Page 113 of Coach's Temptation

My chest aches, but I can't cry. Not now. The numbness spreads through me like ice water in my veins.

All those nights under the stars, the stolen moments in his office, the way he held me like I was something precious - they were just... what? A distraction between games?

I think of the renovated apartment. His parents. The way his mother hugged me like I already belonged in a loving family for the first fucking time in my goddamn life.

God, I actually let myself believe...

Hunter stands there, tension radiating from his shoulders, waiting for the explosion. The tears. The drama.

But I'm my parent's daughter after all. Twenty-seven years of watching them swallow their pain, pretend everything was fine while their marriage crumbled around them.

At least I learned one thing - how to make yourself small enough to fit into the spaces someone else leaves for you.

"Right." My voice comes out barely above a whisper, foreign to my own ears. "You have a Cup to win."

The words taste like ash in my mouth. I force them out anyway, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"Then you go do that, Hunter. You go do that."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hunter

My first Stanley Cup Finals game never felt this way when I imagined it as a rookie coach.

Something is wrong.

I can feel it in my gut, in the way my usual pre-game routine feels off. Like I’m moving through the motions, but nothing fucking sticks.

The locker room is buzzing, the boys are hyped, but I feel… nothing.

Greg is talking at me, something about the damn Olympics, big decisions, long-term contracts, but his voice is just noise.

I don’t care. Idon’t fucking care.

Because she’s not here.

I mean, she is… technically. Natalie is exactly where she’s supposed to be, standing at the bench in her Icehawks jacket, dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail, completely locked into her job.

But it doesn’t really matter, because she hasn’t looked at me once.

I spent last night a freezing cold mess, a wreck of emotions as I stirred alone in my bed. Natalie slept in the guest bedroom, which pissed me off initially, but then I figured at least she didn't leave.

She didn't leave.

And that… that alone gives me hope I can make sense of this fucking mess.

Greg sighs beside me, clearly exasperated. “Are you even listening, Brody?”

I glare at him. “No. I'm not.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. Do you want this job or not?”

I grip my clipboard so hard I hear it crack. "Greg, what I fucking want right now is to win this hockey game and go the fuck home. Alright?"

Greg gives me a look, but I shove past him and stalk across to the bench where my players have just finished running through their final warm-ups.

Before I even get close enough to sit down, Blake's voice cuts through the pump-up music blasting around Icehawk Arena.

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