18. Smitty

This was our last game before the holiday and all I wanted for Christmas was a single solitary win. Just one. Please.

I'd come a long way from the greedy kid who'd wished for new hockey equipment and the latest game consoles, none of which my family could afford. But hope sprang eternal for little Smitty Paluchek and nothing had changed 'cause let me tell ya, I hoped and prayed this was our night.

So here's the deal. The Hawks' program had grown in the few months I'd been in charge. I coached junior varsity and varsity with my new assistant, Quinn, a nice albeit somewhat nerdy, skinny guy with glasses who was a whiz at strategizing. Between his analytic abilities, my defensive and offensive coordination skills, and our collective experience on the ice in the fucking pros, you'd think we'd be on our way to building a powerhouse organization at Elmwood High School. And maybe we were. Just not this year.

In the win column, the JV team was doing okay and the girls' teams were actually killing it, thanks in part to Mary-Kate Moore, a scoring machine who also happened to be Ronnie Moore's daughter. That was nice, but if we had any hope of becoming a Division One program, the boys needed to start winning too.

Okay, it had only been a few weeks of regular season play, and we were definitely improving, so there was hope on the horizon. Just…one win. One fucking win.

I'd done the cheerleader bit, I'd been a hardass, and even tried to be a regular ol' nice guy. Tonight, I wasn't above begging. And being slightly ridiculous.

I tapped my clipboard with a marker, pacing the perimeter of the state-of-the-art locker room while twenty teenagers dressed in game-night gear stared up at me, patiently waiting for my inspirational spiel.

How many ways were there to say "Stay in your lane, fight for the puck, and please fucking score"?

"All right, we got Wood Hollow tonight. They're tough, but we can do this. I want quick transitions, I want you to move the puck, attack space, reload, block those shots, and above all…do not give up. You hear me?"

"Yes, Coach!"

"Good. One more thing…" I tucked the clipboard under my arm and shifted my gaze, making eye contact with every kid in the room. "How do trees get online?"

A collective "huh?" twittered in the air.

"What do you mean, Coach?" a brave soul asked.

"It's a joke. How do trees get online? Take a guess. No? Okay, they log in." That earned me a couple of chuckles. "I got another one. What did the sushi say to the bee? Anyone?" I opened my arms wide and gave my over-the-top inflection, "Wassa Bee?"

"You okay, Coach?"

"I'm good, and I'm just getting started. What do you call an illegally parked frog?" I waited a beat. "Toad."

Micah wrinkled his nose in confusion while the others snickered. "I don't get it."

"Someone explain it to him. How do you make a Kleenex dance? Put a little boogie in it?" That one got 'em. I bit the inside of my cheek and schooled my features till I was pretty sure I looked like a seasoned comedian delivering cutting-edge material instead of a desperate coach willing to give anything a shot. "I could keep going and believe me, I have a great source for really bad dad jokes, but here's the thing…hollering at you to take care of the puck, skate your asses off, and up your defense is my job. It's also my job to remind you that this game is fun."

"Losing isn't fun," someone grumbled.

"No, it's not, but it's part of the grind. Forget winning and losing for a sec, though." I paused to collect my thoughts. "We have different reasons for being here. Me? I love this game. Always have. There's nothing better than skating like the wind with a bunch of guys who become your brothers, who have your back, who know your strengths and protect your weak side. There's nothing better than being part of a team. Maybe we're not firing on all cylinders yet, but we will be. It's gonna happen. Loosen up, take a deep breath, and remind yourselves how lucky you are to be here, hosting your rivals on this amazing new rink in front of your families and your friends before the holidays. I get it. You got other things on your minds too. But do me this one favor…for this next hour or so, let go of the noise, let go of the negative BS, and remember hockey is fun. Also…please pass the goddamn puck. Got it?"

The boys nodded in unison, tapping their sticks as they rose to their feet and whooped.

Quinn met my gaze and grinned. "To the ice, Coach?"

I inclined my chin. "Hey, Mellon, c'mere."

Denny hobbled over on his skates, fixating on something over my shoulder. "Coach?"

