Head Coach EPB

by Lia Riley

“I figured it might make me look bigger if I waved it around.”

  She grabbed him at the elbows. “You. Are. Crazy.”

  “Come on.” He arched a brow. “You aren’t a little a-moosed?”

  She shook her head even as an unwilling smile tugged her lips. “Too soon.”

  “It appears I moose-spoke. I moose have thought you had a better sense of humor.”

  “Tor Gunnar. Head coach. Moose slayer. All-around punny guy.”

  “It’s no joke, make no moose-take.”

  She groaned, burying her face in his chest.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I can keep going.”

  “I beg you to quit. Seriously, let’s get out of here before Bullwinkle on steroids decides to pay a repeat visit.”

  He slid on his shirt. “Good idea. Plus this snow doesn’t look like it’s letting up.”

  They only took a few steps before he noticed she ambled stiffly, like someone trying to repress pain.

  “You hurt yourself.” Not a question.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I just turned my ankle fleeing a giant woodland creature.”

  “Sprain?” His voice sharp.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing.” But her tone was tight.

  “Let’s take a look at the nothing.” After dropping into a crouch, he moved to roll up her leggings.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “Maybe don’t touch. I’ll get some ice on it back at the hotel.”

  “Jesus, you are in pain.” It was clear she had swelling. Now standing, he held out his arms. “I’ll carry you.”

  “What? All the way back to the hotel?”

  “It’s not far.”

  “A mile!”

  “Well, how do I put this? You are little. Are you even five feet?”

  She drew herself up to her full small height. “I’m bigger than a penguin, Mister.”

  He chuckled. “I’m just saying, I think I can manage.”

  She shifted her weight, hesitating, and winced. “Normally I would rather crawl than ask for help, but my moose fear is overriding my pride.”

  He scooped her up and cradled her against him. A snowflake landed on the tip of her nose and he kissed it off.

  “You’ve saved me twice before breakfast.”

  “I’m quite aware of this fact.”

  “You seem pleased.”

  “Very much so.”

  “Smug much?” she asked.

  “Always.”

  They shared a quiet laugh.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m not used to a guy having my back.”

  “I’d like to have you on your back.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  He dropped the teasing. “I know. Truth. I was scared. More than scared back there.”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “If something had happened to you? I don’t think I’d have forgiven myself.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. At all. It wasn’t even the moose’s fault. It probably wanted to catch a quick bite before this snow and we upset its mojo. But . . . I was scared too. Watching you on that trail. I haven’t felt like that before.”

  “I’m hazarding a guess that there’ve been times in our past you’d have paid good money to hire a moose to pay me a little visit.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to plead the Fifth on that one.”

  “All right, confession time. Here’s the deal. I never disliked you, Neve. I hated how you made me feel.”

  “And how was that?” she murmured.

  “Like my heart was trying to climb out of my chest.”

  “Sounds uncomfortable.”

  “Very. But I think it was trying to tell me something.”

  She tapped a finger against her lower lip. “Let me guess. Neve Angel is very lovely and you should pull your head out of your ass and make sweet, sweet love to her?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Well, if we’re baring it all. Here’s my secret. I always found you attractive. I mean I have two eyes. But I think it was safer to be a pain in your ass than, you know . . . ogle your ass.”

  “Why?”

  “In my job, I can’t fall for a player. Or a coach. Or pretty much anyone affiliated with sports. It makes things murky.”

  “Are you saying you feel . . . murky?” This was getting dangerously close to a talk about feelings—and strangely he didn’t have a single desire to run away screaming.

  “I’m like nineteenth-century-London murky. Or a dark and stormy night. Murkier than a twilight walk in a forest filled with vampires and wolves.”

  “Don’t forget the moose.” He cocked his head. “Is moose a plural . . . It’s not meese, right?”

  “Fine. You are a-moosing.”

  “Murky and punny. We’re quite a pair.”

