Page 90 of Cross Check
I follow his gaze to a guy sitting at the hotel bar. There’s a woman sitting on his lap. Another leans against his shoulder, and I frown at the wedding ring on his finger.
“The St. Louis alternate captain, right?” I ask. “Ethan hates that guy. He chirps him every chance he gets.”
“Wish I knew why he got under Easy E’s skin so much, but I can’t pretend like I don’t love it when E decks him in the face. Williams probably deserves it.”
“Dude has a wedding ring on, but he’s not acting like he’s married.”
“Guys like that are scum.” Maverick scowls. “I can’t imagine ever doing that to Emmy. You should be worshipping the ground your woman walks on.”
As if on cue, his wife rounds the corner from the elevators, walking side by side with Amelia. They’re deep in conversation, but when Emmy spots Maverick, she brightens. She waves and practically skips over to us, standing on her toes so she can kiss his cheek.
“This is a nice surprise. Hi, Grant.” She smiles at me. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Trying to calm G-Money’s nerves before he skates later.” Maverick moves away from me so he can give all his attention to Emmy. “What are you two doing?”
“Making sure we’ve ironed out all the last-minute details for our clinic tomorrow,” Emmy says. “We have fifty girls attending, and only three hours with them. We want everything to run smoothly.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Maverick says. “Those girls will be so in awe of you, they’re not going to care about logistics.”
“Here’s hoping.” Amelia’s eyes slide over to me. “Hey, Everett.”
“Coach Green,” I answer. It’s more professional than admitting I’m still thinking about the feel of her skin under my palm after our fall the other day. “Nice to see you.”
“You too.” She keeps her gaze locked on mine. I love the attention. Is she still thinking about me? “Good luck tonight.”
“Is it going to pain you to cheer for a Stars player?”
“Who said I was cheering for you?” Her smile is coy. “All I said was good luck. Easy with the ego.”
“I’m taking that as you’re my biggest fan, but you’re afraid to admit it.” I grin and check my phone. “I’m going to head up to my room to get off my feet for a bit.”
“We’ll be there later to support you. And, hey! We got a VIP table at a club tomorrow night. That will be our celebration of the weekend,” Maverick says. “You should come, Amelia.”
“Maybe I’ll swing by.” Amelia smiles at me, and it makes my heart race. “Have fun out there, Grant.”
“I’m going to do my best.” I drop my voice low as I scoot past her. “Having a good coach like you makes all the difference.”
I’m proud of myself for not looking over my shoulder after that parting shot, and I swear I can feel her gaze on me all the way to the elevator.
Madison Square Garden is the place of dreams.
Screaming fans with every team’s jersey line the stands. Photographers stand on the ice. A league official leads us to the bench in the order for the Skills competition, and I loosen my grip on my stick.
“First time?” Davis Bartlow, former Art Ross trophy winner and current league points leader who plays for Los Angeles, asks me.
“Yup.” I laugh. “What gave it away?”
“Thinking you had to wear your helmet tonight.” He chuckles. “It’s a chill environment. Enjoy it. Feels like yesterday I was in your shoes.”
“Any advice for not humiliating myself out there?” I ask.
“Don’t stress. Bradley Jensen fell last year, and no one cared.”
“I’m so going to become a meme.” I groan. “Falling is my biggest fear!”
“You guys do summer camps for kids, right?” Davis asks, and I nod. “Just treat it like you’re demonstrating the drills to them, and you’ll be fine.”
The lights dim, and the PA announcer introduces us and the teams we play for. The fans are reminded of the rules and the progression system, and we’re off.
