Ellie peeks around me. “Hi!” She waves as a smiling middle-aged woman drags a teenage girl over.
“I love your outfit!” the woman gushes as the Orcas player looks on, bemused.
“Can you sign my phone?” the girl begs, holding out an iPhone in a pink case.
“Oh, um—”
“Gold pen.” The girl hands it to her.
Ellie writes her name with a flourish and a heart over thei.
“You were amazing out there.” Kessler’s mom sweeps Ellie into a hug. “Such an inspiration. Even if you did beat my son.”
“Told you you were going to lose.” The girl tosses her hair at her brother. He sticks his tongue out at her. “Gross!” she yelps.
“Thanks, man.” He shakes my hand. “Good game.”
Ellie slumps down in the seat as the server brings our drinks. “That was really strange.”
“You’re the hot ticket in the NHL now.” I toast her. “You could get us all big endorsement deals.”
She blows at some of the loose hair falling over her face. I tuck it back behind her ear.
“Maybe I’ll get you a real coach,” she mutters.
I grab her jaw, turn her toward me. “You kidding me right now, Ellie?”
“I mean—” She tries to wriggle away, but I cup her face.
“You are a real coach. You’re the best goddamn coach in the NHL.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”
“I’m saying that because it’s true,” I tell her sincerely. “You’re probably the best coach I’ve ever had. You get on the ice with us, you seem to have a real plan, your plays aren’t just scribbles.” I release her. “You beat Seattle. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Her lip catches in her teeth. I want to bite it. “Seriously, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Ellie,” I murmur. I want to tell her, make her understand, how she finally made the team matter, made me matter.
“Is it cliché to want to kiss your pretty, game-winning coach?”
“You can’t kiss me.” Her eyes are big in her head, almost black in the dark, pupils blown wide-open.
“I just beat the shit out of the greatest NHL team in the country. I think I can do whatever I want at this point,” I murmur. “Don’t think, just shoot, right?”
Over her shoulder, there’s a well-dressed woman entering the club. A blond, well-dressed man next to her helping her with her coat as she chides him. She looks across the dark club, and her eyes lock with mine.
Dana Holbrook’s eyebrow raises. I sit back. Ellie looks over her shoulder.
She plays hockey, I remind myself.She’s not some dumb puck bunny. She can read my body language like a book.
“Why is Dana talking to Fitz Svensson?” Ellie says slowly. “He owns the Orcas.”
Why? Because maybe Hudson is right and she is running some deal.
I snap a photo.
“What are you doing?” Ellie hisses at me as I roll the video.
“The hockey gods are on my side tonight.”