  The wind picked up, sliding cool fingers around his neck, down his shirt and across his chest. He hugged Neve closer, her warmth comingling with his own body heat.

  Let the storms do their worst. He’d found shelter, and in the most surprising place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Neve smoothed her hands over her dress. It really was gorgeous. The color did her pasty skin all kinds of favors, and the pop of red lipstick brightened her eyes. She’d feel like a million bucks if not for two things: her ankle was a mottled mess of purple, indigo and grey, and all she’d brought for shoes were her sneakers and a pair of spiky heels that she’d impulsively purchased on her dress-shopping trip.

  Those options were both out, and Telluride wasn’t a big town. Stores closed early. By the time she’d realized her mistake, there was nowhere to try to nab anything else. So she’d have to go to Maddy’s wedding wearing not only this amazing dress, but also her scuffed New Balances.

  Hot.

  No way to cut this. She’d look ridiculous. But maybe she deserved the penance because she was being so chickenhearted. She had yet to ask Tor about helping her with the profile. He’d been in such a good mood all day and avoidance was easier. They’d gotten coffee and spent the afternoon in bed, her leg iced and elevated, watching tiny cooking shows on her iPad—one of her guilty addictions.

  Here he was, Tor Gunnar being the corny Rovhal30 from Byways. Sure, he could still be uptight and surly, just like he could be adorkably fun loving and full of moose puns. Just like she could be all work but in his arms wanted to do nothing but play . . . and play dirty at that.

  They were both dichotomies. And maybe that was absolutely fine.

  Better than fine even.

  Except there was a pesky but to all this. . .

  She had a decent sixth sense about people and knew as surely as she knew her outfit was a disaster that he was going to close down on her if she got professional. The question was, how hard and for how long? Followed by the even bigger question, was it for the best?

  Because this weekend wasn’t real life. Real life hovered elsewhere, around the corner, at the end of town. And it would come soon enough. Monday morning. Denver. Her job. His job. They would go back to worlds that repelled them like two opposing magnets.

  There was a knock on the hotel room door. She gave herself one last fuss in the mirror and stepped out to open it.

  Tor’s daughter glared at her.

  “Hi.” She smiled, unsure why she was getting a death stare.

  “Is my father here?”

  Maybe the daughter had second thoughts. It made sense. After all, her mom was an hour away from getting married. The idea of her dad shacking up in a hotel couldn’t sit that easily.

  “Honey?” Tor came around the corner, doing up his tie.

  Neve sucked in a breath. Good lord, could that man wear a suit or what? If she was going to be brutally honest, his clothes were one of her favorite parts about Hellions game days. The sight of Tor Gunnar in an Italian-cut jacket and expertly knotted tie sent her pulse racing faster than any player in pads and a jersey.

  “Nice shoes,” Olive muttered, taking her full measure. “Dad, can I
talk to you a second. Alone?”

  “Yeah, sure, uh . . .” He glanced to Neve, puzzlement grooving the space between his brows. “Do you mind?”

  “No, no, of course not. I’m all ready to go. I’ll just head down into the lobby and wait.” She forced a smile that she didn’t feel.

  She might have empathy for the girl, but that didn’t mean her words didn’t hold a sting. Gathering her jacket and purse, she gave an awkward wave before bolting for the elevator, or hobble-bolting. Whichever way, it wasn’t a good look.

  Down in the lobby, well-dressed people paraded, many of them no doubt guests for the wedding. It was to be held on a fancy restaurant up on the mountain. They had to ride the town gondola to get there. She’d be able to shamble around; the ibuprofen and ice and elevation had made the pain bearable. But her plan should really just focus on hiding her sneakered feet under a table and calling it good.

  Snow came down harder out the window.

  “Ski season is right around the corner,” the bellman said, walking over to join her, rubbing his hands. “I can’t wait.”

  “No offense, but I’ve never been a huge fan of snow.”

  “Really? Then you picked a bad weekend to come up to the mountains.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You fly in or drive?” he asked without taking his eyes off the flurries.

