14. Sabrina

Chapter 14

Sabrina

I probably shouldn't have been surprised that settling things with Lila made playing alongside her a million times easier. It was never good for a team when two players were at odds; it was something people could work around to a certain extent, but having teammates who disliked each other was far from ideal.

I was a little worried I'd been too quick to forgive her, but honestly, I was just so damn relieved that we'd put this thing to bed, I embraced our new dynamic. She seemed to be genuinely contrite, and it wasn't her fault she'd heard all the same poison about me that everyone else did. Could I really fault anyone for believing it?

Or maybe I just couldn't cope with conflict on my team because I got so damn much of it at home. Did I let things with her go too fast? Yeah, I might've. But I couldn't justify dragging it out because that was miserable for me .

For the rest of our teammates, too. Now that Lila and I could be in the same room and on the same ice without wanting to gnash our teeth, I felt even guiltier for the tension we'd brought into the locker room. Though none of our teammates had said anything about it—at least not to me—they weren't stupid, and it was clear from the new general air of relaxation that they'd picked up on the bad vibes. Definitely not good for anyone—least of all the goddamned team captain—to be causing that much stress for her teammates.

Way to go, Lila and Sabrina!

But we were good now.

Practices were easier. Games were easier. Even traveling for away games or sharing a meal with teammates was easier now that no one had to make sure Lila and I didn't end up near each other. Now that we sometimes sat together, I realized how much our teammates had been subtly keeping us apart. The lack of tension now made everyone's previous discomfort painfully obvious.

Hopefully we could make it up to them going forward.

There was one small fly in the ointment about this newfound understanding, though. While it improved things for us and our team, it also made those things more difficult in a way I didn't expect, but probably should have.

When we hadn't liked each other, I'd just catch a glimpse of her and feel irritated. With that out of the way, every glance in her direction sparked an entirely different kind of distraction. One that did not bode well for things like, you know, playing hockey.

Lila was lean in that way hockey players were—toned and tight from head to toe. Her hips and thighs were all power, and her shoulders made my mouth water, especially when she was wearing a T-back tank top like she almost always did while lifting weights. Lila was the complete package—that gorgeous build along with a wicked smile and disarming blue eyes.

God. Maybe we should've gone back to disliking each other. At least then I could stay on my skates and handle my stick without faceplanting on the ice.

Get a grip, Sabrina. Jesus.

Honestly, it was still a little weird to be driven to distraction by a woman like this at all. Or, well, to admit that I was. Looking back, I'd always had crushes on women, and there were multiple instances in my life where I'd barely been able to think while in the orbit of a particularly stunning woman. In hindsight, my sexuality could not have been more obvious.

I'd had a few flings and hookups with women over the years. Each time, I'd snapped right back to dating guys because, damn it, I was not a lesbian. I'd spent so long being defensive about that, I shoved myself back into the closet because… hell, I didn't even know why. It had made sense in the moment. Now it just felt like an exhausting waste of too many years.

It had taken three years of marriage to Ty to drive home the point that, yeah… I was a lesbian. Not even bisexual. After my divorce, I'd had a brief thing with a woman—one that had unfortunately made it into the media—and suddenly I was out before I actually wanted to be. That had tarnished the whole process of accepting myself; I'd finally figured out who the hell I was, only to have the press turn it into a circus because Kendra and I got careless and let a camera catch us.

But at least now I knew who I was… and why I was having a hell of a time concentrating around Lila Hamilton.

I just wish I knew what to do about that, because it was—

"Hey. Mac." Sims tapped my shinpad with her skate. "You coming?"

I shook myself and looked around. Oh, fuck me. While I'd been lost in thought—while I should've been getting into the right headspace for the game—my teammates had geared up and were starting to head out for warmups.

Face burning, I pushed myself up and grabbed my helmet. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

She gave me an odd look but let it go and followed our teammates out. Good thing the captain was always the last onto the ice, so I still had time to put on my gloves and helmet before catching up. With any luck, Sims was the only one who'd noticed me spacing out.

Hopefully no cameras had.

And hopefully I hadn't been stupidly staring at Lila the whole time. That would be hard to dismiss as nothing.