I lowered my voice even though the locker room had mostly cleared out. "I want to apologize. I put a lot of pressure on you. Maybe too much. Hey, no need to sugarcoat this, you're the best player we have and I still think you're captain material, but if the whole thing is too much, we'll forget it. Just do what you do best."

"Th-anks," Denny replied, his voice breaking as he turned away.

I grabbed his elbow. "Hang on. Are you okay?"

His Adam's apple slid in his throat. "Just a bad day."

Fuck. This was a bad day to have a bad day.

I'd given the inspiration speech, told the stupid jokes, I'd begged, I'd pleaded, I'd yelled, I'd even apologized. I'd tried everything. What else was I supposed to fucking do?

I pursed my lips and wracked my brain for one more "we got this" speech. "I believe in you, Denny—not just you as a player or a leader, but as a person. Go out there and?—"

"No, I—it's…my mom has been texting me all day. My dad's been gone three years…today." A lone tear careened from his lashes onto his cheek. He swiped it angrily and stared at the rubber mat flooring. "She's been crying and she's?—"

I didn't think. I dropped the clipboard and hugged him.

Denny stiffened…one beat, two beats—then he heaved a horrible all-body sigh and went limp in my arms. He didn't cry, but I could feel the weight of his unbearable grief. And damn, I knew exactly how that felt.

I knew loss. I knew it well.

I released him after a minute and bent to pick up the clipboard.

"Are you okay to play tonight?"

"Yeah. I want to."

"Okay, then play for your dad. It might not make the shitty feeling go away, but it might help. I don't have any other advice. Life is unfair and sometimes it flat-out sucks, but you're not alone. You got people in your corner, looking out for you. Got that?"

Denny raked his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded. "Thanks, Coach."

I patted his shoulder and headed for the exit. "C'mon. Let's play some hockey."

We won.

We won the fucking game. It wasn't even a close one. We dominated throughout all three periods, connecting pass after pass, outskating our opponent, and outsmarting them on defense. It was as if four months of coaching had finally sunk in on one night. They worked like a machine, seemingly knowing where to be on the ice to optimize their scoring opportunities.

Denny scored in the first period, Niall scored at the start of the second, and little Adam scored at the end. I was pretty sure Tracy's screams would reverberate in my ears for another twenty-four hours. We were up three to nothing at the beginning of the third, but the wind went out from our sails a bit when Wood Hollow scored on a breakaway. Sadly, I assumed this was the cue for the wheels to wobble and the game to completely fall apart, but no…my boys rallied like blood-thirsty warriors, Denny leading the charge.

I could practically see him digging in deep, turning up the heat, and demanding his teammates match him. I actually heard him tell Abe to cover him. With words. He drew a foul and scored on a penalty play with a beautiful pass from Abe, and with thirty seconds on the clock, he did it again, lighting up the lamp with a well-timed fake pass that caused a traffic jam on his flank and left just enough chaos for him to make a move. It was an unlikely angle, but Denny's wrist shot was pure gold. It slid right between the goalie's pads and boom!

The final score was five to one, Elmwood Hawks.

The crowd went fucking wild. You'd have thought this was a tie-breaking series championship winner instead of an ordinary midseason high school game. The roar was deafening, and every single person in the arena was on their feet, cheering our boys as they skated victory laps, waving their sticks in the air. The joy on that ice was a living, breathing thing, and I was humbled to be part of it.

I bro-hugged Quinn, then scoured the stands, looking for a particular familiar face. I spotted Riley and JC, and Court with his fiancé, Ivan sitting next to Vinnie and his husband, Nolan. I saw Ronnie with his daughter, Mary-Kate and Tracy, Mike, Crabby Annie, and—there he was.

Bryson stood in the aisle, a broad grin on his handsome face, his gaze locked on me as he clapped and cheered. My heart jumped from my chest to my throat, emotions threatening to spill over in an embarrassing display. I couldn't help it. I was just…really fucking proud. Proud of the boys, proud of myself.

Sure, we had a long way to go, but we'd proved something to ourselves. We could build on this one win and become contenders.

I slapped high fives, fist bumps, and praised them for their efforts. Before I gave my final rah-rah speech of the evening, Denny pulled me aside and said three fabulous words: "I'll do it."

