Power Play: The Nashville Assassins: Next Generation Read online

  She presses her glossed-up lips together as she looks up at me. “Like I said in the meeting—”

  “No. Fuck that, Posey. What the hell? You said I was good until next Friday.”

  “Things changed.”

  “What? What changed?”

  “I was told you didn’t look too hot in morning skate—”

  “I wonder why?” I say incredulously. “I was up all night, and then I was in you.”

  Her cheeks flush with color. “As I was saying… Because of that, I feel this is the best choice for tonight. Not for good. The Wild are tough to get around, number one in the league. You’re a bull in a china shop, and I need finesse to beat them.”

  That’s such a bullshit answer. I lean in and ask in a low voice, “What did I do wrong?” Her eyes search mine, but she doesn’t say anything. She looks so small. Gone are her assertiveness and confidence. She looks terrified and unsure of herself. “What is going on? What happened? Did I hurt you more than you let on? Did you not want it? Tell me the fucking truth.”

  I know the guys would give me shit for sounding so desperate, but I am. She’s messing with my heart and my career here. I refuse to accept what I am thinking. I need answers. I can tell she’s taken aback by my questioning, and something shifts in her eyes. She looks around as she bites the inside of her lip, but all I can do is stare at her.

  I want to hate her. I want to think she is the biggest bitch in the world, but I know she isn’t. She’s a tough coach and an incredibly strong woman, one I want to know. I know she is a great lay and has a smile that lights up a room, but I want to know her. All of her. Surely this is all a big misunderstanding. I’m reading too much into this. That it is just that the Wild are tough on the PK. I need her to tell me that. I need to know that this isn’t personal. That I didn’t hurt her.

  I couldn’t have hurt her.

  “I think you used me to stay on the power play,” she whispers. Talk about taking a puck square to the chest. Doesn’t matter how much padding I have, her statement fucking hurts.

  “Wow.”

  She looks away.

  “So, you assumed that and took me off the power play in retaliation.”

  She closes her eyes, and when a tear leaks out, my heart stops. “You didn’t text me or call. You just left. You didn’t look at me in the meeting or even acknowledge me. I got super self-conscious. Then I started watching tapes, and I decided it was best you didn’t play this power play if there is one.” She looks up at me then, her eyes filled with such guilt. A tear rolls down her face as she says, “That decision may have been fueled by feeling like you used me.”

  “And you still feel that way?”

  She nods. “You didn’t text me until an hour ago. After the meeting and all, I don’t know. It all seems a little suspect and like I was an afterthought.”

  I nod slowly, trying to keep my composure. “I left my phone at home, and when I got back, it was dead. I didn’t look at you at the meeting because I couldn’t. If I did, I would have tackled your ass to the ground for another kiss. I thought maybe that wouldn’t be good for our careers, so I tried to control myself, something I’ve found I can’t do when it’s you and me alone in a room.”

  Her lips part as she draws in a deep breath. Another tear rolls down her cheek. I know it’s not fair to be upset over this, I know she doesn’t know me like that, but I am. Maybe Julia fucked me up more than I thought, but I’m tired of people assuming I don’t have feelings. That I don’t fucking care.

  Because I do.

  “Instead of jumping to conclusions or even thinking the worst of me, you could have asked. I know I come off as an asshole and tough, but I would never use you, Posey. I’m not that kind of man.”

  She steps toward me, her eyes pleading with mine. “You’re right. I thought the worst—”

  “I’m gonna walk away,” I say, cutting her off. “I feel that’s the best thing to do before we say something we don’t mean. Because, you know, we do have to work together, no matter what.”

  Her shoulders fall, and yeah, it hurts to see that, but my pride won’t let me stop to console her. I move past her and head toward the locker room. To play a game I’m nowhere near prepared for.

