“They can’t do that—Dana can’t do that.” I shake my head. “Ellie worked so hard for this. Poured everything she had into making this team work, into proving herself. You should have seen the shit they said about her.” My fists clench. “And they’re just going to yank it away from her.”
I didn’t even get to tell her I love her.
“While I find your white-knighting for your coach revolting, I actually think it’s probably more because Eddie told the news she was having an affair with one of her players.”
“Thatmotherfucker.”
“I thought you knew. Figured you were here because you want a crack at Eddie.” He clocks the confusion on my face. “He went to the Boston Harbor Hawks.”
“I’m sure he’s shit-talking her to them,” I glower. “He did it to hurt Ellie. Fuck, I should have just stayed here and beat the shit out of him when I had the chance.”
I want Hudson to fight me, want to unleash the anger.
Hudson just smirks. “That’s why you’re good at this job—you’re aggressive, want to win at all costs.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him!” I roar, the words echoing around the empty stadium.
“There it is. I’m putting money on your game.”
33
ELLIE
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready? You have the game in a few hours.” My dad knocks on my open door.
“I thought you were hiring a new coach,” I say from where I’m lying on my bed, eating the last of the Blitzen bites, looking through the au pair website to see which family looking for cheap live-in nannying seems least likely to lock me in a cellar in the middle of the Austrian Alps.
“Well, it’s not like the NHL can just usurp the team owner and hire a coach for him. Her,” he corrects as he gingerly sits on the edge of my bed. “Besides, none of the coaches we looked at are as good as you.”
“I suck as a coach,” I say miserably. “I lost my last game, one of my D-men defected, my star player can’t manage to stay sober, all the rookies are neurotic, and I slept with a centerman.”
My dad pats my leg under the covers. “You know, my first NHL game as a goalie—they called me up from the minors at the last minute. I was young—I was your age. I was so freaked out I puked as soon as I stepped on the ice. They had to delay the whole game to clean it up. We lost awfully. I thought the D-men were going to knife me in the parking lot.” Nate grimaces at thememory. “They had to call an ambulance for the coach because he was so furious they thought he was stroking out when he was screaming at me.”
He huffs a laugh.
“I told the GM I was sorry but clearly I wasn’t cut out for hockey and would see myself out. He just laughed at me and told me I take this game way too seriously, that this night was going to be a funny story I tell after a long and successful career.” He rubs my arm.
“Probably should have taken that advice to heart. It’s hockey—it’s not life or death. I need to remind myself of that. It’s not more important than your family, your kids, than you.” He puts an arm around my shoulders. “And this is going to be a funny story that you’ll tell people after your team wins a Stanley Cup. So get up. I think your mom made pregame snacks for everyone.”
I stare miserably at my computer. “I can’t show my face.”
“I didn’t raise a quitter. I raised a hockey player and NHL coach, apparently,” my dad says wryly.
“Well, the team is being moved to the West Coast,” I remind him. “So I’m not a coach for much longer.”
“If the team is leaving, then you should finish it out.”
“No way. I can’t go back—it’s humiliating.” I pull a pillow over my head. “My players hate me. They think I gave Fletcher preferential treatment.”
“I’m not so sure,” Nate adds wryly. “I don’t know if I mentioned it, but the NHL has been getting a number of angry emails from your players.” He smirks. “Zayne Murphy sent a very heartfelt message about how you embody the working-class spirit of hockey. The chairman apparently got weepy when he read it. There are a number of emails with poor grammar about how you’re the best coach ever, and someone named StonewallRenwick left a message on the answering machine threatening to blow up the NHL headquarters if you get replaced.”
He shows me an email on his phone. “Also, Google Translate says this is a death threat, but it’s all in Finnish, so who knows.” He tucks the phone back in his pocket. “Come on, Ellie, get up. Your team needs you. Up. Up!” He drags me upright then gives me a big hug.
“I can’t.”
“You can. You have.” My dad pulls back to cup my face and look at me, eyes wet. “I’m so proud of you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive. That’s not the kind of father I wanted to be. And I’m going to be cheering you on from the stands.”
“Don’t waste your time—we’re going to lose.”
