Page 92 of From Fling to Ring

“I don’t know. Let’s go look.”

48

TYLER

“I know you guys think I don’t know what the hell is going on in your lives, but I do.”

Coach looks at me with raised eyebrows, like he’s daring me to disagree.

I look around his office, a cavern of past glories from the various hockey teams he’s both played for and coached, his trophies and photos whispering stories of victory, defeat, and all that lies in between. I’ve known this man my entire pro career and I’m not surprised he thinks he knows everything about me.

He’s a good guy, even if he does over-rely on corny sports metaphors.

“Tyler, love isn’t like the regular season game. It’s all about the overtime.”

Here we go. I know the man is trying to be helpful with imparting wisdom, but the truth is, I’m not sure what the hell he’s trying to say. Not that it matters.

I nod as if I do understand, because what else am I supposed to do? I’m here to get his okay to fly to Paris for a day or two, and if I have to listen to his advice, I will.

I’d probably listen to it either way. I like the man and would never want to offend him.

I’m antsy, though. I have a stuffed backpack in my car, and a first-class refundable ticket in case he shoots me down. But if he doesn’t, I’ll be on a direct flight to Paris in—I glance at the time on my phone—three hours.

“I hear what you’re saying,” I lie. “But I can’t just let her go. Time is of the essence, and the sooner I get to her, the easier it will be to get her to return to San Francisco.”

I’ve never been to Paris, but according to what I’ve heard, it’s a great city that no one ever wants to leave, especially someone who’s trying to learn French.

Like Lucy.

I’ve got to get to her before Paris gets its tentacles in her.

Coach leans back in his chair, which creaks under his weight. I know that when they remodeled the locker room last year, management offered to do his office, complete with getting him new furniture and everything. He said no. He likes his old stuff.

“That’s the spirit, Tyler. You know, we all wake up with bad breath in the morning. No one’s going to be one hundred percent perfect. But I always say when a lady looks at you like she can see inside you, and still likes what you’re all about, then she’s a keeper.”

“Does that mean I can go?”

He gives me a sage nod. “Yes, it does. And just like on the ice, when you see your shot, you take it with all you’ve got.”

Okay, that one is better.

“I hear ya on that,” I say.

But he’s not done. “Keep it real, and you’ll stay out of the penalty box.”

I glance at the time again. I hope the security lines aren’t too crazy.

He leans forward, elbows on his chipped-up old desk. “Remember, you always miss the shots you don’t try and take. That’s true whether we’re talking about pucks or hearts.”

I stand, my legs ready to spring on the ice like they always are just before a game. Except I’m not playing a game.

This shit is real life.

49

LUCY

I’m straightening up around the quiet apartment while Frenchie and her husband are out and the kids are asleep. This is the time of day I feel a little lonely, as if everyone in Paris is out doing their thing with either friends or family, neither of which I have here. But hey, I’m in Paris so it can’t be all bad, right?

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