  But I’m a professional, and I will prove to Posey, to the coaching staff, and anyone else who doubts me, I deserve to be on that power play.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Posey

  I lean back in my chair as I cross my legs before centering my tablet on the desk before me. Our coaching crew has a box for all home games, so I have prime seating. Since I am a creature of habit when it comes to hockey, I have my seat, my water in the proper place, and my tablet right in the middle. I wear my headset mic on the left, and the pen to my tablet goes behind my right ear. My seat overlooks the whole rink, so I can see the boys play just like I would on video. My headset is for when Jakob and Coach need to call me to discuss plays. It’s always busy and loud in here with all the assistant coaches and my mom and Shelli. It’s been nice sitting with them, and we chitchat during commercial breaks. Today, though, I wish this room were empty. Or better yet, I want to go home, crawl into my bed, and never leave.

  I am a wreck.

  Completely a wreck.

  I’m so used to being hurt and thrown to the side by guys. It’s fucked me up so bad that I’m now the one who hurt someone. I’ve never hurt anyone. It isn’t who I am, yet I let my insecurities turn into a massive, mythical seven-foot goalie who’s like a brick wall in goal. I should have pulled Boon to the side and spoken to him. I just flew by the seat of my pants, and not only is Boon hurt, but Jakob is upset with me.

  I was supposed to take the lead in this game. I was so excited Jakob was allowing me to do this, and after I’d explained myself to him, I was sure it was for the best. But now, I don’t know if I made the right choice. If my decision was made out of fear of what I felt was inevitable. Boon’s right, though. I don’t know him, and I assumed the worst when I didn’t even give him a chance to show me otherwise.

  Now… Now, he may never speak to me again, and that has formed a nasty ball of pain in my gut.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I don’t look at my sister as I watch the game. “Nothing,” I say, marking things on my tablet about the other team for later. The Wild may be great on the PK, but their 5-on-5 play is sloppy. Mainly because they don’t mind going on the PK. They’re confident.

  “You seem off. Quiet.”

  “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Oh,” she says softly. She puts her hand on the desk, leaning close to me. “Are you sure? You seem different.”

  Well, I lost my virginity today, hurt a dude who really didn’t deserve to be hurt, and I’m so in my head that I am questioning all aspects of my life.

  “I’m just fine,” I say, still not looking at her.

  She brings her hand up, pinching my jaw, turning me so I am looking right in her blue eyes. “I love you.”

  My shoulders fall. My eyes are misty as I try to smile. “I love you too.”

  “I got you, no matter what. You know that.”

  “I know,” I say, and I know she does.

  It’s just hard to speak to someone about something like this. She wouldn’t understand why I was a virgin. She lost her virginity at sixteen, and believe me, that was late for how much those boys were begging. Shelli wouldn’t understand why I feel the way I do, that guys just didn’t seem to want or appreciate me. She never knew how the guys always wanted her instead. I never told her. I just quietly resented her, which I realize isn’t healthy, but I know her. She’d make a scene, make it worse. They don’t call her Slap Shot Shelli for nothing. She’s always going off half-cocked, so yeah, I felt I had to deal with it alone. Now, those issues have ruined what possibly could have been a really awesome thing for me.

  Completely oblivious, Shelli pinches my jaw once more before walking off.

  Just then, the McBroenes line starts skating l
ike they stole money from the bank and the police are coming after them. From the moment Boon hit the ice, I noticed he was playing angry. It’s working—he’s kicking ass—but I hate that I’m the reason he feels that way. I wanted so badly to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck, begging him to forgive me. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I let the past get in the way? I want to talk to him, but I don’t even know what to say.

  Or if Boon would even speak to me.

  I lean on the desk as Brooks carries the puck in. He’s yelling something, but up here, I’m unable to hear. He passes the puck to Hoenes, who drops it back for Reeves, while he and Mac head to the net. The Wild are on their heels, and when Reeves shoots, the goalie blocks it, but it goes right to Mac. He doesn’t have a clear lane, and he passes it to Hoenes, who does. Hoenes lifts it up and over the goalie’s left leg pad, and when the light comes on, I scream out in victory.

  What a beaut of a goal.

  But Boon isn’t done.

  He scores once more, forty-nine seconds later.

