Page 118 of Fall For Me
My heart stalls. What does he mean ‘new team coach’?
“Coach!” he yells.
Fuck me!
I drag a hand down my face in frustration because there are only two people I wanna play for: Luke or Hannah. When my eyes lift, I expect to see a man that I don’t know, not my girl, walking in to stand in front of the team.
The world stops spinning.
Pride soars through me as Coach gestures toward his daughter.
“Hannah has been an asset to this team for a long time now. When you’re here at this facility, she’s not your friend, my daughter, or in Mac’s case, his girlfriend. She’s your coach, and I expect every single one of you to respect her as such.”
Hannah smiles at the team with a new level of confidence I’ve never seen from her. She's been different these past few weeks. More positive. A little more outgoing.
“I’m gonna go ahead and give Hannah the room.”
“As you can see, our refrigeration shit the bed,” Hannah says, motioning toward what was once the ice. The rink looks awful. Paint lines mix with the thick white sludge, stretching across the entire surface. She continues as she paces back and forth in front of the glass. “We have waders for each of you. Just think of this clean up as a team-building project. During games, you all have different roles . . .different responsibilities . . . different expectations, but today . . . everyone gets the same shovel.”
She bends down, picks up a snow shovel, and bounces it twice in her hands.
Irritation flits across some of my teammates’ faces. They came here to work out . . . do drills . . . and play hockey, not clean. Grunt work like this is for the crew . . . at least that’s what a lot of them are probably thinking, but what they don’t realize is Hannah doesn’t do shit just to do it.
“Everybody loves game night. No one ever thinks about this part, but this part is why game nights exist. The ice gives you everything . . .Everything. . . Privilege, careers, money, fans, purpose . . . and we’re gonna give back. So, suit up. Grab a shovel or a squeegee and let’s get started.”
Where the fuck did this version of Hannah come from, and why the hell is her bossing us around so goddamn hot?
We all filter down the stairs, doing what she told us to. Cal steps up beside Carter, shoving his feet into the boots and jerks a stiff nod toward the rink. “Could you imagine if Brodie was here in his designer clothes?”
“Oh, I’d pay money to see that.” Carter laughs, picking up a shovel.
“Coach, you’re cleaning too?” Trevor asks Hannah as she steps into the water.
Her lips pinch to the side. “I’m never gonna ask my team to do something I wouldn’t do myself.”
I meet up with Hannah, and our boots slosh through the water as we begin to work alongside each other.
“Congratulations, Coach.” I turn my head and smile. “Are we keeping secrets from each other now?”
“I kept a surprise from you, not a secret. I tried to accept the job right after Granny died, but Aspen wanted me to take time to grieve before agreeing to a new role.”
“She was right to make you wait.” I look around at the floor, then my eyes flit to hers. “You throw yourself into something toosoon, and it just causes more destruction. Take this mess for example.”
She glances behind her, and as we both push water into the drain, I continue, “You see what’s underneath?”
Peering down at grey slab underneath, she answers, “Concrete?”
Shaking my head, I stop and prop my arm on top of the handle of the snow shovel. “A clean slate. See, if you refreeze the ice before stripping the floor, you'll get soft spots, and people could get hurt. You have to remove all the shit, strip it down to the surface, and scrub it clean. Only then can you rebuild the ice layer by layer, repaint the lines, and replace the logo. It's the same in life.”
“You’re right. I never thought about it like that,” she admits, heading back toward the other end of the rink. “Umm . . . I’ve been talking to Carter over the past few weeks too.”
I pause mid-push and glance over at her.
“We’ve been working through my trauma from the past year.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Yeah, well . . . People who have problems generally don’t like to admit they have problems, and they especially don’t like to admit when they need someone’s help. It’s embarrassing when you can’t seem to get a grip on your own. At least I know that’s true when it comes to me. I didn’t know if he could help but . . .” She shrugs.
