Page 43 of Coach's Temptation

"Thanks for coming out so late." I extend my hand. "Really appreciate it, man."

"Are you kidding? After that win against Chicago?" Mike steps inside, then freezes. "Whew. That's... something."

"Tomorrow's the big one. Vancouver." I reach into my jacket, pull out an envelope with two tickets tucked inside. "Section 16. Right behind the bench. Take your son."

Mike's face lights up. "Hunter, you didn't have to-"

"Least I could do. Consider it a bonus for coming out so late." I gesture at the ceiling. "So what are we looking at here?"

Mike moves through the apartment, poking at walls and frowning at water stains. "Jesus. Place should've been condemned years ago. Whole building's got issues."

My jaw tightens. "Can you fix it?"

Mike exhales, rubbing a hand over his beard as he steps further inside, assessing the damage. He toes at one of the soaked towels near the window seat, shakes his head.

"Yeah, but..." He taps a particularly nasty wet spot. "If it were me? I'd be looking for a new place. What is this? Some kind of investment for you?"

I look around, seeing Natalie's life in ruins before my eyes.

"Yeah. Something like that."

Mike pulls out a small notebook, scribbles something down, then points toward the ceiling. “Leaks are coming from old pipes in the unit above. I’ll need to cut into the drywall, probably replace a few beams.”

“Do it.”

He nods, stepping into the kitchen. “Cabinets are buckling from the moisture. Flooring’s shot. You sure you want to save this place?”

I stare at the photo of Natalie and her grandmother, at the worn bookshelf, the stacks of paperbacks she obviously refuses to throw out. This place isn’t just some shitty apartment to her. It’s home.

“I'm sure,” I say. “Just make it livable.”

Mike scribbles in his notebook. "Well, alright. I'll replace the plumbing, probably redo the whole bathroom..."

"Do it. Whatever it takes." I pause. "And while you're at it... maybe upgrade a few things. New fixtures. Better insulation. I'll send you a list."

"Sure, but that'll add-"

I wave him off. "Just make it right."

He pauses, pen hovering over his notepad.

"And Mike?" I meet his eyes. "Keep this between us. It stays anonymous, all these repairs."

He nods, understanding. "Not a word, Coach."

Mike and I step out into the cold night air, locking up behind us.

"Good luck tomorrow, Coach. We'll all be watching."

"Thanks for this, Mike."

I slide into my Ferrari, watching his truck pull away before heading up the mountain road toward home. The dashboard clock reads 11:30 PM. Less than twenty-four hours until Vancouver.

I need some sleep.

Once I'm parked inside the garage, I kill the engine and head inside. The roller door hums shut behind me as I punch in the security code. My shoulders ache. Twenty hours until puck drop against Vancouver.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I pause at the window. The Nest glows in the distance, stadium lights creating a beautiful halo over downtown Iron Ridge.

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