Page 10 of Glitz & Goals

“All the way down,” I croak.

She laughs. “Street level for me.”

I trail after her to the elevator and tuck my hands into my pockets as I try to think of how to extend this bizarre and delightful encounter by event a few seconds. This… this is definitely going in the spank bank.

“Do you have a name?” I ask as we begin our descent. I have to know.

The now-transformed mermaid looks me up and down. “Sure do,” she says. The door chimes and slides open.

She’s halfway out the door when she pauses to fix me with a sensual smile. “Oh, and for the record? Mermen don’t exist.”

With that, she’s gone, and I’m left alone with no witnesses to whatever the fuck just happened.

Nobody pops out with a camera to tell me that I’ve been punk’d, or that I need to meet with the boss, or even explain the curveball that today threw at me. I’m left to conclude that this isn’t some elaborate prank but one of those Vegas things people talk about when they tell you to expect the unexpected. Whoever that woman was, she’s messing with my head. And my groin.

I have to see her again. She’s a mystery, and I have to know more. It feels like fate. I want to touch her for real. But only after she begs me to with that sassy mouth of hers.

The door opens at ice level, and I step out, just as a maintenance guy with a toolbox tries to step on.

“Sorry,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod, rubbing my jaw. “I just saw a mermaid. They do exist.”

The guy frowns up at me. “You gotta stay hydrated if you’re not used to this heat. It’ll play tricks with your head.”

That woman was no mirage. I can still feel the warmth of her skin on my hands. When I look down at my shirt on my way to the ice, I smile.

Clinging to the material is a single, bright-blue strand of mermaid hair.

* * *

Stepping onto the ice for the first time as Coach feels surreal. Rinks used to be my battleground, my home. Now, they’re my job. The weight of it all presses down on me as I take in the sight of the guys warming up. Most of the guys are already racing around like they own the place, and Ranger’s leading the drill like it’s second nature. Of course, he is. The guy’s got this team eating out of his hand in two days flat. Me? I’m still trying to shake off my own past and figure out how to build theirs.

I blow the whistle and call the guys into line. It’s basic stuff to start, puck handling, skating, and some light passing. I need to see what I’m working with up close. Viktor Abbott is the first one up, and of course, he takes off like he’s got something to prove—fast, cocky, and smooth as hell. The kid’s got talent; I’ll give him that. Knight Hale’s more focused, all business, but I catch the hint of a smirk as he watches Viktor show off.

Camden Beck steps up next, and I can already see the nerves. He fumbles the pass, and Viktor doesn’t waste a second ribbing him. “You trying to pass it to the other team, Camden?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and cut in with a quick, “Glad you’re not a brain surgeon, Beck.” It gets a chuckle out of the guys, and even Camden cracks a grin, though I can tell he’s still feeling the pressure.

Tristan Dubois brings energy, but there’s something off with his coordination, like he’s thinking too much. The kid has the potential to be great, but he’s got to get out of his own head.

As the drills progress, my gaze keeps drifting toward Noah. He’s off with the goalies, focused, cool as always, effortlessly in command. He’s still got that calm, unshakable vibe, like nothing fazes him.

From what I understand, he ended up with the perfect wife and the perfect family of five. And it pisses me off.

I blow the whistle again, calling a break. The guys skate over, grabbing water, talking quietly. I lean against the boards, trying to shake off the tightness in my chest.

Just then, Noah skates over, casual as anything. “Good drills, Coach. I think Hale’s getting faster.”

I nod, keeping my response short. “Yeah, maybe.”

Noah’s face flickers with confusion, like he’s expecting more from me. “I think we’ll see a lot from these guys this season. Beck’s looking solid.”

I give another nod, still not offering much. I know he’s trying to make conversation, but every time I look at him, all I see is the moment that ended my career. He doesn’t even recognize me. It’s like he’s forgotten. Must be nice.

Noah lingers for a moment, probably wondering what the hell my problem is, but I don’t have it in me to explain. He eventually shrugs and heads back to his group, and I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

What does he expect? That we’ll just shoot the breeze like old buddies? Maybe go get a coffee together after we leave the arena today?

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