  An incredible pass from Reeves that he deflects into the goal. It’s madness! I’m vibrating with excitement at how well he is doing. But then Willy is cross-checked into the boards, and we go on the power play.

  Here we go.

  My stomach drops as Brooks and his line head out without Mac and Hoenes. I don’t know if I made the right decision. I’m soon second-guessing myself as I watch the play set up. When we can’t even break the fucking zone, I get irritated. When Mac’s line comes out, I’m on the edge of my seat. They are able to break the zone, but they can’t make anything happen. The two minutes go by extremely fast with no success. Shit. Not good for me. They didn’t even get any shots on goal.

  When there is only a minute left in the period, I head downstairs to the locker room to wait. I make sure I’m out of view because I’m a coward and don’t want to see Boon. I’m so proud of him, proud of his play, and I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want him to see me and have his good game go to shit. Though his anger toward me may have fueled his play. Who knows? Maybe tonight was meant to be a good night for him. I hope that’s it. I hope he doesn’t hate me.

  Because I don’t hate him. Not even in the slightest.

  When Jakob comes toward me, I stand up straight as I hold out my tablet. He speaks before I can decide what I want to say. “Like you said, they wouldn’t be able to get any momentum, which is why we did it this way. But I don’t like our boys’ play. It’s messy. They’re not able to break the zone because we haven’t practiced it as a unit. I’m putting everyone back the way they were.”

  “You don’t want to try it again? We’re just giving up?”

  “Yes, we shouldn’t have tried this first. You were wrong.”

  I don’t have anything to add—I mean, he’s right—so I nod. “Okay.”

  “You can go back up.”

  And I’m dismissed.

  I know emotions are high; we want a win, so I don’t let Jakob’s tone hurt my feelings. His words, him saying I was wrong, that does hurt my feelings, but he’s probably right. I let out a long sigh and start back up to the box. But to my surprise, Boon comes out of the stick room half dressed. His chest is glistening with sweat and totally hard—abs and pecs and one hell of a pair of shoulders. I stop midstride and look up just as his eyes land on me. He’s sweaty and he has a smile on his face, but then he sees me. He presses his lips together, averts his eyes, and then he moves past me like I’m not there. I look over my shoulder, watching as he walks back into the locker room, and my heart aches. I scratch the back of my neck, holding in my emotion as I head back upstairs.

  So, he does hate me.

  Fantastic.

  I have bigger fish to fry.

  A power play that needs to score.

  The second period starts with a bang. For the Wild, that is.

  They score nineteen seconds into the period. When they go on the power play, they score again. I wanted to challenge it since, to me, it was offside. But our other assistant coach didn’t agree. I think I was right, but apparently I’m wrong all over the place today. We go into the third period tied, and both teams are fighting like this is a Cup final. With the same messy play the Wild have been using all night, one of their players trips the shit out of Yukentco, and he draws a penalty. I sit on the edge of my seat as the McBroenes line goes out there, but they don’t succeed. It takes their line coming out a second time before they are able to penetrate the zone. Brooks moves the puck to Reeves, who sends it to Mac. He cradles it for a second, trying to bring the defense to him. The guy bites, so Mac sends it to Hoenes, who is waiting for it toward the right of the cage. His man attacks, giving him no space, so Hoenes goes to pass it to Reeves. But just like what’s been happening for weeks, his pass is picked off. The forward tips it up, and it bounces right over Reeves’s stick just as the other player gets out of the box.

  And that’s all she wrote.

  I groan loudly as the light flashes behind the net. I knew this would happen with how good their penalty kill is. Yes, it could have happened with a shitty one too; Boon just isn’t confident when it comes to passing on the power play. Damn it. I watch Hoenes as he skates back to the bench, and I see the defeat on his face. It sucks. I didn’t want this to happen. He’s already not self-assured about it, and all this is going to do is beat up his ego, which is already a little dented at the moment.

  All because of me.

  God, I’m such a bitch.

  A bitch who was correct. But still, a bitch.

