Page 81 of The Big Puck

He nods and gives me the kind of look that says I’ll need all the luck I can get.

Which I hope isn’t true since all my luck seems to be the bad kind. So I’m not relying on luck. Persistent hard work and focus is the only way. Single-minded laser focus. Without distractions. Especially without the distraction of Cupid inspired blue sky dreams.

I can only handle one blue sky dream at a time, the kind I feel confident I can accomplish. And that would be seeing this team become division champions.

“The lines look good,” I say, steering the conversation back to where it should be as we head back to the visitor’s locker room. “But I’m worried about Windy. He’s not been on his game and that slap shot is tough to stop if number nine gets it off against him.

“You’re right,” Kap says. “I’ve noticed he’s off in the locker room too. Rafe mentioned it.”

“When the team gets back to the hotel, before his nap, have him come to—” I stop short. I can’t have him come to my room because I have no idea what’s waiting there for me, whether Lainey will still be there. “Have him meet me in the coffee shop. I’ll have a talk with him.”

“Will do.” Kap smiles. “If hockey doesn’t work out for you, the way I’ve seen you work with these guys, each one of them individually, you could become a therapist.”

“Hockey is therapy, Kap.”

He laughs and goes in the locker room. I head back to the hotel, but I don’t go back to my room. I wait in the coffee shop for Windy.

* * *

Windham Breck, aka Windy, walks into the coffee shop about a half hour later. He’s in the middle of his career, a good pick from Colorado’s team and known for his consistency. That’s what makes his current level of distraction troubling.

He spots me and strides over, sliding into the booth, opposite me.

“Hey Coach. Kap sent me. What’s up?” He’s not his normal easy going self, but then that could be because his coach just asked him for coffee before a game and he probably thinks he’s about to be traded.

“Let me put your mind at ease. You’re not being traded.”

His mouth drops. “Shit, I didn’t even think about that possibility. Good to know though.”

“Sorry. Must be my sorry history making me think everyone’s paranoid about being traded.”

“Nah. Not on this team. I’ve never seen a group so cohesive, so… I don’t know—together, like the twenty musketeers.”

I chuckle. “You’re right, but I have noticed you seem distracted lately.”

He sits up and gives me a defiant lift of his chin. I stare him down. We stare for a few beats of silence and then he collapses. Literally, his head sinking down into his hands on the table.

“God damn it. I thought I was handling things so well, that no one would notice.”

“Let me guess,” I say, figuring it would be easier if I tell him what the problem is rather than make him confess. “Girl troube.”

He head snaps up and he looks at me, eyes wide. Then he shakes his head and chuckles.

“Got to hand it to you. You are every bit the mind reader your rep says you are. I didn’t believe it, but now I do.”

“Tell me about her.”

He sighs deep and any semblance of good humor disappears. “She’s gone. Left. Moved out.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. When?”

He shrugs. “It’s been brewing a while.” He gives me a sheepish look. “Ever since I got traded to the Whalers. She didn’t want to come with me. Her career.”

“How long were you together?”

“Three years. Not married—living together. But I was planning to marry her. We planned to get married, maybe even have kids some day. If I could talk her into it.”

“She didn’t want children?”