Page 15 of Cold Comeback
"So now Grimmy's in full panic mode because he's accidentally convinced twenty second-graders that hockey is some kind of supernatural death sport. The teacher's losing it, the kids are crying, and Grimmy's standing there in this giant skull mask trying to explain ice time to a bunch of eight-year-olds."
I laughed despite everything. Across the table, Thatcher grinned, and for a moment, the dinner was almost normal.
"The best part," Pluto continued, "is that the school called the front office to complain, and Wren had to drive over there to do damage control. She shows up in her power suit and heels, walks into this classroom full of traumatized children, and very seriously explains that hockey is competitive ice dancing with more contact.'"
"Did it work?" Janet asked.
"The kids loved it. Now, they all want to learn competitive ice dancing. The teacher asked if we offer lessons."
Wren chose that moment to materialize beside our table like someone summoned her by name. "How's everything going over here? Janet, getting good material?"
"Wonderful," Janet assured her. "The team has such great chemistry."
"They certainly do." Wren focused on me. "Gideon, why don't you say a few words? Team captain's perspective on the upcoming season?"
My blood turned to ice water. Public speaking was bad enough under usual circumstances. Public speaking while Thatcher sat three feet away, looking like sin in a button-down shirt, was psychological torture.
"I don't think—"
"Come on, Cap," Linc encouraged. "Speech! Speech!"
The other tables picked up the chant. Knox started banging his knife against his wine glass like he was at a wedding. The entire restaurant stared at me expectantly.
I stood, chair scraping against the floor. "Thank you," I started. "We're, uh. We're excited about the season."
Brilliant. Truly captivating oratory.
"The Reapers have always been about more than just hockey." I tried to find my footing. "We're about community. About working together toward something bigger than ourselves."
Safe lines. Boring lines. Lines I'd recited a hundred times before.
I messed up glancing at Thatcher. He wasn't smiling. He was watching me like I was the only person in the room.
"We've got new talent this year." My throat went dry. "Players who bring fresh energy. New perspectives. People who—"
My voice cracked. Fuck.
"—people who push us to be better."
Thatcher's lips parted slightly, enough to make me lose the thread entirely.
"And, uh…" My mind went blank. My wine glass was in my hand before I knew it. I drained half of it in one swallow. "We're… we're going to give it everything we've got. Thank you."
Applause filled the restaurant. I sat down quickly, face burning.
"Beautiful." Wren smiled but narrowed her eyes when she looked at me.
"Very heartfelt," Janet agreed. "That new talent you mentioned—anyone in particular?"
Before I could panic, the waiter appeared with dessert menus, temporarily derailing the conversation. The kid looked frazzled, probably overwhelmed by a restaurant full of hockey players who ordered like they were carb-loading for the Olympics.
"The tiramisu's really good," he offered weakly.
"I'll bet it is." Thatcher somehow made his comment sound suggestive.
Janet was back to her notes. "So tell me about team bonding. Do you spend much time together off the ice?"
"Some of us do," Linc said. "Movie nights, that kind of thing."
