20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Leo

I lean against the boards, the cold seeping through my jacket, as I watch the kids skate laps around the rink. The scrape of blades on ice mingles with the excited chatter of young voices. Normally, the sound soothes.

But today, it's just noise, grating and dissonant.

The fingers tighten around the butt end of my stick. We got our asses kicked in Raleigh last night. Wyatt’s partly to blame. The asshole spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice. Coach was ready to tear him a new one, and me, because as his captain and his friend, his shitshow performance is somehow my responsibility.

Again.

I roll my neck a few times, trying to chase away tension building. Sometimes I think I’m too old for this shit. The drama, the politics, and even recovery is taking longer than it used to. Except I’m not ready to retire. Not until I’ve won the Cup.

The boards creak under my weight as I shift my stance and focus on the kids. Except the reason for my current stress is making his way over.

Wyatt sidles up next to me, his eyes fixed on the ice as he lets out a long breath. “Jake’s looking more comfortable out there.”

I follow his gaze to his future stepson, who happens to be my son’s best friend. Jake’s skating with more confidence, keeping up with the rest of the team rather than hanging back.

“The team's been great. Having the kids over, showing him it's okay to be back on the ice . . . it's made a world of difference.”

I grunt in response, my eyes scanning the ice for Mason. He's at the front of the pack, his face set in concentration. Pride swells in my chest, but it's tinged with something else.

Regret, maybe.

My career has not been conducive to me being around often.

I skate along the edge of the rink, each stride a ticking clock, a reminder of the moments I've missed. The late-night games, the endless practices, the constant travel—they've all chipped away at my time with my son.

With Stella, too.

Every summer I monopolize their time, trying to make up for what I missed during the season. But how much longer can that last before they’re teenagers and don’t want me around.

Sooner than I care to fucking admit.

“All right, gather 'round!” Bob's voice booms across the ice. The kids skate over, forming a loose semicircle around us.

I head over to the group, sliding into coach mode. “Today we're working on passing drills. I want to see clean passes, heads up, always aware of where your teammates are. Got it?”

A chorus of “Yes, Coach Leo!” rings out. At least they’re listening to me.

Wyatt and I skate around the ice between each group, offering pointers and encouragement. My gaze lands on my son and I head over to him. “Mason, follow through with your stick.”

He nods, his face scrunched in determination. He makes the pass, the puck sliding smoothly to his teammate.

“That's it!” I can't help the smile that spreads. “Good job.”

Everyone says he’s a smaller version of me, and sometimes it makes me proud. Other times, I worry. Mason’s great at hockey, and a natural born leader, but I notice the pressure he puts on himself, how he devotes his extra time to practicing to perfect his skills.

Yeah, it shows his determination and dedication, but I’ve seen him pass up going to a teammates’ house only to end up in our driveway playing by himself. And that’s just what I see . . . when I’m around.

Does he do it more than I know about? More than the babysitters have seen?

A puck hits the blade of my skate and I look to my left as Keith, his red hair sticking out from under his helmet, makes his way over.

“Sorry, Coach. It got away from me.”

Guess that’s my signal to head over to another group, especially when I look over and notice Jake frustrated and banging his stick. Ah, he made the pass.

“Clanton. Need you for a sec.”

Wyatt skates to me and I jut my chin toward Jake, so he skates over toward his future stepson.

“Alright guys, watch me. Wyatt and I are going to demonstrate and do it slowly.”

I go through the motion, explaining each step. Jake's eyes are glued to my stick, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Taking a step back, I look at the group. “Now you try.”

Jake takes a deep breath, then mimics the move. It's not perfect, but it's close.

“That's it!” Wyatt exclaims, giving Jake a high five. “See? You've got this, buddy.”

As Jake skates off to practice more, Wyatt turns to me. “Thanks, man. You've got a way with the kids.”

The two of us stay a few more minutes before skating off. Wyatt bumps my shoulder, saying again, “You really are great with the kids. Maybe try to use some of that same enthusiasm with our team.”

I stiffen. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Leo. You're a good leader, but there’s a reason we call you Captain Fuckface sometimes. And off the ice? You’re like a ghost. Having kids is not an excuse because you’re not the only one.”

His words sting because they're true. I've kept myself separate, distant.

Safe.

“And you’re one to talk?”

He shrugs, completely unfazed. “It’s why I can say this shit. I learned the hard way. Ian’s been my friend forever, but I never thought Garrison Lund would step in and help protect Jake. And you’ve seen how the dynamic between me—former Minotaurs enemy number one— and the rest of the team has changed.”

He’s got me there.

Wyatt’s past behaviors had everyone’s hackles raised when he found out he was joining the Minotaurs. Hell, the first few months some guys could barely stand to be around him. Myself included.

