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His mouth fell open a bit and he looked at me in surprise. Immediately, blood rushed to my face. Shoot! What did I say that for? I sputtered, backpedaling as I spread my hand on the glass.
“Not a date. I meant, like a date on my calendar. An appointment. Like going to the dentist for a cavity or something.”
Open mouth. Insert foot. I was having a hard time keeping control of my tongue.
Gabriel’s shock morphed into a wry smile as he blinked at me. “Right. Good to know where I rank on the list. Right next to dental cavities.”
Yep, I’d stepped in it, now. I’d insulted him, but I was too proud to take it back.
I shrugged with a confidence I didn’t feel inside. “See you, then. In the meantime, don’t get in the middle of any more trouble.”
“Right.” He looked unconvinced as he nodded slowly. “Like I can help it. I’m a Corrigan. It comes with the territory, remember?”
He was right, it did come with the territory. Whether it was Michael or Gabriel, the two of them were trouble. Trouble I didn’t want to get involved in. I repeated that mantra to myself over and over again as I slowly walked away from the penalty box. When I looked over my shoulder, I spotted Gabriel still watching me. Heat rushed to my face again and I ducked my head until I was out of the cold air and back into the heated lobby.
What had my brain been thinking? A date with a Corrigan? What a strange slip of the tongue. Apparently, I’d forgotten what this whole mission was about.
Justice. Sweet, sweet justice.
Not dates. Not boys. Not even a boy who looked like that.
I wondered how many times in history a woman’s achievements had been derailed because of a pretty face. That was not going to happen to me. Now was not the time to start becoming distracted.
Chapter Eleven
When I lugged my laptop and the hockey footage back to the ice rink the next day, I’d expected to find the high school hockey team at practice. It wasn’t unheard of for coaches to make their team do Saturday practices, especially after a tight game. But instead, what I found as I meandered into the rink was a mess of peewee hockey players darting around on the ice and giggling like mad.
My feet slowed to a stop as I approached the ice and my mind whirled. Had I misunderstood Gabriel about meeting today? Had he sent me here to have a good laugh at my expense?
It wouldn’t have been the first time a Corrigan had pulled one over on me.
“Figures,” I muttered to myself, about ready to turn around and storm out.
But on second inspection, I froze. There was one tall familiar figure in the midst of all that giggling and he was skating backwards in wide circles, trying unsuccessfully to direct the girls and boys where to go. And it was too far away to know for sure, but I could’ve sworn there was a scar along his jaw.
Gabriel Corrigan.
Gabriel Corrigan coaching hockey.
For little kids.
Never saw that coming.
Gabriel had left the hockey pads and helmet at home. Today, he simply wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a black zip-up fleece. He was laughing at the mini goalie in the oversized pads, who’d tipped himself over and was currently flailing like a turtle on its back. Pulling the poor tyke up by the cuff of his jersey, Gabriel blew a silver whistle that hung from his neck and called everyone in for an end of practice huddle.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying from where I took a seat on a hard wooden bench behind some of the parents, but I could see the joy on the pinked cheeks of the kiddos around him. They cheered when he clapped his hands and then made a beeline for the locker rooms. One of them tightly clung to his leg for a last-minute hug before joining his friends. Gabriel shook his head, watching them all go.
There was an odd moment, where all I could see was the side of Gabriel’s face and the fond smile touching his lips, that I felt the world around me kilter and tilt. What kind of teenaged boy coached mini hockey players? And more specifically than that—since when did a Corrigan brother coach tiny kids?
Was I living in an alternate dimension?
That feeling imploded when Gabriel turned around and his gaze met mine. There was a flare of heat in my gut, warming me to my ears. He skated toward me, greeting the parents who were on their way out, and stepped off the ice to unlace his skates and replace them with his black tennis shoes sitting nearby.
“Hey,” he said, finally claiming a seat on the bench beside me.
His tone was light and friendly. He stretched and shifted casually as if he didn’t realize my whole perspective on the world had just changed. Did he have any kind of inkling as to what kind of reckoning was going on inside of me? It was driving me mad. Sure, several days ago I’d come to the difficult realization that Gabriel wasn’t his brother, but I hadn’t realized how much until now. All my preconceived notions were gone; washed away and never to return.
“You’re a coach,” I blurted out, staring wide-eyed at him.
