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The guy nods, a little suspicious as he answers, “Yes, sir.”
Coming down the stairs as I stand, Dad passes by me and holds out his hand to shake Kyle’s. He takes my dad’s hand cautiously as he asks, “Are you River Moore?”
“I am. I’ve seen video of you, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“What?” he asks, confused. “What do you mean?”
“In due time. I am going to see you next week, yeah?”
He nods. “For camp?”
“Yup, nice meeting ya,” Dad says and then he turns, coming toward me, while Kyle looks at him dumbfounded.
Following him into the house, I shut the door and ask, “Why didn’t you just say you’re coaching?”
“They don’t want me to announce it yet. Waiting for the first day of camp.”
Scoffing, I say, “So instead you just walk up to people and look like a weirdo?”
He shrugs, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Guess so.” He then sends me a goofy look before saying, “I didn’t realize that’s how I came off.”
“Yeah, very Castiel from Supernatural in my opinion,” I say speaking of our favorite show and the very socially awkward angel on it.
He pauses and then laughs. “I’ll work on that then.”
I laugh along with him as I drop into the seat he has pulled out for me. Pushing a pile of files toward me, he says, “Look through all that and tell me what you think of the ones I’ve marked. I have to cut eight guys, and apparently three want the captain and alternates.”
I chew on the inside of my lip. I want the captain spot; I was supposed to have it this year, but since I moved teams, that might not happen. Dad said we’ll see how well I do during camp. “Feel I’ll get the spot I want?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, babe. These boys are something and put our old team to shame, so no wonder we could never beat them.”
“I’m better than them, though?” I say, and I didn’t mean it as a question, but it came out that way.
“Oh yeah, but maybe three of them might give ya some problems.”
The hell they will.
I nod as I open the file, and the first thing I see is Jayden Sinclair’s name.
He wants captain.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I say, “What do you think of Sinclair?”
“Big body, huge presence on the ice. I feel good about him. He and his little brother Jace are the two you’ll have to watch out for.”
More than you realize, I think as I nod. “So he’s my biggest competition.”
Looking up at me from his computer, he says, “Yeah. For sure. He should have gone into the draft last year, but his agent wants one more year on him. I’ve been in talks with him, and he’ll go quick next year. His brother went second or third.”
“First,” I say, and his brows shoot up.
“Know about them, then?”
I shrug. “I know the name, and he’s doing great right now for the Kings.”
“Oh! Yeah! Jude Sinclair! That’s right. How did I miss that? Hmm,” he says, making some notes on the pad in front of him. I know I’m supposed to look through the file, but I can’t turn the page.
Running my finger along the picture in the file, I will myself to stop but I can’t. Tracing his lips, I groan internally. Oh, the feel of those lips and that face. I remember every single detail of it. He looks younger in this picture, not as big as he did in person. He had more scruff than he does in the picture when I saw him in Florida. In this picture, he looks carefree and fun, but he was so much more than that. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I wanted nothing more than to knock all the problems away just to see his smile.
