If You Love Me: Chapter 8

I find Peggy in her office, sitting at her computer, dressed for business and looking like she belongs. Having her in the Terror office during my final season is the best gift. I miss the days when she needed to be taken care of, when she’d come to me with her problems and bounced ideas off me. But she’s happy and thriving, and that’s what’s important.

“Got time for lunch with your dad?” I hold up the takeout from her favorite Thai place.

She smiles widely. “I sure do! Come on in.”

We take a moment to rearrange her desk and make room to eat. “Hemi out today?”

“She’s at a promo op with Kellan Ryker. He’s been good on the ice so far.” She hands me a set of chopsticks.

I pass her the yellow curry pad thai. “Yeah, he has a solid skill set and a good head on his shoulders. He’ll be great in net.”

She tips her chin. “How are you feeling about the beginning of the season?”

“It’s a lot of change. Just getting my head around it.” There are so many layers. I’m ending a twenty-year career, my daughter is moving in with my best friend, and basically already lives with him, and I have to work with the woman of my dreams for an entire year. There’s no grand plan for what’s next yet. My agent and I have discussed options, but I’ve shot anything down that would involve moving away from Peggy. I won’t put physical distance between us. She’s too important.

“Lexi seems like a good fit.” Peggy twirls some noodles onto her chopsticks.

“She knows hockey, but she’ll have to learn the team.” I poke at my lunch, appetite waning as we veer into uncomfortable territory.

“That’ll come with time.” Peggy’s tone shifts to empathy. “I can’t even imagine being in her position.”

“You mean being the first female assistant coach in the league?” It’s a big deal—for Lexi, the league, women in sports.

“Obviously that, but I mean her family situation.”

A hot spike shoots down my spine. “What about her family situation?” I didn’t see a ring on her finger, but that doesn’t mean she’s single.

Peggy’s brow furrows. “She has guardianship of her half-sisters. Her parents died last year in a boating accident. I mean, she still has her dad, thank God, but she lost her mom and stepdad. She’s raising her sisters by herself. Can you imagine?”

That’s a gut punch. When I looked her up, I was focused on her career, not her personal life. I’d thought it impressive that she chose to move from the Windsor team, which was performing well, to Niagara, who was at the bottom until she came on board, especially since it must have come with a pay cut. Now I wonder if that decision had to do with the loss of her parents.

I put my takeout container down. “I didn’t realize. When did you find this out?”

“Yesterday, when we were at the Watering Hole,” Peggy replies.

“I’m surprised Vander Zee hasn’t said anything about it.” There were pictures of her and her sisters on her social media, but I just assumed they were close, not that she was functioning as their sole parent. If I’d been less focused on myself and my feelings, I might have learned this when I drove her home yesterday. But I didn’t leave much room for sharing personal details. Especially not sensitive, emotional ones.

“It’s not really his place to divulge that, is it?” Peggy asks.

“No. It’s not. He asked me to give her some guidance.” I pick up my takeout again, and continue pushing noodles around. “I’m supposed to meet with her after lunch.”

“That’s great! She can learn so much from you.” Peggy’s eyes light up. “And maybe she’ll say something about her sisters. If anyone can empathize with raising a daughter on your own, it’s you.”

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Peggy is the light of my life.

“Me neither.” She hugs my arm. “Love you, Dado.”

We shift topics, thankfully, and Peggy tells me about the promo ops she and Hemi are working on, but I’m reeling all over again.

Lexi and I talked a little about family during our weekend together, but it was surface stuff. She’d mentioned her mom and her younger sisters, and how she loved her dad—who had been at the game and left early because of work—but he was obsessed with his job. I’d talked about losing my dad when I was in my late twenties, and how tough that had been. I hadn’t mentioned Peggy—not because I felt the need to hide her, but because I hadn’t wanted to complicate the weekend. It had felt good to just be me for that short span of time. Not a hockey player, not a dad, just a man.

I wonder if Lexi hasn’t said anything because she doesn’t want anyone to think her family life will impact her ability to do her job. But I know it can. I wouldn’t have been able to raise Peggy on my own without the help of the team.

It’s with this new knowledge that I leave Peggy’s office after lunch and head down the hall to Lexi’s. I find her poring over files, a pen caught between her teeth. A green apple sits next to her coffee mug. Before that weekend, I liked the sweet-tart fruit, but since then, it’s become a bit of an obsession. Logic and reason seem to go out the window every time I see her—even more so now that I know her situation—because all I want to do is gather her in my arms and feel the softness of her lips against mine. Which can’t happen.

