Page 108 of Three Pucking Words
Her little shoulders slump. “It doesn’t have to be a full-sized horsey,” she says quietly.
I can see it in Sebastian’s eyes. He’s falling for this. “Don’t,” I tell him.
“But—”
“No” I cut him off. “We do not need a horse or a pony.”
Gemma mutters under her breath and Sebastian sighs heavily. “Now she’s sad. Great job dick—” He stops when I clear my throat to stop him from saying a bad word. “Jerk,” he corrects, rolling his eyes.
My daughter turns in his arms to face him, poking the tip of his nose. “Jerk is a mean word, Uncle Bash.”
I nod. “Yeah, Uncle Bash. You hurt my feelings. Deeply.” I cup my chest. “I’m wounded.”
“I’m sure.”
We walk inside so I can get the hot chocolate started. Sebastian helps Gemma out of her coat and boots, then joins me in the kitchen when she runs into the living room to play.
I can feel him watching me as I pour milk into the saucepan on the stove.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and staring expectantly at me. “You told me you needed to talk. Figured this was a guy thing, so I told Tori and Beck to stay home.”
It takes me a minute to face him, rubbing my neck and feeling the weight on my shoulders. “I had a meeting with coach. He knows my shoulder is fucked.”
Sebastian whistles. “Damn.”
I nod once. “And the meeting was…” I shake my head slowly, still surprised by what he told me even two days later. “Unexpected. He told me about a new opportunity that he thought would be good for me.”
That has my best friend’s brows raising. “A new opportunity as in…?”
I take a deep breath. “A coaching gig.”
He gawks. “For which team? Ours?”
I shake my head. “A new one in the Eastern Conference.”
I tell him everything. There were two people I wanted to talk to about this. One of them is the man across from me, and the other is Honor. But Honor has been busy with work, and I didn’t want to tell her about the potential gig over the phone or text. It’s a conversation that needs to happen face to face.
Sebastian rubs his jaw. “Wow,” he mutters, seemingly as surprised as I was in Coach’s office. “That’s… wow.”
I watch the slow trickle of bubbles pop up from the bottom of the pan. “I don’t know if this is a good thing or bad,” I admit, feeling just as lost now as I was two days ago.
“Why would it be a bad thing? It sounds like it’s still good money and benefits. You’d be staying on the same coast. And Moskins may be a giant prick, but the dude is a damn good player.”
He’s not wrong. Thomas Moskins was ranked one of the best hockey players of the decade by Forbes. If his father-in-law poached him, Moskins must believe it’s a solid team. He’s not one who takes losing well.
“You think I should do it,” I state. It’s not a question, although I’d be interested to know why he thinks that. I would have thought he’d tell me to stay. To tell Yokav to go fuck themselves. That’s not what’s written on my best friend’s face, though.
He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself off the counter where he leans. “I think your shoulder has been screwing with you all season, and you’ve been hiding how much you’re struggling. I also think you’ve been debating on how much longer you can do this, and the only two reasons you’re pushing through the pain is for the team and Gemma.”
Am I that transparent? “You know me a little too well.”
He grins. “I know you have a mole on your right ass cheek, a pension for manscaping, and that you’re always pretending you’re fine with you are anything but.”
I shoot him a look. “You staring at my junk in the locker room, Henderson?”
His lips spread. “Hard not to when everybody’s dicks are out in front of me.”
I have nothing to say to that.