  “Drive. I live in Denver.”

  “Big storm. We’re missing most of it. Up north, it’s dumping hard. You have snow tires?”

  “I don’t know. My . . . uh . . . date drove us here. I’m sure he’s got everything dialed. He’s pretty ana—detailed oriented.”

  The bellman nodded absently, clearly visualizing the fresh-powder turns to come. “Yeah. Drive safe.”

  “Ready?” Tor appeared. Olive stood beside him in a long navy blue coat, her pale blond hair hidden beneath a large white fake-fur hat.

  “All set. Everything good?” She was fishing, but father and daughter shared identical frowns. Something was wrong.

  “We should start walking to the gondola now so we aren’t late. You sure you can—”

  “I’m fine.” She zipped up her coat. Tor’s gaze frosted over. That fact cooled her more than the temperature outside.

  Their walk to the gondola lift was silent. A group of people strolled past, laughing and talking animatedly. It was Saturday night after all. The restaurants and bars in the ski town had lines out the door, everyone jubilant that the weather had turned wintery.

  At the gondola-loading building, there was another line. Tor greeted a few people with curt nods while Olive hugged a woman in a red coat.

  Neve shoved her hands into her pockets, internally nodding. He must be uptight because his ex-wife was getting married. Of course it was awkward. She needed to get a grip.

  The gondola filled up. There was room for one more and the woman in the red coat asked Olive if she wanted to come along.

  “No thanks, I’ll wait with my dad.” Olive took his hand, refusing to glance at Neve.

  They stood together for a few tense beats.

  “Hey, Olive, did you hear how your dad was a big hero today?” Neve inwardly winced at her tone, clearly too chipper. The tween frowned accordingly.

  “Yeah. You scared up a moose and almost got him trampled.”

  Ouch.

  Looked like the kid had her mind made up to dislike Neve. But yesterday she’d been different.

  Another gondola came around. This time they were the only ones there to ride.

  “Want a wool blanket?” one of the lifties said.

  Tor shook his head. Olive said, “No,” right as Neve said, “Sure, thanks.”

  Once they’d gotten in, the liftie shut the door. They sat on the bench opposite. Neve smoothed the blanket over her lap. “Well, well, well. This is cozy.”

  No response.

  Good lord, she was trying her best. It wasn’t like she had a lot of experience talking to small people. Tor stared out the window into the darkening sky as the gondola lurched upward.

  “My aunt said you should never take one of the blankets,” Olive said. “She said people get up to who knows what in here, and—”

  “Olive.” Tor’s growl was soft but effective.

  “Ew. Good to know.” Neve slid off the blanket with a grimace. “It doesn’t sound very hygienic when you put it like that.” She drummed her fingers on her thighs. Tor doubled down on the outside staring, but she called bullshit. It was dark enough now that all he could see was his own face reflected back.

  “Hey. So can I clear the air? What’s going on?” She forced a thin laugh. “I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but I feel like I was caught streaking a graveyard or something. What’s going on?”

  Olive glanced to Tor. His jaw stiffened. Familiar muscles bunched and released. She knew them. They used to be her friends. The reminder that she could bug the heck out of him no matter how cool and calm he wanted to appear. But that was not what she was going for now.

  “Tor . . .”

  “I showed him the article you wrote,” Olive said accusingly. “Some jerk from my school posted it on my Facebook page. ‘Five Worst Coaches in the NHL’ by Neve Angel. Ring a bell?”

  Busted. “I can explain, or at least try to.”

  “You’re Neve Angel, right?”

  “That’s enough,” Tor said finally, relenting and turning around to join the conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” Neve said bluntly. “I was mad when I wrote it. You had just said . . . you know . . . some unkind things in the parking lot that day and I wanted payback. I promise that I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know,” he said simply.

  That was unexpected. “You do?”

  “I figured that part out right after Olive told me. I did the math, and after our conversation from this morning, I figured where you got the inspiration.”

