THE FIRST FEW DAYS after a break were never easy, and Coach showed us no mercy. He believed too much rest was counterproductive. At least, that’s what he told us as he pushed us so hard that half the team was ready to puke—the half that spent their time off partying the hardest.
Telling myself we just had to get over the hump, I kept my head down and did everything Coach demanded of us without question. It hurt like hell, but I suffered in silence. The last thing I needed to do was draw extra attention to myself.
After a week of torture, we fell back into our normal groove.
Thankfully, we came out of the break with a few home games. It took all my self-control not to smile like an idiot every time Hannah came out to sing the anthem.
Damn, that girl had a set of pipes on her.
Why hadn’t she ever pursued a career in music?
Hannah was more talented than half the artists I heard on the radio. Anyone with eyes could see how much she enjoyed it when she sang—her eyes closed, and a peace seemingly settled over her. It couldn’t be that bullshit about not having the right look; she was downright gorgeous. And it wasn’t because she got stage fright. She performed for almost twenty thousand people every time she walked out onto that red carpet.
It weighed heavily on my mind during the quiet after our post-win fuck. I knew she supported my career, and I wanted her to know I would be there if she wanted to pursue her own dreams.
Running my hands up and down the soft skin of her arm, my lips brushed against her temple as I spoke, “Can I ask you something?”
“Hmm,” came her dazed reply. I’d ridden her hard tonight—my adrenaline high after the win had been released on her body.
“Have you ever wanted to do something more with your singing? Your voice is so incredible. You could have a real shot.”
Hannah’s body tensed in my arms. “No.” It was one word, but I could hear her voice trembling.
“Why not?”
Turning in my arms so she faced away from me, she blew out a heavy breath. “If I wanted to get more serious about singing, I would need to move to Nashville or LA. I’d built a life in Connecticut and put down roots for the first time in my life. I wasn’t ready to give that up.”
She couldn’t see my frown. There was more to this story.
Attempting to piece it together, I mused, “Amy went off to college. Natalie moved to Europe. You’re telling me your best friends left you behind, but you didn’t want to leave?”
Hannah’s body language gave her away. She brought her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself. “I don’t know.”
I ran a hand soothingly through her hair. “Hannah, tell me what really happened.”
She shook her head, so I simply held her. My thumb brushed her cheek, encountering wetness. My heart broke into a million pieces. I thought I was asking a simple question, and it killed me that I’d managed to stumble upon something that upset her.
Squeezing my eyes shut tightly against the pain, I whispered, “Baby, please don’t cry. We don’t have to talk about this.”
Hannah’s body shook as she tried to hold back a sob.
Fuck. What did I do?
I couldn’t stand it any longer. Turning her body, I let her bury her face in my chest. Hot tears slid down my bare skin.
Muffled against my chest, her voice was whisper-quiet. “What if they tell me I’m no good?”
“Who?” I asked, confused.
Tilting her face up to peek at me in the dimmed room, I could see the tears swimming in her sad blue eyes. “The music execs.”
Stunned, I stared down at her. “Don’t you know how talented you are?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “Everyone’s friends and family blow smoke up their ass. They’d tell me I was great even if I sounded like a dying cat.”
I shook my head. “Come on. Your dad doesn’t have enough pull to get you the anthem gig if you sounded like squeaky bagpipes. You wouldn’t have lasted more than two games, tops.”
That brought a tiny smile to Hannah’s lips, but it disappeared just as quickly. “Thousands of aspiring artists out there never get their big break. They hear ‘no’ more than they ever hear ‘yes.’ Do you know how much of a mindfuck that would be? I would start to overanalyze every note I sang until it became a chore instead of a joy. Why ruin a good thing?”
I understood that more than she would ever know.
I’d gotten passed over for countless scholarships to college because I was “too small.” They wouldn’t even offer me a spot as a walk-on. The one that took a chance on me became my lifeline—my only shot.
Rejection was hard. You began to doubt yourself and question your worth.
“Did you know I used to see a sports psychologist?” I spoke the words softly.
Hannah looked up at me, surprised. “You did?”
I wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks as I nodded. “I did. Almost no college wanted to take me on. They say scouts take a look at the parents to gauge height potential, but that’s a load of bullshit. Anyone who took one look at my dad or sister would have known I was going to be huge. Eventually. I overheard the scouts tell my coach in juniors that I would get my head taken off if they gave me a spot on their roster. I would be a kid playing with grown men, and they were only looking out for my safety.”
Her hand came up to cup my face. “Oh, Cal.”
“I got so angry. Started playing with a giant chip on my shoulder, determined to show that size didn’t matter.” Hannah bit her lip at the double entendre. “I started getting into fights. My coach wasn’t having any of it. He told me I either talked to the psychologist to get my head straight or I could go home and forget my dream of ever playing professional hockey. So, I went.”
“I had no idea,” she whispered.
“I get it, Hannah. I chose a career where my value is determined by the opinions of others. It’s why I changed my game. I was undersized, so I learned how to prove my worth in an offensive capacity. It made me stand out. I was proud of myself for finding a way to show those assholes who’d judged me that I was a valuable asset, regardless of how big I was.” A chuckle escaped past my lips. “That was until the day I got my big break, and some spitfire marched right up in my face and told me that I played a shitty defensive game.”
She dropped her eyes in shame. “I’m so sorry. If I’d have known. . .”
I tilted her chin up with my hand. “I don’t need you to apologize. The reason I’m telling you this is so that you know I understand. I would never want you to put yourself into a situation that had the potential to be damaging to your mental health. For what it’s worth, I think you’re incredibly talented. But if you’re happy only singing for sell-out crowds at the Comets games, I’m here to support you.”
Hannah bit her lip, her blue eyes filling with fresh tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Pulling her close, I kissed the top of her head. What we’d shared tonight only deepened the connection I felt with Hannah. I felt safe being vulnerable with her, and hopefully, it showed her that she could trust me enough to let her guard down and do the same.
No wonder Jaxon would rather spend hours on the phone with Natalie while we were away on the road. There was something profoundly intimate about sharing the details of your life with the woman you loved.
How had I survived without this incredible woman by my side? I wanted everything with her.
I wanted the passion she brought to our bed.
I wanted the comfort of her tucked into my side as we watched hockey. I wanted the compassion she showed me when I came off a bad loss.
I wanted her support as I decided on the next steps for my career, as the game grew younger and I grew older.
I wanted the surprise of never knowing what would come out of her mouth at any given moment.
I wanted the aggravation of having to take back her food when it wasn’t exactly perfect.
I wanted the laughter and lightness that came with our casual banter.
I wanted the quiet moments where we shared our deepest thoughts and secrets.
I wanted Hannah, just as she was.
I knew one thing for sure—I was never letting her go. Living the rest of my life without her wasn’t an option.
 |
I loved that Hannah worked for the team. Not only did she travel with us when we played away games, but when we were in Hartford, her schedule lined up perfectly with mine. Most of her job was done on the phone, so she often popped into her office at the rink for a few hours a day, opting to do most of her work from home.
Hockey players worked weird hours—if I were with someone who worked a nine-to-five job, I’d see very little of them. But with Hannah, I knew she’d be there when I came home at two in the afternoon, done with practice on a non-game day.
It was all very domestic, coming home to the little lady. And when I said home, I meant my home.
Hannah’s apartment had become nothing more than a glorified closet. She spent all her time at my place, and you wouldn’t hear me complaining.
Tossing my keys to the side as I entered the penthouse, I found her sitting cross-legged on the couch with a notepad in her hands, staring intently at the TV.
This is new.
Coming closer, I was surprised to find a Phoenix Python game on the screen. They were our opponents tomorrow night.
Hannah barely acknowledged my presence, her eyes glued to the rapidly moving play. Grabbing the remote suddenly, she paused, then hit rewind, watching something again in slow motion before writing rapidly on her notepad.
It dawned on me what she was doing. My jaw dropped, and it took me a moment to find my voice. “Are you watching film?”
