Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Niko

"Still not speaking to me, Druggy?"

I turn to see Bobby Rhodes, our second-line center, standing on the lawn a few feet from me, flanked by Pete Fornier and Alexi Barinov. All three of the younger players look to be on their third or fourth beers.

When I don't immediately respond, Roadie pleads, "Oh, come on. It was just a joke."

A tired joke, indeed. It is not the first time a teammate has played this particular prank on me at practice.

"Cutting my glove laces is the only way you can get a puck past me, is it?" I finally respond, causing Forns and Barzee to double over laughing at Roadie's expense. He deserves it for making me re-lace my gloves and miss valuable practice time. "If you are afraid of wolves, don't go to the woods, Roadie."

"Hey, asshats!" Monkowski shouts in their direction from the other side of Coach's expansive backyard. "Coach wants everyone to gather ‘round." He gestures to the built-in outdoor seating area behind the large house where Coach Bowman stands with his back to us.

Coach does not often invite the team to his home, but I have been here a handful of times, on my own or with LaFontaine. When the invitation for players and significant others arrived in our mailboxes, it was a given that we would all drop everything to attend this barbecue.

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—I do not have Ayana today. Although, I did get her for an unusual overnight visit earlier this week. I have to conclude Peyton had a date or some other obligation that night.

I ordered Ayana's favorite Mexican takeout, and we worked on the same one-thousand-piece puzzle we have been toiling over for the past six months. I leave it on my coffee table at all times, even when weeks pass between our visits.

The breeder called yesterday to inform me Strakh-slash-Paul will be weaned and ready to come home with us in two weeks, so I am focusing my efforts on keeping Peyton from cancelling Ayana's visit that week. Having learned my lesson, however, I have not told Ayana about his arrival date yet. I will not have her tears on my conscience.

We make our way closer to the house where Kaitlyn Philips waves at me from her spot on the lawn next to Benny. I am glad those two finally worked things out between them, especially after what transpired with Ed Presley, the now-ruined hockey agent who had been causing them both a great deal of trouble.

Coach raises his hand to draw our attention. "Thank you all for coming." But he surprises me by reaching his other arm out and pulling a short, black-haired woman into his side. It takes a moment for me to recognize her, and when I do, my shock is so great I almost miss Coach's next words. "For those of you who've never met her, this is my daughter, Chloe. She's finally decided to make Tampa her home after all my years of nagging." He smiles down at his daughter with pride.

I swallow hard and try focusing only on my coach, but it is impossible not to stare at Chloe. She looks much the same as the last time I saw her in the stands at the All-Star game, except today she is wearing a sundress fastened behind her neck in a way that shows off her breasts to their best advantage. How did I not see this coming?

Ever since Toronto, she has crept into my thoughts, catching me off guard each time. The memory of her soft lips under mine and her even softer hip against my fingers has woken me up from a dead sleep more than once. But I have refused any temptation to reach out to her through our mutual friends or colleagues. Which was clearly the wise choice now that I find out she is the daughter of Coach Bowman! I rack my brain trying to recall a photo of her on his desk in his office or on his mantel inside, but I draw a blank, only conjuring a vague image of a lighter-haired, rather plain-looking woman from Wisconsin. A woman I cannot imagine ever mistaking for the Chloe standing before me now.

Just the thought of crossing that line with Coach's daughter has my skin itching. I suppose I have my sense of discipline to thank for saving me from such a disrespectful course of action—even if it surely would have been an explosive encounter to remember.

I force my attention back to Coach's words as he begins to explain his reason for inviting us all here this afternoon.

"And I'm glad she's here with me today while I make this announcement. I wanted you all to hear it from me first because I hold each of you in high esteem and value my relationships with you and the Storm Chasers franchise." He takes a deep breath before continuing, "This will be my last year serving as head coach." A few gasps sound in the crowd, but Coach only raises his voice to be heard over them. "It's been a hell of a ride, but it's time for this old man to hand over the baton and go back to being a regular old hockey fan."

Chloe turns into her father to give him a hug as she smiles up at him. He returns her expression, and for a moment, the scene makes me think of Ayana and me.

My teammates descend on Coach, offering handshakes and hugs, but I stay where I am and watch. I am not as surprised as I imagine some might be at Coach Bowman's news. I, too, would crave a change after all the time he has spent at the helm of the Storm Chasers. A wise man knows when it is time to say goodbye.

I drop my eyes to my shoes and shove my hands in the pockets of my shorts as I attempt to guess who will replace Coach. He leaves big shoes to be filled. But my thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Hello, Nikolai."

When my eyes flash to Chloe's face, the first thing I notice is that she is wearing the same red lipstick as the night we kissed. My cock twitches, and I silently curse myself.

"Chloe," I acknowledge as I glance around the yard to see if anyone is paying attention.

Any wishes I might have had that she intended only to greet me as she passed by are dashed when she steps closer and continues, "I take it you're surprised. Sorry about that."

Instead of directly responding, I mentally dig into my memory banks. "We have met before. Before Toronto, I mean." Why did I have to bring up Toronto? "You do not look the same." The words come out almost as an accusation.

Her lips spread in a smile at my words. "No. I don't. I'm surprised you remember. That was a long time ago, and I don't think we were ever even properly introduced."

She is right, from what I recall. She attended a Stanley Cup championship game years ago and was in the locker room with her father during our celebration. But she was nothing like the stunning siren in front of me now.

"It is for the best," I declare, straightening my spine as I look down at her.

"Which part?" She is still grinning, which I find frustrating. Does she not understand how precarious this situation is that we have put ourselves in?

"All of it. We cannot be seen together."

This makes her laugh for some reason, a sound that sets my blood simmering—both from frustration and lingering lust. Damn the woman.

"You need to lighten up, Drugov."

I have no response to this, so I tighten my jaw and remain silent.

The woman then has the nerve to wink at me before waggling her fingers and turning to show the exposed skin of her back. "Don't worry. My lips are sealed. See you around, Nikolai." She struts toward Benny and Kaitlyn, leaving me with a racing heart rate and a cock at half-staff.

Maybe Roadie and the boys had the right idea after all. I take myself directly to the large cooler filled with beer and crack one open before tipping it back to let half its contents spill down my throat.

See you around? The words echo in my head like an omen.