  With the Wild up, our boys are fighting. Thankfully, Yukentco scores with one hell of a slap shot. I heard the damn stick hitting the puck all the way up here. Since we tied it, we soon head into overtime. I’m not a huge fan of overtime, so of course I’m on the edge of my seat. Who am I kidding? I’ve been here all night. I lean on my hands, chewing my lip as I watch the boys invade their zone. Brooks has great hands and is trying to pull the defense. Mac is at the net, waiting for the shot, and when Brooks sends it to Mac, he one times it, going wide. Hoenes gets the puck, sending it to the defensemen at the blue line, before rushing to set up next to the net. Mac passes to Brooks, who passes it back to Mac. He one times it, but it’s blocked. The rebound comes off hard and fast, but Hoenes is there. He swings back, shooting that puck so damn hard, he goes to his knees.

  The light flashes, and the Assassins win as the hats fly to the ice for Hoenes.

  If I had one, I’d throw it.

  I’m so proud but, at the same time, sad. That man could have been mine, but I messed it all up. That’s a first; usually it’s the other way around. I don’t know how guys live with themselves. I feel like a pathetic piece of shit, and I want to be the one he celebrates with tonight. I want to be under his gaze. Feel his hands and his lips. I want to be the one to say I was proud of him. To say I knew he was a lethal shot. If he weren’t an act-before-thinking kind of player, he wouldn’t have made it. He’s just damn sure he’ll score, and I wish he would do exactly that during the power play. I can help him, I could get him there, but I don’t know that he wants me to.

  I want nothing more than to make this right.

  But I have no clue how.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Boon

  Coach said the goal that won the game made up for the one I caused for the Wild.

  I’m proud of myself. I did great tonight, but it’s one hell of a difficult pill to swallow, knowing Posey was right. I bet she was up in the box, just grinning. Excited to be right. Probably even screamed “Told you so!” Though she may be right, it doesn’t make her actions okay. My power play isn’t strong, but I’ll get there. The fact that Posey didn’t make the choice of sitting me with a clear head is what pisses me off.

  As annoyed and upset as I am, I’m still unable to get her out of my head. It’s not all this bullshit that I’m thinking of either; it’s how sad her eyes looked in the hall. How she kissed me with such passion. And how if I don’t find
out her favorite color soon, I might freak out. I’ve said from the beginning that I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, and I’m wondering if it’s because we feel things and we don’t know how to handle them.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  Then again, she isn’t doing well in the communication department either.

  If only she had asked me. Talked to me. I would have been pissed she was taking me off the power play, but I wouldn’t be hurt that she did it out of spite. I didn’t take her for that kind of person, and I honestly don’t think she did either. I know that fuckface who was screwing Aiden’s sister fucked with her head, just like Julia did with mine. If we could put all of that behind us, I think something special could happen. If only Posey had pulled me to the side to make sure everything was good, she would have seen I was planning on taking her home with me tonight.

  Instead, I’m at Brooks House, in no mood to deal with anyone.

  We don’t have practice tomorrow and our next game isn’t for two days up in New York, so the boys are getting rowdy. I have no desire to do the same. I’m going to eat my steak, demolish this baked potato, throw back a beer or two, and then I’m going home. It was a good night and I’m stoked to have my first hatty of the year, but I fear I miss Posey. Which is really bad. I mean, come on. I fuck her once and I miss her?

  Talk about being pussy-whipped.

  I’m no Aiden Brooks, damn it.

  Which reminds me.

  I look across the table at my friend, who is throwing back a shot and laughing. He’s been in a great mood lately, says it’s because he’s marrying the hottest girl in the world.

  I’m kinda sorta jealous.

  But one thing is for sure—Posey is hotter.

  “Aiden, what the hell is on your finger?”

  I saw him take a ring off and put it in his locker before the game. I thought maybe I had seen it wrong, but then he put it back on after the game. I was so hung up on Posey, I hadn’t asked. Aiden is slightly drunk because he gives me a toothy grin and holds up his hand, flipping me off with his ring finger. “It’s my engagement ring.”