Hannah didn’t spare me a glance, muttering, “Uh-huh.” Another day, another way she shocked the hell out of me. “Where did you get this?”
Sighing heavily, she paused the film, tossing her notepad and pen aside in annoyance. “Do you need attention so badly I can’t finish what I’m doing?”
God, she was so fucking feisty.
“Sorry to interrupt.” I rolled my eyes and walked into the kitchen. “Too fucking late,” Hannah grumbled, following me.
Ignoring her—knowing it would drive her insane—I poured myself a glass of water. Turning around, I found her with her hip propped against the kitchen island, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Never taking my eyes off hers, I drank the whole glass, coming up for air with an “ah” sound as I finished. It took everything in me not to smirk at her.
“What?” I asked.
“Just because you’re done for the day doesn’t mean I am,” Hannah huffed.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t realize film review was in the job description of the travel coordinator. I was only curious as to where you got it.” A few minutes of watching alerted me to the fact that it was something thrown together by our professional video team, not a full-game recording off the TV.
Hannah hopped up to sit on the island. Swinging her legs, she lifted one shoulder casually. “I know people.”
“Oh, you know people?”
That wicked gleam entered her sapphire eyes. “Yeah, you know. Jeremy, in analytics, will give up the goods. All he asks in return is a blow job.” She winked. “And you know how good I am at those.”
It was a good thing she was joking, or Jeremy’s life would be in danger right now. I’d be forced to kill him with my bare hands.
Lightning quick, I reached out to tickle her sides, and the sounds of Hannah’s squeals filled the air.
Breathless and squirming, she screamed, “Stop!”
Stilling my hands, I leaned down to bite her neck. “Not so funny now, is it?”
“Mm,” she moaned, arching her back.
My dick swelled uncomfortably in my jeans. Coming home to her was the best part of my day. “Dealer’s choice. I take you on the kitchen counter or carry you upstairs first.”
Hands pushed against my chest, but I was immovable. “I was in the middle of something.”
Ignoring her, I trailed my mouth down her body to suck a nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. When she pushed harder, I peered up at her. “Are you serious?”
Hannah gave me a look like I was a naughty child who needed to be disciplined. “Work now. Play later.” I pouted playfully, so she patted my cheek. “You’ll survive.”
“Doubtful,” I grumbled as I stepped away, allowing her to slide off the island.
Readjusting myself in my pants, I watched her walk back to the couch and pick up her notepad once more. Resigned, I walked over, falling onto the seat next to her.
Sighing, I asked, “What are we watching?”
Clicking out of the video file of the Pythons, she selected one labeled as Comets PP. “The power play.”
I played on the power play unit, so my chest puffed out in pride. “Ooh, this should be good.”
Settling into her seat, tucking her legs beneath her, she gave me a sideways glance. “Yeah, I wouldn’t get too excited. It’s a huge fucking problem.”
Here we go.
“What’s wrong with the power play?” I challenged.
“Glad you asked. I’m happy to show you.” She clicked play on the clip. Smug, she instructed, “I want you to count how many passes the top unit makes before they execute a successful shot on goal.”
Watching the film, I silently counted in my head.
One, two, three, four, five . . . Fuck.
Cringing, I answered, “Fourteen.”
“And how much time has ticked off the clock?” Hannah’s condescending tone grated on my nerves.
She knew she had me. Damn her. “Forty-five seconds.”
“That’s right. The five of you are on that unit because you’re the best we’ve got. You give us the best chance to score when we have a man advantage. That chance is non-existent when you’re playing a very expensive game of keep away.”
Desperately trying to keep my pride intact, I countered, “Well, it’s not like we always have a clear shot.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Can’t score if you don’t shoot. Bottom line.” Standing, moving closer to the TV, she hit rewind on the same forty-five seconds before hitting play again. “Look. You’re running the power play as the sole man at the blue line. I get that you’ve been conditioned to create time and space, but there’s already more of that with one less man for the opposition on the ice. Instead of going with touch passes to Jaxon or Benji, who are down low by the goalie, you should be using them. They’re screening the goalie, taking away his line of sight. You’ve got power on your slap shot. Shoot the damn puck hard as hell. Trust your teammates to cash in on the rebound or even deflect your shot into the net. It’s a far better option than what you guys are doing now. Less passing, more shooting. Keep. It. Simple.”