By some miracle, I pulled my head together enough that I didn't fall on my face as soon as I hit the ice. I found my place in the team's warmup routine, and I focused on skating, stretching, and (finally) getting my stupid head in the game. We were up against Boston tonight, and there was a reason they were situated very firmly in second place in their division. The only way to beat them was to stay on our game for the full sixty minutes plus any overtime that came along. Every team in the League had quickly learned that Boston would take full advantage if a team took their foot off the gas even briefly.

We had to bring our A-game tonight, and halfway through warmups, I was in the zone I needed to be in. Physically, I was ready. There was a little twinge in my hip, but it was just one of those old injuries that came back to haunt me sometimes. Our athletic trainers had checked me out earlier today and were confident there was nothing to worry about.

"Let us know if it gets worse," Connie had told me. "If anything moves in a way it shouldn't, or it doesn't feel right, say so. Otherwise, you're good to go."

So… normal. Nobody got to this level of hockey without a few lingering problems, and we all learned quickly how to tell the difference between pain that meant something was wrong and pain that just meant something was cranky.

I skated a few extra circles toward the end of warmups, followed by a couple of relaxed backward circles, just to work the twinge out a little. It helped, even if it didn't completely resolve the problem.

My body was as ready as it was going to be tonight. I could work with that.

My head was in a good spot now, too. All through my warmup, I'd mentally replayed the film we'd reviewed as a team yesterday and this morning. I worked through strategies to keep Boston from breaking away, and noted again and again that their second defensive pair frequently fell apart during odd man rushes. If we could take advantage of that, we'd be good. Exploit their weaknesses. Don't let them get breakaways. Oh, and don't try to five-hole this goalie—our offensive coach had been emphatic during film review that this netminder was okay at stopping top shelf shots, but nothing down low would get past her. Biggest weak point? Up high, blocker side. So just aim for—

Someone skated past me, same as all my teammates did a million times during warmups, but the blonde hair beneath her helmet told me a second before I saw her number that it was Lila.

She crossed over, effortlessly carrying a puck on her stick as she wound between other players before passing it to Sims.

Something about the way she moved…

I looked down at the puck I'd been carrying on my own stick, and hell if I could remember what I'd been planning to do with it. And what was I thinking about the other team's goalie? Something, something, top shelf?

I shook myself and fired my puck at the goal, then continued skating if only to keep anyone from noticing my brain had short-circuited.

Get a grip, Sabrina. Holy shit.

At least the buzzer sounding the end of warmups snapped my mind back into gear. I'd been playing hockey for so long, that it was almost an automatic shift—once warmups ended, everything else was shut off except for the game.

Except, apparently, my inability to look away from Lila as I walked up the chute behind her. Even with her pads and gear on, she was just—

Sabrina.

Come on.

What the hell?

I shook myself, and in the locker room, I called upon the same habit I had while she and I had been at odds—don't fucking look at her. Look anywhere but at her. Pretend she wasn't there. Don't think about her, don't look at her—no, seriously, don't think about her. Or those eyes. Or that body. Or that smile. Or—

"All right, ladies!" Coach Reilly said. "Let's go do this!"

Oh, crap. She was done with her pre-game speech and everyone was once again heading for the ice.

Well, I'd made it through games before where I was even more distracted by much worse things than my hot teammate. Breakups, fights with my dad, my grandma in the hospital—if I could play through those, I could play through this.

Granted in those situations, I didn't have the object of my distraction right there the whole time, but whatever. I'd make it work. I had to.

When the puck dropped, my scattered mind snapped into focus. Time to win a hockey game.

I lost the faceoff, but Laws managed to pick the other player's pocket just before they crossed into our defensive zone.

It was a grind. Every inch of the ice we gained against this team was an absolute battle. They managed to score on us twice in the first period, but we rallied and squeaked one in just before the buzzer sounded. The vibe in the locker room was frustrated but optimistic—this was a tough, tough team to beat, but they weren't unstoppable. We could do this. Next period, we'd carry the momentum from Anastasia's goal and tie things up. Then we'd focus on obtaining, holding, and extending a lead.

