Page 10 of Cross Check

I’m still learning some things, but I know with absolute certainty no man will ever make me as happy as these two do.

FIVE

AMELIA

“I’ve always liked playing in the Civic Center.” Jude Hunter, head coach of the Denver Goldminers and my boss, fixes his tie outside the visitors’ locker room in DC. “I won a Frozen Four here.”

“That was decades ago, right?” I grin when he glares at me. “Kidding, Coach.”

“It’s rude to disrespect your elders, Green.” He gives me a fist bump then waves to Elliot Putnam, our associate coach. A step above me in the team’s hierarchy and next in command after Jude, it’s only a matter of time before Elliot snags a head coaching gig outside of Denver. “Did you turn in our lineup, Putt-Putt?”

“That three-hour, league-mandated course about bullying clearly didn’t resonate with you all.” Elliot rolls his eyes at the nickname, but gives in with a smirk. “Lineup has been delivered, but Hudson Hayes is out tonight for personal reasons. I didn’t know Saunders had enough of a soul to let one of his guys sit.”

“That’s odd.” I frown. “Hayes hasn’t missed a game all season.”

“Who is starting in his place?” Jude asks.

“Ryan Seymour.”

“He’s good. Played at Penn State,” I say, mentally running through the Stars’ roster. Right-handed. Barely six feet. One of the lighter guys on the team. “Small and scrappy.”

“Keep your eye on him for me, Green. Let me know if we need to size down in the second period.”

“Will do.”

The door to our locker room opens, and the team comes tumbling out. Our captain, Lenny Ultzman, takes the lead and pushes our goalie, Alex Baystrong, to the front of the line.

“We’re going to huddle up, then we’ll see you all on the ice.” Lenny knocks his knuckles against the three of ours with a grin. “Can’t wait to kick Maverick Miller’s ass. I’m sick of seeing photos of him with supermodels. Someone needs to shake him out of his god complex.”

I follow Jude and Elliot down the tunnel. We make our way around the rink to the bench on the opposite side, and a few Goldminers fans who travel to every away game hold up their signs in support of our team.

“Pretty sick gig.” Elliot steps behind the bench and shifts to his left to make room for me. “Traveling the country and watching hockey whenever you want? Talk about the dream.”

“That’s literally our job, El.” I tighten my slicked-back ponytail and stand next to him. “It doesn’t get much better than this.”

“Coaching has stress connected to it. Wins and losses. Salaries and job security. It would be nice to⁠—”

There’s no chance to hear what he’s daydreaming about. The Stars take the ice, and the crowd roars with excitement despite their mediocre record. I square my shoulders and reach for the whiteboard sitting on the bench. I keep my attention on the controlled breakouts Jude jotted down rather than who might be in the lineup for DC tonight. Focusing on the blue-to-blue stretch he designed is easy until I feel attention on me.

Heavy, persistent.

Fucking unrelenting.

My body moves without permission.

I lift my chin. My gaze bounces to where Grant is leaning against his stick and grinning my way. Without breaking eye contact, he straightens. He tosses me a wink then sails a perfect backhand shot into the empty net.

Asshole.

“Let’s get the win tonight.” I turn away and hand the whiteboard over to Elliot. “I need some bragging rights.”

“Oh, yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Is there an emotional investment in this game outside of our placement in the standings?”

“Come on, Putt-Putt. It’s hockey.” I grin. “There is always an emotional investment.”

No more distractions.

No more young guys showing off.