Page 52 of Glitz & Goals

“I know, Coach,” he snaps, grabbing a water bottle. “They’re fast.”

“They’re human,” I bark back. “Act like it.”

With two minutes left, I pull Ox for another forward. “Abbott! Hale! Dubois! Beck! Get your asses out there and make something happen!” The guys pour over the boards, desperation written all over their faces. They press hard, circling the Cyclones’ net, but nothing connects.

A bad bounce sends the puck flying the other way. The empty net goal is a dagger.

I slam my hand on the boards as the final horn sounds. 4-2.

Game over.

The locker room is silent, except for the hiss of showers and the occasional clatter of gear being tossed into bags. The guys are exhausted—physically and emotionally—and I don’t blame them. I feel it, too. I give them a short speech emphasizing effort and accountability, but it’s mostly for formality. They know we left too much out there tonight.

Ranger gives me a nod as I head to the press area. Noah pats my shoulder. “They’ll bounce back.”

I hope he’s right. Dante’s going to be pissed, and I’m going to have to deal with him because Sergio hasn’t figured out how to handle his father yet.

The lights in the press room feel harsher than usual, and the cameras seem closer. The reporters are already murmuring among themselves as I take my seat. I tug at my tie, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.

The first question comes fast. “Coach Metcalfe, this is your fourth loss in five games. Do you think this team has what it takes to compete in this league?”

My jaw tightens, but I keep my tone calm. “We have the talent and the drive. Tonight wasn’t our best effort, but this group has the potential to be great. We’re building something here, and I believe in the process.”

Another reporter doesn’t wait for the mic. “Was pulling the goalie with two minutes left a mistake, given how aggressively the Cyclones were forechecking?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s a calculated risk. We needed to tie the game, and you can’t score if you don’t take chances. Unfortunately, the puck didn’t bounce our way.”

A third reporter jumps in, their voice sharper. “Some fans feel like this team lacks leadership on the ice. That Viktor Abbott is too young to be a real calming presence in this league. Do you think that’s fair?”

That one hits harder than I’d like to admit. I take a breath, gripping the edge of the podium. “Leadership isn’t about one player. It’s about everyone pulling in the same direction. We’re still finding our identity as a team, but I have no doubt we’ll get there.”

The questions keep coming, each one chipping away at my patience. Why didn’t we adjust to the Cyclones’ speed? Why is our power play struggling? Do I think Viktor’s penalty cost us the game? By the end, I feel like I’ve been dragged through a verbal gauntlet, but I keep my answers professional and concise. No excuses. Just the promise that we’ll be better and what we’re working on to reach our goals.

As soon as the interview wraps, I make a beeline for the exit, my shoulders stiff with tension. The hotel isn’t far, and all I want is to crash for the night. But as I step into the quiet of the team bus, my thoughts drift to Viv.

I pull out my phone, staring at her contact photo—a candid shot I took when she wasn’t looking, laughing at something I said. Just seeing her face eases some of the weight pressing down on me.

I can’t wait to get back to my hotel room, already anticipating the sound of her voice. I need her tonight—not justfor comfort but because she’s the one person who makes me believe that no matter how rough things get, I can handle it.

Her smile appears in my mind, and just like that, my chest loosens, and for the first time all night, I feel like I can breathe.

Chapter Sixteen

Vivian

I’m in my room flipping through my digital sketchpad when my watch vibrates with a message from Grady, asking if I’m available for a call. I respond by pulling up the video chat on my tablet and settling back against a pile of pillows.

Even in the somewhat flattened, old-school version of our video chat, I can tell that he just got out of the shower. His still-damp hair sticks up in every direction.

“Hey, handsome.” I blow him a kiss. “How was the game?”

“We lost, but we had some good plays. I’m proud of the guys.” Grady tucks one arm beneath his head. “Dante’s going to ride their asses as soon as we get back, but I gave a little speech at dinner. Wanted them to know that they’re improving. I can see them getting better every game. More cohesive. It can be tempting for them to try to carry the game themselves, but I’d rather see them working together—” He shakes his head. “Aaaand I’m rambling now.”

“About your job, which you obviously care about.” I cross my ankles. “It’s not like you’re the only guy I know who waxes poetic about hockey, either. I’ve been a hockey fan since I was a little girl, so it’s not like you’re talking over my head.”

“True.” Grady flashes a crooked grin. “You know, Viktor took the loss pretty hard. Your brother has a smart mouth, but he’s serious about the game.”

“His motivation to succeed is one of his few redeeming qualities,” I agree. “What about you?”

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