17. Xander

CHAPTER 17

XANDER

I ’ve never lived with a woman I wasn’t related to.

Having Rachel and Jett around all the time is surprisingly easy. The two of them slip into my life like they’ve always been there, like we were meant to be a family.

I’ve never been more content.

“You boys ready for the big game?” Rachel asks as we walk into the arena.

Tonight’s our first hockey game, my coaching debut. Not gonna lie, I’m a little bit nervous. I want to win as a coach as much as I do when I’m a player.

“I am!” Jett cries, bouncing up and down between us, his energy palpable. His excitement’s contagious, firing up my nerves.

“Me too, bud.” I ruffle his hair. “You’re gonna do great. Remember, be as wide as you can and stay low.”

“Got it, Coach.” Jett beams up at me and my heart swells with pride.

He’s a great kid and I love spending time with him. And his mom.

“Okay, boys. I’m going to sit with Harper. Good luck out there!” Rachel squeezes Jett in a hug, then turns to me, locking her hazel eyes on mine. “Good luck, Coach. You’re going to do great.”

She stands on tiptoe and presses her lips to mine in a soft kiss and all my nerves fly away.

I’ve got this.

We’ve got this.

“Thanks, babe. Love you.”

The words fly out of my mouth and she freezes for a split second, a blush coloring her cheeks.

“I love you, too, Xander.”

She kisses me one more time for good luck, then floats into the stands to join Harper. I watch her retreating backside, marveling at my new reality.

“Coach! Can you help me with my skates?” Jett tugs at my arm and I tear my gaze from his mom.

“Sure, bud. Let’s do it.” Together, we move to the bench and join the rest of the team. All the kids are talking a mile a minute about hockey as Jackson and I lace up skate after skate.

“Okay, let’s hit the ice for a quick warm-up.” Jackson ushers the team onto the ice and together we lead them through our standard drills.

After ten minutes, the referee calls time and both teams exit the ice. Jackson and I corral the kids onto our bench and then he gives the pre-game pep talk.

“Alright, boys. Tonight’s game is our chance to get out there and show everyone what we can do. Communicate and do your best out there. But most importantly, have fun. Stars on three. One, two, three!”

“Stars!” The kids shout and high-five each other, amped up for the game. Jackson and I get the starting lineup onto the ice and then return to the bench.

Jett’s our goalie, and I flash him a thumbs up. He grins around his mouthguard and a mix of pride, excitement, and anxiety rushes through me.

I’m not used to being on this side of the bench, unless I’m in the penalty box. It definitely feels different.

The ref blows his whistle and both kids go for the puck, our guy winning the face-off.

“Yes!” Jackson pumps his fist in the air. “Great job!” he yells. The kids on the bench clap and cheer and now we’re in it.

Our center slaps the puck to his right wing, who passes to the left wing. They make it down the ice, close to the other team’s goal. But then the center from the Flyers skates in and steals the puck, charging down the ice.

“Cover him!” I shout to the wings as all the kids skate toward Jett. “Look alive, defense!”

Jett perks up, staying wide and low like I taught him. I steal a glance up at Rachel, but she’s singularly focused on her child. She looks as nervous as I feel, her hands clasped together.

“You’ve got this, Jett! Help him out, guys!” I scream to the defense. Both players move into position, flanking Jett as the two centers vie for the puck.

The Flyers take a shot and Jett hurls himself in front of the net, getting as wide as his little body can stretch.

“Yes! Great job, Jett! Atta, boy!” I cry, pumping my fist into the air.

The team sitting on the bench high-fives and Rachel’s cheering like crazy, beaming down at the ice. Jackson cycles the defense out, and the game moves on. The puck flies up and down the ice a few times, the clock ticking down, the score still zero-to-zero.

We get the puck back with a minute left, but the right defenseman on the Flyers—a tall, gangly kid—whips the disc away and takes off toward the net. With a strong crack, the puck flies down the ice and the left wingman has possession.

“Get moving, guys!” Jackson yells to the defense, but they can’t stop the tall kid. He takes aim and the puck flies into the net.

“One-zero!” the ref yells as the halftime buzzer vibrates.

Jett’s face crumples and he hangs his head as he skates in for halftime.

Jackson huddles everyone onto the bench, crouching low and leaning in.

“Don’t be down, boys. Plenty of time left in the game. Jett, great job defending the goal.”

Jett bites his lip, staring down his skates.

“We need more help from the offense in this next half,” Jackson continues. “I’m subbing in Tommy on goal, and Braxton and Aidan are wingmen. Stars on three!”