The second period started with the same back-and-forth energy, but determination radiated off all my teammates. When the third line got out there, they managed to get Boston into their own end and keep them there, hemming them in so they couldn't risk a line change. With their skaters starting to get fatigued, ours started to peel away one at a time so my line could go out.

By the time Anastasia, Laws, and I were out on the ice with Sims at the blue line and Lila in the fray with us, Boston's skaters were absolutely gassed. Perfect.

We cycled the puck to wear them down a little more while we found a shooting lane. I realized I wasn't in a good position, so I carried the puck around behind the goal, and when I came out the other side, I searched for someone to pass to or a scoring chance of my own.

I'd barely made it out of the trapezoid before a Boston defender checked me. Fortunately, I'd seen her coming, and I stayed on my skates and held on to the puck.

She was coming back for more, though, and there was another player closing in.

"Hams!" I called out, and when Lila turned her head, the puck was already halfway to her.

It landed right on her tape. I thought she'd pass to Laws, but instead she fired a beautiful one-timer from the point.

The puck sailed right through a dense screen of players and over the goaltender's left shoulder.

Lila pumped her stick in the air and shouted, though her voice and the goal horn were both swallowed up by the roar of the crowd.

She had her first goal of the season, and the Pittsburgh Bearcats had the lead.

We celebrated with her, almost toppling her with hugs, and as I embraced her against the glass—

Oh. Hell.

The crowd disappeared. The goal song faded to nothing.

There was just…

Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

Thank God, Sims picked that moment to smack my back, and the spell was broken. Lila and I broke eye contact, and hopefully no one thought the extra color in both our faces was anything other than exertion. Then we were skating toward the bench for fist bumps, Lila leading the pack since she'd been the one to score.

After our brief celebration with the team, the five of us took our seats while the second line and second pair went out. As we cooled down, I stole a glance at Lila, who was at the other end of the bench with the defenders.

She picked that same moment to steal a glance at me.

Our eyes locked for a second.

Then she smiled. So did I.

Facing the game again, I blamed my racing heart on the intense shift I'd just played and the thrill of a goal. That had to be it. That was all it was.

There was a lot of pressure right now. We'd tied up a game against a team favored to go deep in the postseason. We had to keep our foot on the gas if we wanted to win this one. Yeah, that was all it was—pressure. Hockey. Normal stress during a game.

I was more subtle about glancing Lila's way this time.

She didn't meet my gaze, but my pulse spiked again. She had her helmet off, wet strands of blond hair tumbling down either side of her face as she had an animated conversation with the defensive coach.

I gulped, facing the ice again as my heart slammed against my ribs.

Aww, fuck.

I am so screwed.

In the end, despite fighting hard from start to finish, we lost that game in overtime. It was a struggle all night long, and there were a few times I thought we would lose in regulation. A buzzer beater from Val kept us alive, and we held our own in OT for almost the full five minutes. With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, Boston broke away, and though Anya tried like hell, she couldn't stop that shot from their star center.

None of us were thrilled about the loss, but it was a hard-fought game and we did still get a point, so it wasn't a disaster.

Three nights later, we brought down the house in Orlando, breaking their four-game winning streak with a 5-3 win. A lot of Pittsburgh fans were in the crowd, and it was as loud and raucous as a home game. I loved it, and I especially loved getting us back into the win column.

While my teammates went to the bar to celebrate afterward, though, I was ready for some quiet. I said goodnight to everyone, then headed up to my room.

And wouldn't you know it—I'd barely taken off my jacket before that all too familiar ringtone went off.

I sat on the edge of the bed and glared at the screen.

Dad.

God, I didn't need his bullshit tonight. Not on the heels of an exhilarating win. The calls after those games were the worst.

I tossed my phone aside, buried my face in my hands, and groaned. I was in a good mood, damn it. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to hear whatever he had to say about the way I'd played tonight.

Because he would have an issue with something.

I needed to stop being a hero and playing long shifts, because when I got tired, I got sloppy. Didn't matter that I hadn't had the opportunity to go to the bench—we'd been hemmed into our own end, Val had been without a stick, and the other team had been making drive after drive for our goal. I'd been gassed, but so were my linemates, and we couldn't just take off and leave Anya vulnerable.

