Page 58 of Home Ice Advantage

“Wait, we?”

“Of course you’re invited, too,” Ryan said impatiently, pushing him out of the stream of water so he could rinse himself off. “And Petey and Heidi and her wife, if they want to come.”

“Uh...huh,” Eric said. It took him a second to try to wrap his head around everything that was going on here. “Well. That should be interesting.”

“Behave yourself,” Ryan said severely, frowning up at Eric. He looked about as threatening as a naked man in the showercouldlook, but he also looked a bit like a drowned kitten. Eric resisted the urge to ruffle his wet hair. “Murph’s one of my oldest and best friends, and I want to...make a good impression. With the team, with practice, with everything.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise,” Eric said, and the smile Ryan gave him was both blinding and exactly the kind of evidence that Eric was in fucking trouble. He let Ryan lean up to kiss him, let himself forget, with the heat of that kiss, exactly how much of a disaster this had the potential to become. Exactly why he was the kind of guy who shouldn’t have trusted when it seemed like things had been too easy.

He felt ill at ease on the way into the practice facility for morning skate. They still left separately and arrived separately, and for the first time, it really hit him what that meant. As Eric was getting changed to head out onto the ice, he heard the commotion that indicated that not only had Murphy arrived, but his children as well.

Eric took a deep breath and turned around to face the music.

When he’d been playing, Sean Murphy wasn’t the kind of player that he spent a lot of time thinking about. Sure, he had been a superstar in his own right, he was the captain of the Desperadoes, and he was a threat every time he stepped on the ice. But personally, beyond the stupid chirping that Eric had directed at anyone he squared off against, he hadn’t spared one single thought regarding him.

It turned out that, years later and up close, Murphy was still a big guy. He was a little taller than Eric and even though he’d gone to seed a bit, he was still just as burly as he’d been during their playing days, and he looked... Well, the only way to describe him was that he looked like a guy from Boston. Like a guy who’d be an extra in the background of some Martin Scorsese flick about Boston cops and mobsters, or maybe an extra in a Dropkick Murphys video. He had a shock of red hair that was only partially gray, a face that was more freckle than it wasn’t and a smile as wide as the Charles.

He grabbed Ryan in a bear hug that lifted him right off his feet, hooting an incoherent greeting of joy and excitement, and Ryan was hugging him back, his fists pounding against Murphy’s shoulder blades as he yelled, “It’s been too fucking long, brother,” and Murphy said into his shoulder, “Toofucking long.”

Eric hung back while Ryan and Murphy yelled excitedly at each other, occasionally pausing so that they could hug again, and he shook his head: it was like being around Murphy emphasized Ryan’s accent tenfold. It was a reminder that they both came from the same place and that Eric didn’t belong there at all.

The rest of the team and the coaching staff were all hanging around, watching, and Petey shot a sideways glance at him. “Ol’ Murph’s really larger than life, isn’t he?”

“You can say that again,” Eric agreed.

By that time, Ryan had grabbed Murphy by the bicep and dragged him over. Eric already felt snappish and on edge, like he’d rather just pick a fight with Murphy and get it over with than wait for anything else to happen. But Ryan was smiling so widely and so fucking happily that Eric bit his tongue and let him talk. “Murph, this is my coaching staff—Heids, Petey and Eric.”

Murphy turned a somewhat suspicious green gaze on him when Ryan saidEric, like he was expecting something different from what he was actually seeing. “It’s nice to meet you,” he boomed. “Mason and Sophia are waiting out in the hallway since Sully said everyone was still changing, but I couldn’t wait.”

“It’s really fucking good to have you here, buddy,” Ryan was saying, still hanging on to Murphy’s arm like he couldn’t believe he was real. “I’m excited as hell to show you everything we’ve worked toward over the last half a year or so. The staff is just one of those things. We’ve finally got it clicking.”

“Must be nice to be the one in charge, finally,” Murphy said, his eyes dancing. “All of those years we had to bite our tongues, eh? And nowyou’rethe head coach.”

“It’s a collaborative process,” Ryan was saying, shaking his head. He’d finally let go of Murphy’s arm, and he was smiling at Eric instead. He must not have realized he was doing it, but his fingers rubbed at the bruise Eric had left on his neck, getting some kind of subliminal comfort out of pressing against it. “Some of us got off to a bit of a rough start, but we’re all on the same page now, and it’s been really—really nice to work with these guys.”

“And you,” Murphy said, turning to look Eric over with more attention. His glance flicked from Ryan’s neck and back. “You’vecome a long way since the biting days, huh?”

“The biting days were because I didn’t appreciate being called a fucking kike, Murphy,” Eric said shortly.

The abrupt silence after he said it was awkward and felt like it went on a long time, until Ryan took a deep breath and said, “Murph, Eric might have been a scrappy player back in the day, but he’s been a great and levelheaded addition to the coaching staff. All of us have grown and changed since those days, right?”

“Sure,” Murph said, agreeably, and Eric frowned at him, just so he’d know exactly what Eric thought about him.

It wasn’t much better on the ice. They were doing small-area drills again, with a heavy focus on 5v5 situations because there was only so much they could do special teams work without the even-strength game slipping. Murph’s kids were admittedly very cute, small, violently redheaded versions of him, and both of them played hockey. Sophia was a goalie, but she could skate and hold her own with her brother, easily.

Ryan ran the practice, but he also took the time to goof off with them, “checking” Mason into the boards and grabbing Sophia’s hands and spinning her around and around and around. It was, Eric thought, very grudgingly, very fucking cute. Of course Ryan wasalsogood with children, on top of everything else. He tried not to let himself get too distracted, watching them, because he still had a practice to run as well. But it was difficult, when Ryan was so clearly bursting at the seams with pride and joy, both showing off his team and showing off Murph, his best and oldest friend.

The small-area drills were easy to show off to their greatest effect, because the guys loved them. It wasn’t just that they were closer to game simulations than endless repetition drills, but Ryan made them fun, and switched them up often enough that they had to keep on their toes. The specific drill they were running today involved both the forwards and the defensemen, focusing on gap control and puck battles, but only within a tiny, proscribed area. The players could tag in as necessary.

Maybe because Murphy and his kids were there, maybe not, but the pace and intensity seemed to have been kicked up a notch. Eric, who wasn’t in awe of anyone, was still aware that for a lot of the younger players, havingSean Murphywatching them play was probably a big deal. As big of a deal as it was to have Ryan Sullivan as their head coach.

Eric took a break by the bench, squirting Gatorade into his mouth, when he heard the sound of someone skating toward him, thesnickof blades stopping on the ice. He turned around to find Murphy in front of him, broad frame barely shoved into his Desperadoes-branded sweats.

“Aronson.”

“Murphy.”

“Sully talks about you a lot,” Murphy said. His voice lacked inflection, but it was the kind of forced casual tone that said more than anything else.

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