  “I don’t understand.” Olive glanced between them.

  “I have to admit, I’m with her,” Neve said. “You haven’t been speaking to me since we left The Adeline.”

  “You aren’t even mad?” Olive looked disgusted. “She was a jerk to you.”

  “No,” he told his daughter. “I decided that I’m not and here’s why. Because I’m not always perfect either. And sometimes Neve and I, well, we’ve done unkind things to each other. And neither of us is proud of that fact.”

  Olive gave a dramatic groan. “Why are grown-ups so confusing?”

  Neve shrugged. “When I was younger, I thought once you hit twenty, things made sense. I hate to let you in on a secret, but I’m thirty, and I still don’t feel all that wise.”

  Olive crossed her arms, even as a ghost of a smile haunted her tight-pressed lips. “That sounds pretty terrifying.”

  “I know. But I do mean what I say. You dad isn’t a bad coach. He’s amazing. And today, when I thought I was going to be trampled into a moose patty, he talked me through it. He saved me.”

  Tor put his arm around Olive. “I appreciate you wanting to defend me, sweetie, but I promise you, Neve is one of the good ones.”

  “For a jackal?”

  Neve snorted. “Out of the mouths of babes.”

  “Guess the apple doesn’t fall all that far from the tree.” Tor planted a kiss on top of his daughter’s head.

  “You both have loyalty in common. And that’s to be commended. But I do hope you’ll forgive me, Olive, and we can move on.”

  “I need to think about it,” she said gravely.

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  “And we’re here,” Tor said as the gondola came to a stop.

  Stepping outside was like leaving a cocoon for a wind tunnel. This high on the mountain, the wind blew without mercy. They bustled toward Solitude, the restaurant hosting the event. As much as Neve was relieved to at least start to smooth things over with Olive, she couldn’t help but be acutely aware of her shoe situation.

  Maybe it was shallow, but for once, just a night, she wanted to feel
like a beautiful swan.

  And here she was, the duck in sneakers. As they got their coats checked, it seemed as if every woman in the world was wearing impossibly thin and elegant heels, teetering about like graceful gazelles.

  They found seats and soon events were unfolding in the usual way. There was the wedding march. The bridesmaids. The bride.

  Neve had never been to the wedding of an ex to her date and she didn’t know what to make of it. Maddy wasn’t competition. What she and Tor had was ancient history, water under the bridge. Maddy was getting married and Tor was holding her hand.

  So why did she have this feeling inside her, slithering, cold and venomous?

  Look at Maddy’s hair, so pretty. Yours would never do that.

  She can pull off that dress. You’d look like an adolescent who hasn’t hit puberty.

  She is all style, composure, glitter and gold. She is worthy of love and happiness. You only have to look at her to know.

  You are nothing.

  She hated that voice with a red-hot passion. Hated it for how it spoiled what should be a happy moment. Hated that it made her jealous and resentful of another woman, practically a stranger, who’d done nothing to deserve it. Hated that it diminished herself, left her bruised and hurting.

  And yet the voice didn’t care.

  It kept pressing on all the places that hurt.

  Not enough.

  Not enough.

  She squeezed Tor’s hand. His answering grip felt like an anchor.

  That voice could take a long jump off a short pier.

  “I’m so happy I came here with you,” she whispered. Her words were arrows unleashed, flinging straight and true into that Doubt Monster. Take that, sucker.

  “Likewise.”

  And that was when she decided. Scott could screw himself. She wasn’t going to push Tor for an interview just to appease her boss. No way. She was a good reporter. Her track record was solid and reputation sterling. He’d be crazy to let her go. There was no way.

  And there was no way she was going to jeopardize the flicker of hope inside her, the one she saw reflected in Tor’s gaze.

  She leaned in and put her lips against his ear. “Do you feel sad at all, watching this ceremony?”

  He paused a moment before leaning in and whispering, “No. Maddy’s the mother of my child. I wish her all the happiness in the world.”