Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

LUKE

It takes every ounce of restraint I have in my body not to cancel the meeting with the team. If it wasn't the very first one, I think I probably would.

Surely, they'd have to understand. Not that I can really explain it myself. All I know is I have this overwhelming feeling to take Timothy home and bundle him in my arms to check him over. I need to make sure that he's okay and that the interaction from this morning didn't leave permanent damage to his psyche.

When I heard the banging around, I thought maybe someone accidentally knocked over something or one of the guys was a little angry after arriving here early. Maybe they slammed the door a little too hard.

Hockey players are brutes. They're known to be aggressive on, and sometimes off, the ice. Tempers run high. If you've ever seen a hockey game, you know that getting thrown into the boards is no simple interaction. And the number of times that two players come head-to-head in a crash is insane.

I can remember when I first went pro, people would tell me how intense the sport was, claiming it wasn't as good as football or some of these other sports that were high contact. But when I explained that we were skating on the ice, which is inherently slippery, and that we were going head-to-head with other people who were equally matched in size and strength with us, they tended to get a different perspective.

And while Ben, the assistant coach, wasn't built like one of the hockey players, he had enough aggression in him to mimic one. Turning that corner and seeing him holding Timothy broke me.

I flew at him. Had I not been so worried about Timothy, I would have pummeled him. A quick glance at the young man who's captivated my attention seemed to be fine, though I know better than most people you could hide an injury.

Ben needed to know his place quickly so I could get to Timothy. I told him without mincing my words that if he ever steps foot in this arena again, I will make sure he'll never walk on said feet. That would be after I broke his hands for laying them on my boy.

He could tell, despite his state of intoxication, that I was serious. I wasn't the most violent guy on the ice; however, I stood up for myself and my teammates. I've been in enough fistfights through the years to prove it.

When security dragged him away, all I could think of was good riddance. He'd been a shit assistant since I'd arrived. I'd seen Timothy doing more for the team as a whole than him.

Speaking of Timothy, he's sitting in the front row while I greet several of the players. My eyes keep moving over to him without my permission. I just need to know that he's okay.

He appears to be lost in his work, his small fingers moving across his laptop at rapid speed. The man is exceedingly efficient. I can see why Jake Belport hogs him.

“It's nice to meet you, Coach.” I recognize Chavez as the goalie, first string. He's a bit of a character, much like Jake is. We've faced off more than a few times on the ice, and he is a damn good player.

“Nice to see you too, Chavez. Glad that I'm not facing off with you,” I tease.

Chavez’s shoulders bounce as he laughs. “Yeah, you gave me a run for my money in the past. It'll be interesting to see how you are as a coach, though. I gotta admit, it's a little weird for you to try to be like a superior to me now. Is that how it works?”

I smirk. “I’ve always been superior to you.”

The guys standing around us all laugh. “You walked right into that one, Chavez.”

He starts to laugh as one of the guys claps him on the shoulder. When they walk off, the infamous Brutal Bishop approaches. He’s as well known in the sport of hockey as I am. His coming to Bellport the previous season created enough of an outcry that the media took notice.

Not to mention that he fell in love with a young man, and they've been spotted together numerous times over the last year. People were obsessed with knowing the big brute really did have a heart.

Bishop dips his head my way. “Coach,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.

“Bishop,” I reply. “I hope you're ready for this season. I fully intend to use your skills to my advantage.”

He doesn't grin, but his eyes light up like he's happy someone is here who understands the sport at the level he's at. From my understanding, the former coach played, but never made it to the professional league. He retired after getting a Stanley Cup win under his belt because that's really the epitome of it. Some guys hit the top and decide to stop. Others decide to collect rings like Tom Brady.

A tiny figure comes rushing into the room. As if he can sense the person, Bishop whips his head around. I don't know how he does that because the person doesn't make any noise whatsoever as he enters. The second he sees him, his face transforms. He lights up as the young man gets closer.

Bishop drops his bag and opens his arms. I watch as the pair collide, hugging each other tight, desperately so. When he pulls back, I recognize his face from some of the tabloids. This must be Atlas, his partner. The smooth brown skin and adorable curly hair on top of his head make him look something like an angel. A bronze statue come to life.

I'm close enough that I can hear him when he says, "I missed you, Daddy. I needed one more hug."