I know her, but I don’t. I have intimate knowledge of her body, of the way she sounds when she’s on the verge of an orgasm, of the things she likes in bed. Our passion for hockey matches. Huge pieces of what makes her who she is are now being jigsawed in. This new information about her family softens my initial shock and anger over her reappearance in my life. I’m still upset about the way she left, but I also haven’t given her much of a chance to explain. Maybe because I’m afraid of the answer.

I’ll give her an hour of my time, provide some insight to make her job easier. Then Vander Zee is off my back, hopefully she’ll be armed with enough information to be helpful to the welfare of the team, and I can continue to work on keeping a safe distance. She’s indicated that’s what she wants.

I shove the past in a box as I knock on her door. I’m here as a resource. That’s it. “Coach Forrester.”

The pen between her lips falls to the floor. “Goalie.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t.” She bends to retrieve her pen—and maybe to avoid eye contact.

I arch a brow when she straightens.

“Okay. You did,” she admits, then tacks on, “But it’s fine.” She clasps her hands, unclasps them, then drops them to her lap. At least I’m not the only one affected. This thing between us holds so much power.

She squares her shoulders and puts on her professional hat. “What can I do for you, Roman?”

The sound of my name on her lips does things to me, things I don’t know how to handle. “Vander Zee asked me to chat with you.”

Her eyes flare. I can practically feel her anxiety from across the room, vibrating and electric. No one else would recognize it, but I see her. “Oh?”

“About the team. He thought I might have some valuable insight.”

“Ah.” Her shoulders relax a fraction. “If you’d rather not I’ll understand. I can tell Vander Zee you followed through.”

“But then it would be a lie, and we both know how I feel about those.”

She bites her bottom lip, looking remorseful, and a whole host of other emotions that put me on edge. I might still be unhappy about the situation, but I also want her to find her footing.

“Besides, this is my team and my last season. I have a vested interest in how we perform.” It’s the truth.

“You’ve been with the team for a long time.”

“I have.”

She motions to the chair across from me. “Would you like to have a seat?”

No. “Sure.”

I cross the room and drop into the chair across from her, bracing as I inhale her familiar perfume. She’s no longer wearing athletic gear. Instead, she’s in dress pants and a pale pink blouse. She looks stunning and professional. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, then grips the armrests. She’s obviously nervous, and I was unkind and unyielding when I drove her home last night. I’m practically jumping out of my skin with the sheer need to bury my face in her hair. To touch her. Calm her. And myself.

We stare at each other for a few long seconds. I’m trying to get my body under control while I’m this close to her.

“Where should we start?”

How about we go back in time and instead of leaving in the wee hours of the morning without so much as a goodbye, you stay? “Wherever you’d like.”

“Okay.” She closes the file folder and sets it on the pile. “I tried to talk to Grace and Madden after practice.”

“Separately or together?”

“Together.” Her hands stay clasped in her lap.

“How did that go?”

“Not fantastic.”

“Elaborate, please.” I don’t mean for it to sound like an order.

A tiny sound escapes her, and she tips her chin down, while her eyes lift to mine. For a moment, the air is electric with tension, and I’m sure we’re both suddenly lost in a not so safe for work memory.

She swallows thickly and her cheeks flush. “Neither of them were interested in sharing and they were insistent that they were fine, which we both know is bullshit.” She punctuates the statement with a roll of her eyes.

There’s the sass I remember. I can’t help it, I laugh.

She crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. “I’m glad this amuses you.”

“You amuse me, not the circumstances.” I refocus and explain. “I understand wanting to get to the root of the problem, but they need time to get to know you before they’ll feel comfortable with an intervention.”

She sighs. “I can’t afford to have them going after each other on the ice when it’s game time. I can’t afford to fail this team.” Her eyes fall closed. “Oh my God. Why am I saying this to you?”

There’s so much on the line for her. It’s her first season and my last. We both want it to go well. It certainly takes a spine of steel to sit across from me and expose her vulnerabilities after the way I shut her down last night. “Because whether we like it or not, we have a connection.”

“Goalie.” There’s warning in her tone.

I arch a brow.

She crosses her legs and exhales through her nose, as though she’s working to maintain her composure.

I get it. I’m struggling not to reach out and touch her.

I save her from the awkwardness. “Tell me what you know about those two, apart from their stats.”

