Page 87 of Sexting the Coach
“Tell them I’m not coming,” Weston says, reaching for me again, but I dance out of his grasp.
“Uh-uh, no,” I say, shaking my head and pointing to the stage. “You go up there and get your award. We can talk later.”
His eyes land on mine. “You’ll be here when I’m done?”
“Yes,” I say, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I’ll go sit with my family. I’ll be waiting for you, Weston.”
He nods once, and when he swallows, I trace the path of that Adam’s apple with my eyes. It’s just like him, to be nervous and to pretend like he’s not.
We break away from one another in the hallway, Weston turning to follow the nervous man in the suit, but at the last second, Weston turns, catching me by the wrist and pulling me back into a soul-searing kiss that only lasts a few seconds but feels like it could last a lifetime.
When he break apart, he stops, breathing hard and setting his forehead against mine for just a second, before he says, “You’d better be, Elsie Montgomery.”
Chapter 38
Weston
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Ontario and thank you so much for coming out to help us celebrate the best of the best in our great sport. This celebration is long-standing and allows us to recognize the legends of us, from players and coaches, to referees and other key staff.”
There’s a round of applause, and a flutter of anxiety rolls through me from where we’re standing behind the stage. Assistants and other staff move around us quickly, adjusting equipment, talking to one another through their headsets, and tapping on their tablets. Backstage smells like leather and fine cologne, and I shift from side to side, surprised at how quickly I was able to let go of the hat.
It’s a good thing I finally set it down tonight—I wouldn’t want my hall of fame pictures to feature an accessory like that. But, still, it’s a leap to go from wearing it everyday to showing off the silver on national television.
But then I think about the look on Elsie’s face, the gentle touch of her fingers against my hair, and the insecurity dies away. If she likes it, I don’t really have anything else to worry about.
“It’s exciting to sit down and watch the season opener,” the host goes on, holding his microphone in his hand, “and it’s exhilarating to watch these rookies play their best. But even as we forge ahead into the future of this league, it’s important that we take time to look back and remember.”
“Hey,” August Montgomery is standing behind me, and when his massive hand lands on my shoulder, I turn to him, eyebrows shooting up.
The man is from a generation of hockey players before mine, and it feels unreal that I’m being inducted at the same time as him. August was truly a one-of-a-kind player, with a physicality and size that made him like a giant refrigerator out on the ice, slamming into guys without remorse. Somehow, he managed to balance all that brute force with grace, and had the handling skills of a much smaller player.
“Hey,” I return to him, my stomach flipping.
“Just wanted to say that I’m proud of you,” he says, voice low, his small dark eyes shining in the dim light of the backstage area. “Doubt I need to run through the wholehurt her and I’ll kill you thing, right?”
“Oh, no,” I laugh, realizing he’s joking. “Right, yeah, that’s a given.”
“Great.”
“For the record, I have no intention of ever hurting her,” I say, and I know that maybe it’s a little too sappy for a bunch of guys about to get this kind of honor, but Montgomery just smiles.
“You will,” he says, winking, “it’s just about learning how to fess up and apologize. I trust you can do that.”
I nod and face forward, trying to ignore the way his wordsI’m proud of youroll through me as the host finishes up his opener.
“…and that we honor those of us who have worked their entire lives to elevate this sport and touch the hearts ofAmericans, Canadians, and truly, sports fans throughout the world.”
Cheering erupts again, and the host smiles, nodding and waiting, until the sound dies down enough that he can speak. “And now, please welcome onto the stage some of the finest men hockey has come to know!”
The hulking guys around me all shift, and I move with them, walking out onto the stage. I try not to think about the fact that this is televised, try not to think about all the eyes on me, and try not to think about the fact that the man to my right is the father of the woman I’m in love with.
And, more than anything, I’m desperately trying not to think too much about the fact that I’m going to be a dad. Because if I think about it, I’ll smile, and if I do that on national television, it will ruin my image.
Instantly, even through the impossible bright stage lights, my eyes track to the table I saw before, and I see Elsie sitting there next to Drew. Elsie must be crying already, because her mother has handed her a handkerchief and is rubbing her back.
I’m in love with her.
And, for the first time in my life, I’m pretty certain everything is going to be okay. For a long time, I moved through the world waiting for the other shoe to drop, but right now, all I feel is pure, irrepressible joy. Maybe Elsie’s constant optimism finally got to me.