Yep, the Hawks had their first win, an official team captain, and one very happy coach.

A large group,including coaches, hockey players, families, and friends met at the diner afterward to celebrate the win. It was pure bedlam. JC and Nolan both had to roll up their sleeves and help serve burgers, fries, and endless rounds of milkshakes. I shook hands and chatted with proud moms and dads, grandparents, and cousins visiting for the holidays, recapping the highlight reel moments while nursing a beer. I'd been too jacked up with adrenaline to think about food and now, I was drunk on good vibes and pride.

The diner was decked in holiday cheer with garlands draped over the windows, tied with red velvet bows, and filled to capacity with good people and a lot of goodwill. Holiday music filtered through the overhead speakers, but it was barely a hum under the static of conversation and laughter. Everyone was smiling—even Crabby Annie, beaming a megawatt grin at her grandson, who was currently surrounded by his teammates.

She caught my eye and raised her glass in a toast. I returned the gesture and nodded along to whatever Micah's dad was saying. Of course, my real focus was on the sexy real estate agent three feet away chatting with Tracy and Ronnie Moore. Those three feet might as well have been an ocean.

I didn't have a reason to seek Bryson out in a crowd like this. He didn't have a kid in the program or an obvious connection to high school sports. I supposed I could have pretended to be interested in buying a house, but this wasn't the time or place to talk business. This was a celebration, and I would have given my left nut to celebrate with that man at my side.

Bryson leftthe diner an hour or so before I did. I said my final good-byes around ten o'clock and walked home alone, tipping my chin to the sky as snowflakes drifted lazily to Earth. I admired the lights on Main Street and the festive storefronts with wreaths on almost every door, the charming houses and pervasive sense of peace. I walked faster as I turned onto Walnut.

I clung to the shadows, slipping behind his car to the side door off the kitchen. I knocked once and he was there, pulling me inside.

We undressed each other in between soul-stealing, passionate kisses and made our way upstairs to his semidark room where we fell naked into bed, writhing and grinding as if in a quest to somehow share skin. Bryson pushed me to my back and kneeled between my legs, sucking and licking till I was practically feral with desire. When I couldn't take any more, I tugged at his hair and motioned for him to straddle my chest.

It was my turn to suck him, and because I was a master at doing two things at once, I also fingered his hole. He lubed us both up, and slowly lowered himself onto my cock, emitting a low, sexy groan.

I closed my eyes for a moment and reached for his hands. And suddenly, time froze.

We stared into each other's eyes with our fingers entwined, hard and hungry, the way we always were, but the air was crackling with something new. I couldn't explain it if I tried. It was…more. Some kind of spiritual, hyper bond that had nothing to do with sex tied us together. In that second, I lost my last shred of pretense. I was exposed. I couldn't hide with him. He'd already seen me in all shades of good, bad, and in between, so what was the point?

The wave of intense emotion took me by surprise. I kissed his knuckles and smiled up at him. I was afraid I'd already given too much away, so I rolled us over, and began to move.

We kissed languidly, sighing and moaning into that gorgeous, fucking push and pull, give and take. I combed my fingers through his hair, moving my hips…slow and steady while he hummed my name, arching to meet each thrust.

The fall was inevitable…it always was. But this time, I wasn't prepared for the dizzying height and breadth of it. I was used to being a lone skater on thin ice. I wasn't alone now. He tripped and fell with me, gasping for air, holding on to me as if I were the one with the answers.

And you know, I really fucking wanted to be.

It took ages to come down from the high in the aftermath. We didn't speak for a while—we lay face-to-face, studying each other as if noticing twenty new things all at once. Had his eyes always been that exact shade of blue? Were his lips always that soft?

"I'm proud of you," Bryson whispered.

"One game? I can do better than that."

He chuckled. "I'm sure you will. You're a force of nature. The whole town thinks you're pretty amazing."

"How about you?"

"Me especially." He smiled and my God, that smile was the sun and the moon and the stars. "I'm very glad you're here. I think this is where you're supposed to be."

I didn't respond…not with words, anyway. I kissed him and did my best to pour everything I was feeling into it. Gratitude, affection, desire, and something that kind of scared the hell out of me.