Page 13 of High Sticks

“Men! Line up for the next set!" Hoss called out, clapping his hands and returning me to the present.

We closed the practice session with a full scrimmage, half the team against the other. I took charge of the offense. Hoss was on the other end, running the defense.

The puck dropped, and immediately, Eddie showed his skills. He was agile and quick, and as I’d informed his new teammates, he had hands like a magician. After a blur of skates and sticks, Eddie had the puck on his blade, dashing for the opposing net.

Jensen was on him. Just as he lunged to steal the puck, Eddie made a dazzling pass to Johnson, who nailed a shot past Waller.

"Nice play, men!” I shouted, skating back to the bench where Hoss stood, arms folded and eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and mischief.

"Your little protege sure knows how to make an entrance," he said, bumping his shoulder against mine.

"Yeah, but I still say he needs to learn it's not always about the highlight reel," The kid has fire, but he needs to learn how to control it.

"Are you ever happy, Pete?" Hoss laughed.

Only when we win," I replied curtly, ignoring the proximity of Hoss's lips and the way his breath curled into tiny steam clouds.

"Then let's win," he said, his voice dipping low enough to sound almost seductive. I was quickly learning more about my assistant coach. Hoss was a master of mixed signals—rugged jock one moment, eloquent charmer the next.

"And how do you propose we do win? Magic? Or basic drills?”

"Teamwork," he said, leaning closer. "And maybe a little magic, that never hurts.”

Our eyes met again, and for a moment, the entire rink fell away, leaving just Hoss, me, and the magnetic pull between us. And then—

"Coach Z! Hoss! Time for line changes!" Jensen shouted, snapping us back to reality.

I shot Hoss a wry smile. "Duty calls."

He chuckled. "Well, we can't disappoint the fans, now can we?"

I caught Eddie's eye as I returned to the bench to set up the new line combinations. He was still buzzing from his earlier play, but something told me he sensed my reservations.

"Eddie, good effort, but remember—it's not all about you," I called to him as the team gathered around, emphasizing the point with a stern look.

"Understood, Coach," Eddie replied, his eyes meeting mine.

Hoss skated up beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from his body despite the chill of the rink. "A lesson you could stand to remember yourself, Pete," he whispered, so low only I could hear it.

I turned to look at him, but before our eyes could meet, he had already skated away, calling out orders to gather the team's gear. There was no mistaking it; the man had just dropped a bomb, leaving me on ice that felt a whole lot thinner than before.

Chapter5

Hoss

Istood in my apartment’s kitchen, staring at the damn coffee maker, tapping my foot, waiting for it to deliver the perfect pot. Almost a year out of rehab, making coffee without spiking it still felt like a novelty.

The aroma filled the air as I leaned against the counter, my gaze drifting to the little plant on the windowsill. Sobriety had taught me to appreciate the little things—like remembering to water a plant or actually tasting coffee.

Pouring myself a mug, I headed to the living room and plopped down on the couch. Pouring myself a mug, I headed to the living room and plopped down on the couch. Just as I thought how eerie the silence was, my phone buzzed loudly. "Jesus," I muttered, picking it up—another spam call.

I’d learned to appreciate silence and solitude. I glanced at the time; there was still an hour left before practice. I grabbed my phone, scrolling mindlessly through my social media feed, until I stumbled across a post of an old teammate and his partner at a charity event. They looked...happy.

"Aww, look at ‘em. They even have the 'we're so happy together' glow."

I was about to put the phone down when a post of a couple at a wedding caught my eye. "Huh," I said aloud, surprising myself. Could I be in a relationship again?

Not that anyone was knocking down my door, but still, the thought had crossed my mind lately, particularly with the arrival of Pete—aggravating, confounding Pete.

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