Page 14 of Coaching Prince Charming

I observed the game with tension coiling my guts. My feet were on fire for a good chunk of the second period while it seemed like my guys were about to get their asses kicked. The battle on the ice was vicious, and the sneaky tactics my boys used were becoming predictable.

When they finally started lagging by a couple of points, the second period ended, and I gathered my guys in the locker room for a quick meeting. The break would last longer while they smoothed the ravaged ice.

“Reed sees through you,” I pointed out, looking at Beckett but speaking to everyone. “It’s time to switch things up. Prince, you’re in. Partridge, do you have an ace up that sleeve? Wipe that smirk off your face.”

“I’m not worried about Reed, Coach,” Beckett said. “We always let them get soft in the second period.”

I demanded to know what he meant, although we had gone over something similar just a week earlier in drills. Beckett laid out his plan, but I disagreed with a couple of points that depended more on luck than skill. After a few minutes, I approved my nephew’s ideas, which was an odd thing for a coach to do, but the Titans had always been a more democratic team than I was used to. It seemed like Beckett had more of the makings of a true captain than I had given him credit for.

Carter didn’t protest having to play. The simple truth was that he was a secret weapon in our defenses. Even if his performance in practice was deteriorating over the last couple of weeks, I gambled on him. And my instincts were right. When the final period kicked off, Beckett’s front line charged mercilessly, engaging the Breakers in key positions, but the star of the period was Carter. When pushed hard, he shone like fireworks and shooting stars. He was especially good when paired with Asher Sullivan, even if he believed his roommate was a better fit. The two boys snatched the puck several times from the opponents, not even letting the Breakers get to Sawyer Price.

With the two teams being deadlocked until the last few minutes, I discovered just how invested I was in the game. My boys were like Roman soldiers on a battlefield. For all the messing around in drills, they were disciplined and aligned. As they mounted the final push, my heart thundered, and my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, fists tightening until my knuckles were white.

As much as this game was a test of my team’s abilities, it was a lesson for my own coaching skills. I had noticed the rival coaches dictating the flow of the game, which did the opposite of what they wanted. Keeping a tight leash was sometimes inferior to letting the team find their rhythm. At times, my boys were like very skilled jazz players.

And when they scored the two points in close succession that would earn them an undisputed victory, the rink was in uproar of celebrations.

Taking his helmet off, Carter Prince was grinning like this was the greatest thing he’d done in his life, and he had a good reason for it. Seeing how bright his face was with pride, I felt my heart leaping uncontrollably. You did it, I thought. I knew you could.

For all that talk of losing the love for the sport, his body knew what to do in the thick of it. And when he skated across the rink to leave the ice, he seemed a foot taller with the sheer joy lifting him off the ground.

“Well done, Prince,” I said with unfiltered pride in my voice. “You were incredible tonight.” I put a hand on his shoulder but regretted it immediately. There was no way to jerk my arm back without being suspicious, but touching him sparked far too many feelings that were better left locked up at the bottom of my rotten soul. He’s a student. He’s your friend’s son. He’s your Grindr stalker with big eyes full of wonder and awe. “Looks like there’s still some passion left in you.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Carter said in a soft voice pitched for my ears. “That means a lot coming from you.” And he hit me with that look of admiration that I didn’t deserve.

Whether he knew it or not, that time when he reminded me of being named the sexiest man alive by some variety magazine rocked me to my core. For days, the words had stuck with me. Not only did he know the year off the top of his head, but he knew I’d been given that title a total of four times.

I was starting to be a little concerned. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Carter’s proximity often made me feel hot and uncomfortable in my own skin, the things he sometimes said sparked wild interpretations in my mind. Why would he know this about me? Why would that piece of information be so ready to use? Hell, I hardly remembered which year that had been, but Carter knew.

He knew too many things about me, and some were better left alone. Not that anyone cared anymore. The few photographers that had been on my tail recently hadn’t expressed that much interest in me coaching a college team, so their editors sidelined the scoops in favor of whatever celebrity gossip was rocking the world at the moment. My name was mentioned a few times in short, uninteresting articles, but nobody was profiling me anymore.

“Coach,” the familiar voice called from behind me. I pulled my hand away from Carter’s shoulder now that I had a good excuse. As I turned, Beckett’s smile broadened. “The boys are having drinks at the Thirsty Thinker. Are you joining us?”

Carter’s ears perked so abruptly that my gaze darted to his bright expression. He was hopeful; no mistakes there. “Join us,” he said, dragging one side of his lips into a crooked, daring smile.

“Ah, I don’t know, boys,” I said, but Caden Jones appeared next to Beckett and added his plea to theirs. “Fine. Alright. One drink.” As if a bunch of college students really wanted to hang out with a boring old guy like me, but I appreciated their politeness in asking. And I had no way to get out of it.

The Titans left the arena and headed into their locker room to shower and change. I met with the assistant coaches, who chose to skip the drinks in favor of returning to their families. It must have been nice. All three had had someone to come home to.

For most of my life, I didn’t care about such things. Living on the go, traveling across the country, and never seeing the place I’d designated as my home had been just fine. Now, though, I wondered if I had missed out on something good.

If you could stop being jealous of everyone around you, that’d be a good start, a small voice told me.

I squared my shoulders and waited until I heard the Titans pass outside my office. For a moment, I entertained the idea of sneaking out and heading to my apartment instead of joining them. I didn’t have the time to develop the escape plan, however, as Carter Prince knocked and entered in a busy fashion. “Are you coming?”

“Of course,” I said and cleared my throat. I grabbed some papers on my desk. “I just need to tidy up.”

Carter crossed his arms on his chest. Once again, he wore a sleeveless T-shirt and denim knee-length shorts, all of which revealed a bit too much flesh to my liking. If he didn’t flaunt his sculpted arms, I wouldn’t have to avoid looking at him. “Right,” he said with plain suspicion coloring his voice.

“I wasn’t gonna bail on you,” I protested. “I said I would come.”

“We’ll go together,” he said lightly.

I pressed my lips into a tight line, opened the drawer, and shoved the random papers inside. “I don’t need a chaperone, Carter.” I shut the drawer and locked it as if there were some important documents hiding in there. Tucking the key inside my pocket, I shut down the computer with my other hand and got up.

Carter shrugged. “The guys already left. Don’t make me walk alone.”

I shook my head slightly but didn’t complain. “Let’s go, then.”

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