me back with whatever semblance of control she was still holding fast to, peeling my hands off her and storming down the hall.
“There’s nothing to fight,” she said over her shoulder.
I stood there in the hallway until she ripped my front door open.
“I’m not your girl, Vince Tanev.” She turned to pin me with her gaze, more determination than ever before etched into her features. “Allow me to prove that to you.”