He was like having an overgrown child I got stuck babysitting. But now he’s my best friend–ish.

“No one hates you, Leo. So, you’re ahead of the game. But they don’t really know you either.”

I just keep skating, not saying a word, too focused on the kids that it has to be obvious I’m trying to blow him off, but Wyatt’s the one who’ll always push back. Or blatantly disregard passive hints.

“Anyway, what do you think about our wildcard chances?”

And now he’s being downgraded to just a friend. No way a best friend would ask something that sends a jolt of anxiety through me. The wildcard spot. The playoffs. The Cup.

Wendy's last wish.

“Gonna be tight.” I swallow a few times, my mouth having done dry.

I watch Mason execute a perfect pass. My son, growing up so fast. Jake, overcoming his fears. The team, fighting for a playoff spot.

And suddenly, I'm tired. Tired of carrying this weight alone. Tired of keeping everyone at arm's length, pretending like I can handle it all when, in truth, I'm barely holding on.

“My wife’s dying wish was for me to win the Cup.”

Wyatt's head snaps toward me, his eyes wide. “What?”

I take a deep breath, hold it for a second, then let it out.

“Before she died she made me promise I'd win the Cup.” My voice trembles slightly as I finally admit it, the vow that’s been haunting me, driving me, and slowly tearing me apart. It’s the first time I’ve shared it with anyone.

And in the silence that follows, I can feel the enormity of it all crashing down on me, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be.

“Shit . . . that's . . . that's a hell of a thing to carry around.”

I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah. And I've never even made it past the first round. Now retirement's not that far off, and I just . . . I can't let her down.”

Wyatt's quiet for a long moment, then he puts a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. “You're not letting anyone down. And you're not in this alone. We're a team, remember?”

My chest tightens, a lump forming in my throat—for a different reason this time. I bump my friend’s shoulder with mine. “Swear, Virgin, if you make me shed a tear, I will have Lund beat the shit out of you.”

“And I’ll tell Nora you had my pretty face ruined for our wedding all because I was the bestest of friends and you got emotional and cried.” He turns to face me, skating backwards. “You think any of our teammates want to deal with an enraged bride?”

I palm his face and push him to the side, laughing as we skate toward Coach Bob, who blows the whistle and calls the kids over. After reviewing what they learned and reminding them about their upcoming games this weekend, the kids are dismissed.

As I help gather the pucks and cones on the ice, I spot Cat walking in. She waves, and I manage a curt smile and wave back. Once everything is packed away, Wyatt goes to check on Jake in the locker room, and I skate to Cat.

Wyatt had a point about no one knowing me, and that there’s a lot of pressure on all of us, not just me. A good leader would find a way to ease the burden, not just stand by the way I’ve been doing.

“Hey, Cat?” I say, interrupting Mason's play-by-play of his best shot. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

She looks up, curiosity glittering in her eyes. “Sure. What's up?”

I take a few deep breaths, in and out. Is this what she felt like coming to me about Rosa? “I want to put together a team-building event for the Minotaurs. Something to help us relax, bond a bit. Could use your help if you have time?”

Cat tilts her head, a slight smirk on her lips as she leans forward. “Wasn’t so easy to ask, was it?”

I straighten, grasping my stick tighter. “Cat—”

She lightly slaps my shoulder, laughing and shaking her head. “Ease up, big guy. Of course, I’ll help.”

“Dare I ask what’s so funny?”

“The idea of you being in charge of something like that. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you all ended up at McDonalds for a team dinner.”

I huff and cross my arms in front of my chest. “You mistake me for Wyatt. And you know he’d pick the one with the playground that they’d all be playing in.”

“Forgot you’re all nothing but a bunch of oversized children.”

I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, yeah. And one more thing. Let’s bring Rosa too. Might be good to talk to her in a neutral environment.”

Cat's eyes widen, then her smile softens, becomes something warmer.

My eyes narrow slightly. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep my word about helping you?”

She chews on her bottom lip and shrugs.

“Cat, I gave you my word. I’m going to help.”

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just used to people not following through. But thank you. Now, you have any idea what you want to do?”

“Not a clue.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Wow, never thought I’d see the day you were at a loss.”

“You’re pushing it, Hellcat.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come up with a few ideas we can go over. But Mason and I need to get going. I still need to grab Stella from dance practice.”

Mason comes out of the locker room, and I give him a big hug before he heads off with Cat. Not sure what I’d do without her.

And that’s a problem because with each passing day she’s becoming more integral to my family. So what happens when the school year’s over and she moves out?

My chest tightens at the thought, and I push the unsettling feelings down deep.