Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

HANSLEY

T he next two weeks go by in a blur of activity. My team experienced their first loss of the season, which was rather remarkable since we’re now eight games in. They were devastated, and I realized how much their winning streak truly made them feel invincible.

It’s been interesting trying to get them out of their heads and convince them that one loss doesn’t mean they’ve lost their mojo. It’s one loss. Losses happen. They’ve all lost games before.

Yesterday’s practice was basically a wash. They couldn’t get out of their own way. I swear, they were three-year-olds just learning how to skate. Denis was super frustrated, but I decided we just needed to switch tactics tonight.

Instead of normal practice, we played games. Games that also just happen to focus on agility and puck control, but it wasn’t long before they were laughing and feeling better. There was a mess of bodies on the ice as all twenty-three players moved around at once.

“This is your plan for the night, huh?” Denis asks as he sits on the bench next to me.

I nod as a peel of laughter fills the ice. “They’re still getting some basics in—teamwork, coordination, obstacles. Most of all, they’re being pulled out of their funk. Tomorrow will be better, and we’ll get back to business.”

He hums. I’m not sure he agrees, but he doesn’t disagree either. Denis sits in silence as he watches. Once or twice, he leans forward and calls encouragement, after which I give him a sly look. He sniffs and pretends that he doesn’t know why I’m smirking.

I’m not sure if this was the magic fix for them, but by the end of practice, they’re smiling. All twenty-three players have grins on their faces. They’re sweaty and tired and breathing hard as they playfully shove at each other while they gather round.

“Nice practice,” I tell them. When I get several snorts, I add, “Seth had some fucking mean saves tonight. Seriously epic. Braxton made some equally impressive, if not illegal, saves. A few adjustments and you could use those same moves in a game. The passes and coordination between my offensive line tonight were phenomenal. I wish I had them on video because you all should have seen the coordination. Every single one of you was at your top game tonight and you know why?”

I received several shaking heads.

“Because you remembered what it was like to play for fun. You allowed yourself freedom to get creative and went for a move, whether it was a good decision or not. You took risks. Some failed, but some were remarkable. This is the energy I want to see tomorrow. This is the creativity and the determination I want on my ice. One game isn’t going to ruin us, is it?”

I’m impressed with the loud chorus of agreement I receive.

“Go home. Get some sleep. Let’s see what we can do tomorrow.”

Denis remains beside me as we watch them head for the chute. “You’re very different from past coaches,” he tells me.

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment,” I say.

He laughs. “It is. We’ve had the best season in our history so far and it’s just begun. I’ve been coaching for a very long time and I’ve never seen a team quite like this. It’s refreshing. Encouraging.”

“Coaches who played the sport they coach often forget what it means to be the player,” I tell him as I grab my stick and water bottle. “They have it in their heads that they need to be the coaches that they’ve had instead of the kind of coach they’ve always wanted and sometimes needed. Then there are the coaches who have never played the sport they’re coaching and have no idea what it is like to be the player outside of what you imagine. Imagine the pressure to perform. To make goals or prevent them. To be a teammate, but also remember that your individual self is most important because you can be replaced. Coaches have a lot of pressure too, but at the end of the day, it’s the players playing the game.”

“Wise fucker,” he mutters.

I grin as he disappears into his office. Opening my door, I find Lemon sitting in my chair behind my desk. This time fully clothed, which I’m only slightly bummed about. He smiles at me, swinging from side to side in my chair like he’s a bored teenager.

“Hey,” I greet as I shut the door behind me. He’s once again in one of my hoodies. There’s always half a dozen in my office. Sometimes I find one missing. It’ll reappear and another will vanish instead.

Have to say, I kind of love it. Actually, there’s no kind of about it. He swims in my hoodies, but I love every second of seeing him in them. Especially the ones that have my name on them. I’ve started keeping those here most of the time, just so he has my name on him.

“Hi,” he says. “Good practice?”

I nod. “Much better than yesterday.”

“They’re hard on themselves.”

“They’ve won the first seven games, so I think that it really felt like a punch in the gut when they suddenly lost one.”

“It was a close game,” Lemon says. “One point. And I’m pretty confident that the ref is to blame for your loss. He had some really shitty calls.”

I grin as I unlace my skates, staring at him.

His cheeks pink and he adds, “So I hear.”

My grin doesn’t fade as I toss my skates aside and slip back into my sneakers. When I get to my feet, I round the desk and pull him up, straight into my arms, and kiss his breath away. He groans in my mouth, his fists clenching in my shirt.