The boys chant and then the buzzer goes off and halftime’s over. Jett slides down to the end of the bench, his hands on his knees.

I saunter over, sinking down next to him.

“Hey, it’s okay, bud.” I pat his small thigh. “Everyone gets scored on. It’s all part of the game.”

He shakes his head, oversized gear rattling. “You don’t.”

I chuckle. “Uh, yeah. I definitely do. Getting beat in the net every once in a while is part of hockey. You’re doing great out there.”

“But I let the other team score. If we lose, it’s all my fault.” Tears well up in his big blue eyes and my chest squeezes tight.

I wrap my arm around his narrow shoulders. “No, bud, it’s not. Hockey’s a team sport, remember? And we haven’t lost the game yet, either. Chin up.” I tap him beneath the chin, smiling at him.

“Okay, Coach.” He bobs his head, blowing out a breath.

“You think you’re ready to get back out there?”

Lips pressed together, he nods. “Yes.”

I slap him on the back. “Great. You’ve got this.”

We stand and I signal to Jackson for a time-out. The clock stops and both teams switch out players. Jett skates over to the goal and the game resumes. My gut clenches as he fidgets in the net, spinning his stick around. He’s still nervous, and I wonder if I should have waited longer to put him back in.

But the Flyers have the puck again, and they’re driving straight down the center. No time to worry about the what-ifs—I only hope Jett remembers all the tips we’ve practiced.

“Help him out, boys!” I cup my hands and shout to the defensemen. They circle around Jett, forming a protective ring, and I hold my breath as the Flyer wings move in closer. The left wing takes a shot and Jett hits it out of the net with his hand.

“Yes! Great job!”

Our defenseman slaps at the puck, sending it flying down the ice. The wingmen grab the rubber disc, moving it between their sticks, and Jackson’s shouting directions at them.

“Owen, go right!”

Owen follows the instruction and takes a shot, the puck flying into the goal.

“Alright!” Jackson high-fives me and I shoot Jett a thumbs-up.

The game’s tied up with only three minutes left. The Flyers have the puck and our wingmen circle around, trying to steal the disc away. But the kids are too fast, skating toward Jett at a rapid pace.

“Defense—look alive!” I yell. Jett’s sprawled across the goal so wide he seems off-balance.

Luckily, the other team doesn’t get a chance to take the shot. The right defenseman slides in and steals the puck, shunting it across the ice. I take a deep breath of relief, glancing up at Rachel. She’s bouncing up and down, the red glow of the clock behind her.

One minute left and then we go into overtime.

The defenseman passes to the left wingman and he boldly takes the shot, the puck sliding into the corner of the net as the buzzer goes off.

Our entire bench jumps up, screaming and cheering. Jackson’s grinning ear to ear, leaning in and giving me a hug.

“Great work, Kovac. The defense did well.”

“Thanks, Jackson. It was a team effort.” I tip my chin at him before lifting my gaze to the stands. Rachel’s beaming at Jett and me, and my chest swells with pride. She blows me a kiss and my face heats in spite of the frigid temp in the arena.

“Looks like you have a fan, Kovac.” Jackson smirks and I slug him in the arm.

“Maybe. But so do you.” I nod at Harper, who’s making a finger heart sign at him.

“That I do. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Guys—can we get a photo?” A man with a camera taps Jackson on the shoulder, hands him his card. “I’m with the Gazette.”

I vaguely wonder if this is the same jerkoff who chased me and Rachel at the Boathouse, but decide to smile and play nice.

Jackson and I corral the boys onto the ice and the photographer snaps a bunch of pics, all the kids laughing and smiling. Rachel, Harper, and the other parents lean on the wall, watching and chatting.

Finally, we’re finished with the photo session and we all skate back to the bench.

“Before we go home, boys, I want to take a second and recap the game. You all did wicked good out there today. You skated your hearts out and should be proud of your efforts. Most of all, you demonstrated great teamwork. That’s going to take us far this season. Go home and get some rest and we’ll see you at practice next week! Stars on three!”

All the kids count and cheer before scattering like tiny pinballs in every direction. Skates and gear fly, bags are grabbed, and then we’re walking to the parking lot. Jett’s sandwiched between me and Rachel, swinging from our hands, his gappy smile wide.

“Great game, buddy. I’m proud of you.” I squeeze his small hand and he glances up at me.

“Thanks, Coach. You’re a good coach, you know that?”

A pang throbs in my chest, very near my heart. “Thanks, Jett. That means a lot.”

Rachel peers over Jett’s head at me, a soft smile on her full lips. Even though I’m benched, I’ve never been happier. Deep-down, I know this is my future.