Page 86 of Dirty Pucking Player

Everyone has such hero worship for Dad. When word of Dad’s other strokes went public, there was a goddamn prayer vigil held for him. Mac is probably a member of the “love Mike Fury” club.

His face falls, and he sits on the bench across from me. “Shit. Do you need to go?”

I shake my head. “No. My dad and I don’t exactly have the greatest relationship.”

Mac narrows his eyes at me. “He’s still your dad, Bash. If you need to go, go. Everyone will understand.”

“I’m not going.” I shove up and slam my hand against my locker. “Let’s just get this done.”

He nods slowly, stands, and backs away to continue pulling on his gear. The years we’ve played and roomed together have taught him when to back off, which is good for his health and my sanity.

I drop down onto the bench in front of my locker again and pull out my gear. Compression shorts. Cup. Shin pads. Socks. Pants. Skates. Elbow pads. Shoulder pads. Jersey. I dress on autopilot. I’ve done it so many times that I don’t need to consciously think about it. I grab my helmet and gloves, and Coach walks into the locker room.

All the air rushes from my chest.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

There’s nothing different about her today. One of the same tailored suits that show off all her curves hugs her body. Her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail has my fingers itching to tug on it. Those soft, pink, perfectly bowed lips part slightly as she waits for us to turn our attention to her.

Nothing different from how she looks every day, but somehow, seeing her now sends my heart racing and makes my hand shake. Maybe it’s the news about Dad. The realization that he’s coming to the end of his life while my career is at its peak. Maybe it’s because I fucking miss her so much and want to be able to talk to her about what’s going on. Maybe it’s because I feel like I got punched in the gut ever since I walked out of her house.

Maybe it’s because I love her.

But there’s no time to consider the why. I need to shake off my reaction to her and focus on the game.

I suck in a deep breath and rise to face her. Her eyes scan the room and linger on me momentarily. They narrow slightly, as if she, too, can see something is weighing on me, but she doesn’t approach me, doesn’t acknowledge her concern. She just moves to the center of the locker room and whistles to get everyone’s attention.

When all eyes are on her, she steps up onto one of the benches. “Guys, we need this win. Losing isn’t an option. We can’t let these fuckers walk all over us on our home ice. We got this.”

Everyone cheers their agreement. It’s a straightforward pep-talk, but it’s all we need. We all know our roles and what’s expected of us. At least…on the ice.

In life? Who the fuck knows? Certainly not me. And certainly not where Greer or Dad are concerned.

But even if my heart is breaking looking at the sadness and concern in her green eyes, I have a job to do.

And I’m going to do it.

* * *

GREER

There’s something wrong with Bash.

The moment my eyes landed on him, I knew. I felt it somewhere deep in my soul.

Bash may be good at hiding his feelings from everyone else, but in the time we’ve spent together, I’ve learned to read him enough to know that the darkness lingering in the depths of his bourbon eyes isn’t usual.

He’s hurting.

Because of last night? Or did something else happen?

My heart may still be shattered from the way he just walked away from me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not having to fight the desire to run to him and wrap my arms around him and offer him comfort against whatever weighs so heavily on him. I can almost feel its heavy presence pressing down on my own shoulders, and I don’t even know what it is.

I want to go to him, but I can’t.

Even if I weren’t his coach, it isn’t my place anymore. Things between us are over. He made that crystal clear last night. And if there was something else going on, something that affected him or could affect this game, he would tell me. Not as his girlfriend or lover but as his coach.

Then again, Bash is too stubborn to admit he may have a weakness.

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