“I fucking love that you’re watching my games, Lemon,” I murmur against his lips.

He shutters. “I’m n-not,” he weakly protests.

I cut off any further argument with more kissing. Deep, sloppy, wet kisses as I steal his breath for my own. He’s putty in my hold when I finally let his mouth go. “Ready to go?” I ask.

“I’m gonna need a minute. Or you can carry me.”

The way he gets so weak in the knees for me! He’s just… incredible. I stare down into his face as he sways a bit in my arms. He’s got bright blue eyeshadow on today. Black eyeliner. That stuff that makes your eyelashes long and dark. His lips were shiny, but now they’re just wet and a little swollen since I kissed off all his cherry gloss.

I run my fingers through his curls, which makes his eyelids flutter, and he pulls away slightly, pushing my hand away. “You’re going to make them crazy,” he huffs.

“They’re already going to get wild when you put a helmet on,” I say, bringing his hand down and securing it behind his back.

He struggles, laughing, as I tangle my fingers in his hair again. With a loose grip, I pull his head back so I can kiss him once more.

Lemon doesn’t let me devour him this time. He breaks our kiss and glares at me. “If you want to go, no getting me hot!”

Reluctantly, I step back from him. We’re not going on a date, exactly, but one or two nights a week, I’ve been bringing him home and picking him up the next morning. Just so we’re spending some time together. Sometimes we stop for breakfast on the way. Tonight, I’m going to take him for ice cream.

The situation with Jessica hasn’t changed. I talk to her most days and while I try not to let the conversation lead into her telling me she doesn’t want a divorce, I sometimes back myself into that corner without meaning to.

I always feel sick when I get off the phone with her. This shouldn’t be happening. I don’t regret the years we spent together at all, but somehow, I feel like maybe they just weren’t meant to happen. Maybe we should have gone separate ways sooner.

It’s really hard going through this divorce, especially since I’m keeping it as quiet as I can. Not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed, but she doesn’t need that kind of pressure on her. And luck would have it that we’d both suddenly have paparazzi around, invading our lives while we’re going through this shitty moment.

Which means seeing Lemon off campus would be tricky and probably not happen for some time.

I’ve already talked to Dean Devaroe and further up the ladder to let them know about my divorce and what it’s likely going to mean. RDU is an open campus. Visitors are always free to come and go as they please. But there will be paparazzi present once this gets to the press, which is going to be fucking fun.

I think I have Jessica convinced to stay with her parents once it goes public. Just so she’s not facing it alone. And of course, that led to her saying I should just come home and we can handle it together.

I’m not sure I truly have her understanding that would be the opposite of helpful because we’re not getting back together, and the divorce is going through. Now, because she refuses any of our shared assets, we’re delayed as we wait for them to sell. Not that we actually have a plan for once they do, since she doesn’t want that money either.

At this point, I anticipate it’s going to end up in a trust or something.

Not that it matters right now. Tonight is about me and Lemon. I open the door and Lemon steps into the hall. There are still voices coming from the locker room and I wave at Denis as we pass his open office door.

Lemon’s been quiet and definitely shy when we’re seen together on campus. I might be concerned about it except I can see in his eyes that he’s nervous. He doesn’t want to say or do the wrong thing, so he backs down and lets me lead the interactions.

But just like I described Alka and Roux to him, that’s what we’ve become. We’re a known secret. My friends know. People see us together on campus and while I’m careful not to show too much PDA, I do hold his hand sometimes. There are moments when I can’t not touch him and end up running my fingers through his hair or dropping a kiss to his lush lips.

The way he looks at me when I do any of these things in public makes me ridiculously warm to this man and sad. It’s clear that being treated well, like he’s wanted and cared for, is very new to him. He’s not lacking confidence as a person, but he’s completely insecure in any kind of relationship.

Once in the parking lot, I secure our bags into the saddlebags and strap the helmet on his head. I got him a helmet all his own with a visor, so he’s not squinting so much when the sun’s not out for him to wear his sunglasses. I left it on his desk last week with a note asking if he’d like to go for a ride with me later.

As soon as he’s on the back, his arms circle my waist, and he cuddles into me with a heavy sigh. I always drive the long way to his house. All back roads with low speed limits. We stop for ice cream, and I swing him around so he’s straddling my lap on my bike as we lick our treats.

We don’t say much as we eat them, but our eyes rarely leave each other. We steal creamy, cold kisses every few bites as we sit in the parking lot with others sharing quiet moments between them.

Even these simple moments feel big and I’m already wondering when we can do it again.