Page 7 of Breaking the Ice
They both knew the truth, but Zach was committed to the charade anyway.
Not once had he considered that Zach, of all the guys he’d coached, might be better at leading than playing.
You could’ve been there for it, for all of it, but you made sure you weren’t.
He had. For a lot of reasons. Reasons that still felt solid, if notgood.He had a decent life out here. It wasn’t terrible, but then it wasn’t the life he’d had, either, and that was the most important thing.
Gavin interrupted Zach when he was between points six and seven. Something about performance-based bonuses. Extra money if he led the Evergreens to the playoffs, and won there, too.
“What happens to you if I say no?” Gavin asked.
Zach looked startled. “Uh . . .what do you mean?”
And Gavin realized the interruption hadn’t been the surprising thing, but instead the concept that Gavin might actually be considering the job offer.
Suddenly he felt shitty that he was making Zach do this, and he didn’t even want it. He didn’t evenmeanit.
At least that had always been true, but then he’d never let anyone get this far before. He’d dismissed them in the clearing outside his house, the weight of his unloaded rifle always on his shoulder.
He had another gun he carried on long hikes, a lightweight pistol, because there was still wildlife out here, deep in the forests. But the rifle was showy and impressive and made all the slick NHL suits panic in a way that amused him at first and now only felt simpler. Easier.
“I mean, did they hire you thinking you could get to me, and if you can’t—”
A frown creased Zach’s face. “They didn’t hire me to get to you.”
“No?” Maybe it wasn’t fair, but Gavin didn’t really believe that.
The NHL didn’t like loose ends, and he was the ultimate loose end. No longer easily folded into their systems, into their development programs, into their coaching hierarchies.
“This was all my idea,” Zach said stubbornly. “Sidney wanted to approach—” He cut himself off. “It doesn’t matter who he wanted originally.”
It kind of mattered, in a way that Gavin hadn’t considered in a long, long time.
Before,before, he’d been competitive. He’d wanted to be the best. The most sought after. The idea of the Evergreens going after anyone else to be their new head coach would’ve kept him up nights.
But then he’d discovered there were a lot worse things.
“I was the one who suggested it.” Zach shot him a look. “Swift thought I was crazy to even come here, but I told him, I told him Ihadto try, to see you, to make sure . . .”
Zach didn’t have to finish the sentence for Gavin to know what he meant. That he was alive. That he was well. That he hadn’t drowned himself in booze or silence.
He couldn’t say that either of those things hadn’t seemed appealing at the beginning. But he’d grown out of self-destruction. Now numbness came naturally, without any assistance whatsoever.
“Well, you’re here. I’m here.” Gavin spread his arms wide. Ignored the guilt pulsing in his gut. It was easier than it should’ve been. “I’m fine. Even if I’m apparently rotting away here.”
“Why did you let me—” Zach stopped abruptly, expression suddenly angry. “I get it.”
If Zach got it, then that was one of them, because Gavin still wasn’t sure why he’d invited Zach in or why he’d been stupid enough to let him make an actual job pitch.
Maybe he’d been tempted by life, byreal fucking life, for the first time in four years. Nowthathe should feel guilty about but like a cosmic joke played on Gavin, of course he didn’t. Not even a little bit.
“They won’t fire you, then?” Gavin changed the subject, back to his initial question. It was easier to stay focused on Zachand his future, maybe not the future he’d imagined for him, back when he’d known that nineteen-year-old, so fucking full of promise, but still undeniably bright.
Zach looked incredulous. “No,” he said bluntly.
“Okay. Good.”
“Do you want to hear the rest?” Zach asked cautiously.