Or he'd be pissy because I had, yet again, racked up multiple assists without a single goal. Or maybe it was that penalty I took in the third period? No, I hadn't intended to trip the other player, but accidental tripping was still tripping. I didn't make the rules.

My ringtone stopped. A solid minute later came the chirp to indicate a voicemail.

For a long moment, I lay there, listening to my heart thumping against my ribs. There was a second chirp to remind me Dad had left a message. I ignored that, too, though my pulse ratcheted up again. This wasn't nearly as pleasant as the feeling whenever I looked at Lila. When my heart would start going wild just because she smiled or brushed her hair out of her face or… who was I kidding? Because she existed.

That stressed me out for different reasons, but it was way more fun than this bullshit.

So why am I up here trying to talk myself into listening to Dad's message when I could be downstairs with my team?

With Lila?

Without a second thought, I pushed myself up. I left my phone in the room, grabbed my keycard, and went downstairs to the bar.

I tried not to read too much into the way Lila's eyes lit up when I came into the bar. "Oh, hey!" She smiled. "You decided to join us after all?"

I shrugged, keeping my own smile in place to hide my soured mood. "Wasn't as tired as I thought I was."

Her expression faltered slightly, and she tilted her head. "You good?"

Crap. She saw right through me. But I just waved the concern away as I slid onto a barstool. "I'm good. Tired, but not tired enough to go to sleep yet, apparently."

"Well, this is as good a place as any to hang out, right?" She winked, unaware of what that did to my nerve endings, and then flagged down a server so I could order a drink.

Truthfully, I did feel better hanging out with my teammates than I did sitting up in my room and wondering about my dad, but I still felt like crap. I didn't contribute much to the conversation, instead just sipping on my cocktail while I listened to my far more energized teammates talking. They were speculating about some trade rumors, and also discussing some of the prospects who were likely going to be in-demand during the upcoming draft. Pittsburgh had quite a few first and second round picks for this year, and if our GM was savvy, she could snag us some incredible talent.

"If the teams ahead of us don't pick Stella Persson," Sims said, "Chloe should snatch her up. She's one of the best goalies in any of the major junior leagues right now."

"She is," Lila acknowledged, "but both Montreal and Omaha are picking ahead of us, and their biggest weaknesses are goaltending. I can't imagine them passing her over."

"I don't know," Val said. "They need goaltending solutions right now, not three or four years down the road when Persson is ready to play at this level."

"Hey, stranger things have happened." Sims shrugged. "The men's league has goalies who've gone straight from being drafted onto the roster."

"True," Val said. "And she's good, don't get me wrong. But is she good enough to pick that early in the draft? Because there are some incredible defenders up for grabs this season."

As much as I didn't have the energy to contribute, it was fun listening to my teammates debate the merits of various players. They all had some interesting insights, especially about prospects who played in their positions. Like when Laws thought Danielle Curtiss was a promising defender, but both Lila and Sims shook their heads.

"She's good," Lila said, "but she's going to need years of development before she's ready at this level."

Sims nodded in agreement. "She's a hundred percent defense. She's not going to make it here if she isn't solid offensively, too."

"Unless she's paired with a solid offensive defender," Laws pointed out. "I mean, the two of you have a good arrangement." She gestured at Sims and Lila. "Not that Sims can't play offense, but your strength is in being a really strong defender. So then Hams can go on ahead and help the offense."

Sims gave another nod. "The problem with Curtiss is that in those moments when she needs to be on the offense, she falls apart. It's nothing that can't be fixed with more development, and obviously she's great defensively if she's made it as far as she has, but that development is going to take time."

"I hope we do draft her," Lila said. "Even if she ends up in the minors for a few years, she'll get opportunities to train with us." She half-shrugged. "That can do wonders for a player's development."

At that, Sims smiled fondly. "Putting in some hours on the ice with you would do any young defender a lot of good."

Lila actually blushed, and suddenly my drink wasn't nearly cold enough.

"Well," she said with a quiet laugh, "maybe I'll get a chance to work with her. Guess we'll see who Chloe picks in the draft."