She flips the pen between her fingers. “Madden’s program at the Hockey Academy was fully subsidized.”

I know some things about Madden’s childhood, thanks to Peggy and Rix having lived together for a few months. “The Hockey Academy does that for a lot of their players.”

“It’s the best program of it’s kind, and they’ve produced some of the most stand out players in the league,” Lexi—Coach Forrester, I remind myself—agrees.

“Our team is proof of that.”

“It absolutely is. The way Bright and Madden and Stiles are on the ice together is sheer magic. Those boys have a long history. They play like an extension of each other.”

“They do.” I cross and uncross my legs. This conversation is stimulating in ways that are becoming awkward and uncomfortable. She wears her passion for hockey on her sleeve. And that, along with my knowledge of how she sounds, tastes, and feels when she comes is a lethal combination for my hormones.

“From what I understand, Madden, Stiles, and Bright were well liked by the coaches and their teammates,” I add evenly.

She leans forward. “But Grace wasn’t.”

“It doesn’t seem that way, based on conversations with the other guys, but they’re also biased and have a longer history together.”

She taps her lips with her pen. “Grace is flashy and cocky.”

I wish she’d stop drawing attention to parts of her body I’ve previously enjoyed. “He is.”

“Grace has two sisters, but his grandmother is the only member of his family who appears on his social media,” Coach Forrester shares. “And she’s the only relative who attends his games, as far as I can see.”

“I didn’t realize that.” But it sure raises a lot of questions. Connor comes from money. His family owns some of the most prestigious hotel chains in the world.

“Mmm… I noticed it when I did a social media scan. He clearly thinks highly of his grandmother, like Madden thinks highly of his sister.”

“She’s dating his best friend, so they’re together a lot.”

Coach Forrester leans back in her chair, expression pensive. “There has to be a way for them to connect.”

“It might be easier if you try connecting with them individually.”

“I do that on the ice with them every day,” she says.

“Think about all your best coaches,” I press. “What made them great?”

Her eyes flare and her cheeks flush. Flashes of our weekend together inconveniently float to the surface. “Show me how. I want to learn, Roman.”

She clears her throat and looks away. “I saw them as people, not just my boss.”

“So be the same. Share your story. That’s the best way to learn something about Grace. What’s he lost? What makes him who he is? You’ve overcome adversity, and maybe it’s not the same as Grace, but it sure is relatable.” I wait for her eyes to meet mine again. “You’re the first female assistant coach in the league, Lexi. It’s an incredible accomplishment. And it comes with its own challenges.” Such as me being a past hookup. “But you’ve already proven you’re tenacious and passionate about the sport. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. You’re showing you care about more than team stats by having this conversation with me, because let’s be honest, this isn’t easy for either of us.”

“I—”

I hold up a hand. I can tell I’m making her emotional, and if I break her, I’ll break, too. I need to get the words out and get out of her office. “Show these guys who you are. Be real with them the way you were last night with my daughter and the other women who work for this team. You made an impression on them. You definitely made one on me. You’re already making one on the team. Be more than their coach. You’re a mother to your sisters. You’re doing all of this on your own. You got yourself here.” I motion to her office. “Your passion for leading is what brought you here. Have confidence in your abilities, and they will, too.”

“You’re being awfully kind to me today,” she says softly.

“I wasn’t my best self yesterday.” I struggle to leave it at that and not bring up our past. “I’m sorry about your mom and your stepdad.”

She smiles weakly. “Me, too.”

“Are you and the girls managing okay?” I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her.

“Most days, yeah,” she replies.

“Being a single parent is hard, even when you’re prepared for it.”

“I want taking this job to have been the right move. Not just for me and my career, but for them, too. I wanted it to be a fresh start for all of us and I’m terrified that I’m going to fuck everything up. I don’t want to do more damage than good.” She shakes her head. “Why am I telling you this?”

“That you’re worried Lexi means your head and heart are in the right place. I still worry that I’m fucking things up and Aurora is grown and self-sufficient, so you’re not alone. Every good parent feels that way. I know you’re here to support and guide this team, but if you let them, they’ll show up for you and those girls.” I grip the arms of my chair and let my eyes slide closed. I want so many things, and I can’t have any of them. “I gotta go.”

I stand and she does the same. “Roman.”

I meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.”

“I’m sure you are.” I leave her office before I do something stupid—like ask questions that will only make keeping my distance harder.