From center ice, Morrison yelled, “Run it again.” And the players reset.
“Thanks, Coach.” The kid skated away from him and back to position.
Something about him was familiar, but Elliott couldn’t figure out what. When he got home he was going to Google some ways to help the kid bend his knees more. It had been years since he’d taught anyone below college level. He was rusty, but as good as Will was, coaching the minor teams was his first coaching gig, and he would probably be glad for the assist.
“Coach.” Morrison came to a stop next to the boards Elliott was leaning on. “How’re things?”
“Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “Same old. Trying to put together a championship team when some of our best players grew up and moved on.”
Will smiled. “It’s funny, because when you’re out there on the ice, none of us ever feel like we’re the best players. We’re just cogs in the team machine, Coach. Doing our part to bring the team to glory.”
“Repeating my words back to me, eh?” He brushed his palm along his jaw. “Kid’s good.” He jerked his chin to the player he’d been talking to.
“Mason? He is. Still can’t get him to bend those knees quite right, but he’s got potential.” Will nodded. “They all do. I just need to figure out how to tap into that and bring it out of them. Like you did.” He elbowed Elliott. “Gotta get them ready for their bright future with the Snow Pirates.”
“Is it okay for me to watch for a bit? Helps my thought process.”
Will grinned. “All your secrets are coming out now, Coach. I had no idea how complex your method is. We all just figured you woke up and shit greatness.”
If only it were that simple. The pressure to succeed—especially after having delivered a championship season—was stifling. It was never enough. There were always better players, new objectives, teams to beat and another cup to win.
For the next thirty minutes, Elliott strategized plays and drills to the background music of teenagers yelling and skating. When their practice ended, he figured it was time for him to head out also.
And finally he realized why Mason seemed familiar.
Clare stood next to a beat-up white Camry in the parking lot with her hands planted on her hips and her face stern as she stared down at the kid who had her eyes. She wore a black graphic t-shirt that saidI’m too clumsy to be around fragile masculinity,a long yellow cardigan and dark wash jeans with black ankle boots.
Her lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed. He’d seen that look a million times before—hell, he’d been on the receiving end of it more times than he cared to remember. He turned his head in case she saw him grinning at the memory.
“But Mooooooom.” Mason’s whining carried through the air as Elliott made his way to his SUV. “Dad said—”
She practically snarled. “Mason, I’ve talked to you before about playing your father and me off of one another. You knew I wouldn’t be happy about it and you did it anyway. I’ll be talking to your dad when we get home.”
Elliott winced. Clare’s daughter hadn’t mentioned that Clare was with someone when she’d given him her number. Maybe she thought her mom needed to connect with an old friend. Maybe Elliott had just hoped to find her unattached.
But Clare had another kid and was still with their father. Of course she was. Any guy who gave her up would be dumb as a bag of rocks. But until he’d heard her mention Mason’s father, he hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped to find her single. If he’d been a better man and committed to her all those years ago, he’d never have given her up either.
Guilt swirled in his sour stomach as he watched the exchange between the two. She was married, taken, unavailable, but his heart—and his dick—didn’t seem to be understanding that meant a big old “nope” was painted across the entire situation like caution tape at a crime scene.
He remembered how soft her skin was as he’d brush her wispy, dirty blond hair behind her ear. How plump her lips were, always shiny from the clear gloss she wore daily as a teenager. How stubborn she could be, how fiercely determined to accomplish anything she damn well wanted to without hesitation or self-doubt.
But he also remembered the betrayal in her eyes when he told her he had to go back on their deal and leave to play hockey. He remembered the sadness in her voice as she pleaded with him not to go and the tears as they trickled down her flushed cheeks as he walked away.
He pressed against his sternum with a clenched fist, but the welling pain wouldn’t abate. She was married, with kids, happy, albeit a little disheveled and somewhat odd but that was always who she was.
He couldn’t have her. He’d missed his chance. She was in his past. There was no future for them. It did no good to stew over roads not taken.
As he crossed the parking lot, he heard a gear bag fall to the ground and turned in time to see Mason storming away from Clare. Elliott beeped open his SUV with the key fob but didn’t take his eyes off her.
Anguish paled her delicate features as she chewed on her thumbnail. She covered her face with both palms and stood, shoulders curled forward and bobbing with what had to be quiet sobs. He wanted to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would all be okay. But he couldn’t.
He never had kids with Denise, though there was a time he’d have given anything to have them. She kept putting him off and putting him off until she finally confessed she had never actually wanted kids at all. It had been the beginning of the end for them.
Married under the pretense of wanting the same things out of life left only mistrust and heartache when the truth came out, and a marriage built on mistrust was no marriage at all.
He rubbed his chest again. So many things he could have and should have done differently over the years. He’d come home ready to settle down with Clare only to find her pregnant with another man’s kid. When he’d met Denise he thought he could maybe be happy with her, until it came out that she’d lied about wanting kids. The kicker came when she stepped out on their marriage with her boss.
He grunted. Clearly his instincts couldn’t be trusted. Women couldn’t be trusted.