My body goes tight at the moniker. I know I'm not hearing things. There's no doubt in my mind, especially with the way Bishop's shoulders soften as he leans down to nuzzle the boy.

He replies something, though it only comes out as murmured words. I'm too lost in my head to make sense of it, nor do I want to.

My eyes track over to Timothy. I long to do just the same to him. I want to be his Daddy, but it's not possible yet.

The thing with the assistant coach earlier only adds to the list of reasons why we can't.

We are years apart in age and there's obviously a power imbalance. I don't know whose favor it leans in though. That plus a million other issues add up to perfectly good reasons why I should stay away from him.

But you won’t , my inner voice whispers.

I know I won't. It's only a matter of time, despite everything in me saying ‘no’ and ‘you shouldn’t’. Words meant to stop me only manage to fuel my desire. If given the chance, if he shows any ounce of affection for me, then Timothy will be mine.

I believe in consent, and I would never do anything he doesn't want. But dammit if I let him get away when he's right under my nose.

The perfect boy to complement me. The perfect boy I could be a Daddy for.

The rest of the team shuffles in, all of them ignoring the couple canoodling off to the side. I greet them individually, then wave them all to their seats. After the last one joins us, Timothy closes his laptop and gives me his full attention. I don't know why that bolsters my confidence, but it does.

“Good morning,” I tell the group. “I’m excited to be here today. I know pretty much all of you and have played against you at some point. I'm Luke Swift. You can call me Luke. Coach. Coach Swift. There's pretty much nothing I won't answer to. I'm here because I believe in this team, and I want to see you do great things. I also love hockey. As most of you are probably aware, I lost my mother not too long ago. And while she was the driving force behind my professional playtime, I also can't bear to be on the ice without her around.”

I allow my vulnerability to spread out across the room. I see a lot of nodding heads and a couple of watery eyes. Men who probably know the position I'm in, who’ve lost a family member or someone they’re really close to.

Grief can overwhelm you. It can be something that destroys everything you've built if you let it. It can also be something that supports you, teaching you lessons and allowing you a chance to remember someone you love vividly and with happy memories.

I've tried to choose the latter.

Honing back in on the conversation, I continue my speech. “While I can say that I was pretty—no offense, Bishop—brutal on the ice during my playing days, I don't intend to be that way as a coach. I see no point in yelling at all of you or telling you that you're garbage or whatever else someone might say to try and encourage you to do better. In my experience, positive reinforcement actually works a lot better long-term.

“You are all extremely talented. You would not have been drafted to the NHL if you weren't. And you've all busted your asses. You've won a Stanley Cup. You are the reigning champions to be quite frank. So me telling you that you're not good enough makes no sense. If anything, we're going to cultivate what you've already built here and make it even more. I'm going to make sure each and every one of you knows your best skill and which teammates you should be working with.

“There might be some changes to each lineup but know that it's done so that you can play at your best. Over the next few weeks, there will be other adjustments off the ice as well. Big changes will be coming through the organization. However, if there's anything at all that you need to discuss or have questions about, come see me. I'm more than happy to help you or talk you through it. My job is to be your coach. Yes, it's also to be there for you or this team for the betterment of every single person.

“Today, I simply want us to hang out, maybe watch a little footage of last year's Stanley Cup game, because to be honest, it's pretty awesome. And at the end of it, we'll head out, maybe go do a little exercise. We'll tie things up on the ice to play around. Nothing too crazy. This first week is really about us getting to know one another. It's the weeks that follow when we'll put in the hard work. Everybody understand?”

As a collective, they all yell, “Yes, Coach!"

The sound moves through me. It's like a shock to the system. I like it, and I hate it at the same time.

Getting used to it will take time. Still, I have no doubt I’m where I’m meant to be.

Above all else, I have to stand by my word. There's no letting them down.

As my eyes have done all day, they travel over to Timothy. He's watching closely, a gentle smile on his face at his head tilts slightly to the side.

I interpret it to mean he's proud of me. Or maybe he's slightly amused by my deer in the headlights look. I don't really care what it is as long as I can keep that expression on his face.

Focusing back on the guys, I ask a question intended to cause a riot. “Now, who here has the best playlist? We need some mood music.”

As expected, the guys break into an argument, pulling out their phones and discussing which genre of music is better. I laugh and shake my head knowing this season is the start of something new. And I don't just mean with a hockey team.