The conversation continued like that for a while, and eventually, people started peeling away to call it a night. When I got up to leave, I was surprised that Lila did, too. We paid our tabs, then headed for the elevator. We exchanged smiles as we waited, and neither of us said anything on the way up.

When we stepped out, though, Lila stopped. "Hey, before you go…"

I halted too, turning to her. "Hmm?"

She studied me. "You sure you're okay tonight?"

No. "I'm good." Not even close.

Her skepticism should've made me angry. Should've had me lashing out defensively because what right did she have to grill me?

But the truth was… I was tired. Not just from the game and the flight and everything else.

So, what the hell. I took a deep breath and admitted, "My dad called earlier."

Lila grimaced. "What did he say?"

"That's the thing—I don't know." I rubbed the back of my neck as all this fatigue settled in hard on my shoulders. "I didn't answer. And I haven't listened to his voicemail."

"From what you've told me, I don't blame you."

I appreciated that, but I didn't feel much better. "I'm going to regret it. I know I am."

She watched me for a moment. "But wouldn't you also regret listening to his message and calling him back?"

That brought me up short. "I… I hadn't thought of that, honestly."

She offered a sympathetic grimace. "Kind of sounds like you can't win for losing with him."

"No, I really can't." I pressed my back against the wall. "It's exhausting."

"I bet it is. But maybe tonight, you just picked the regret you can live with. Next time…" Lila half-shrugged. "You'll talk to him because that's the regret you can live with then."

"That's what I usually do."

"Do you feel worse now than you do on those nights?"

I thought about it. "I don't know. I feel like crap, but it's different." I looked at her through my lashes. "Talking to him always leaves me feeling like I just played a really bad game. Like I scored an own goal or something. I just… I feel like shit. But this?" I chewed my lip as I tried to find the words. "I don't know. It sucks, it's just… different."

"Yikes. I don't know how you do it."

The laugh that escaped my lips was dry as dust. "What choice do I have?"

Her eyes met mine, and I could see the answers she wasn't saying out loud. The same ones other people had given over time.

You could put your foot down.

You could tell him you're not going to tolerate that behavior.

You could go no-contact with him.

Yeah. I could. But it wasn't that simple. I had no idea how to explain why—I'd never been able to spell it out to anyone else, and I couldn't spell it out to Lila. I wasn't even sure I could explain to myself.

Because I'm sure it'll blow up in my face somehow just like cutting him off blows up in everyone else's face?

Because I'm holding out hope that someday he'll see the light?

Because I don't want to admit I'll never have the dad I know I'll never have?

I finally sighed and pushed myself off the wall. "I'll figure something out. For now, we should probably get some sleep."

"Yeah. We should." Lila smiled sadly. "Will you be okay tonight?"

"I'll be fine." I returned the smile, hoping it was convincing.

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. Whatever the case, Lila stepped closer and hugged me gently. "We've all got your back," she told me softly. "The whole team."

I almost wanted to laugh at that. It was true and I knew it, but it still seemed so wildly unreal that, of all people, Lila Hamilton had my back.

And yet, it also felt completely right and sincere. As if that rivalry had just been a dream or something between immature teenagers in major juniors.

Either way…

"Thanks," I whispered, and let her go. "I really appreciate…"

Our eyes met.

There was no crowd this time. No teammates. No cameras. Just the two of us in a deserted hotel hallway, standing way too close together and holding each other's gazes for one, two, six beats too long.

I opened my mouth to speak, not even sure what I intended to say, but Lila spoke first.

"We should get some sleep." She cleared her throat as she subtly put some space between us. "I'll see you at breakfast?"

"Yeah. Yeah, good idea." I took another step back myself, pretending I didn't feel an almost magnetic force drawing me back in. "I'll, uh… See you at breakfast."

Fuck me, that smile.

Thank God, she turned to go, and I managed to do the same. In my room, I deadbolted the door and then leaned against it, closing my eyes.

Yeah, I'd see her at breakfast tomorrow. And on the bus. And on the plane. And at the next hotel. And at practice. And…

I wiped a hand over my face and pushed out a breath.

I am so screwed.