She was right. Closing in on the playoffs, our power play opportunities would become more crucial than ever. We needed to make each one count.
This woman never ceased to amaze me.
For years, I assumed she was only parroting her father’s words—his view of the game. Maybe I’d been purposely blind to the signs that Hannah was one of a kind, making it easier to keep her at arm’s length.
Any hockey player would be damn lucky to have her as their partner. Too bad for them—she was all mine.
Shaking my head in wonder, I mused, “It’s a shame you never played.” Patting my cheek, Hannah smirked. “Who said I never played?”
My eyes widened in shock. “You did?”
“Come on. You’ve thrown being a daddy’s girl in my face more times than I can count. I idolized him. So, of course, I would want to do what he did.”
“How did I not know this?”
She shrugged. “It’s not a part of me that made it to Hartford.”
A corner of my lips twitched. “I bet you were out there making the other girls cry.”
“Oh, honey. You know I can’t stand most girls. I played with the boys. I was busy making them cry.”
“Let me guess. You were one of those girls who played rough and got away with murder on the ice.”
Motioning to herself with both thumbs, she smiled proudly. “That was me.”
God, I couldn’t love this woman any more if I tried. “When did you stop?”
A shadow passed over her eyes. “The spring I turned thirteen.”
Doing the mental math on what level of hockey happened at thirteen, the pieces fell into place. “Ah. When they began to allow checking.”
From my experience, men treated women on the ice one of two ways. They were either afraid to touch them, expecting bias from the referees and penalties called for looking at a girl the wrong way, or they deemed them fair game—if they wanted to play with the boys, they were treated as such. Hannah was the queen of trash talk, so it would be no surprise to learn she’d made her fair share of enemies on the ice.
Ruefully, Hannah shook her head. “No, it wasn’t because of the checking.”
Frowning, I took her hand in mine. “What was it?”
Sad blue eyes looked up at me. “Middle school girls can be mean.” Scoffing, she added, “And high school girls, and adult women for that matter. Being one of the guys made me a target.”
My jaw dropped. “You were bullied?”
“Let’s just say the move from Providence to Hartford came at the perfect time. I was one of the guys. Girls at school were jealous I was spending all this time with the boys they were crushing on. Imagine middle school-aged junior puck bunnies.” She shuddered at the thought. “Anyway, instead of cozying up to me to get intel on my teammates, they tore me down so I wouldn’t be their competition. It got to a point where I stopped wanting to go to school. They made my life miserable. So, I quit hockey. It was just easier.”
I clenched my free fist. “Little bitches.”
“Preach. But some good came out of it. The move gave me a fresh start. I met Natalie and Amy, who gave me a safe space to be myself. I’ll forever be grateful for their friendship. I would do anything for those girls, and I know they’d do the same for me.”
Pulling her into my arms, I kissed the top of her head. “I bet you were good.”
Hannah scoffed. “I was better than good; I was great. Someday, I’ll teach you some of my moves.”
“Can’t wait.”
Turning her body, she looked up at me. “How about I make you a deal? You bring home the hardware this year, and I’ll show you everything I know.”
Chuckling, I dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “You’ve got a deal.”
Hannah went back to watching film, but I couldn’t focus on anything but her—her facial expressions, her animated hand gestures, and her spot-on analysis. With a last name like Moreau, it was a wonder she hadn’t found her way into a broadcasting booth. It was probably for the best. With her constant swearing, she would have given some poor tech in the control room a run for their money. Cable networks would be where she was best suited.
Moments like this were fleeting. Sure, Hannah would still watch film, but I wouldn’t be the one on the screen. The time left in my career was running out.
I was learning to accept my fate. It used to scare me, but everything changed when Hannah waltzed into this penthouse and straight into my heart. I could figure out the rest later when the time came. Having her was enough for me.
The only question that remained was if post-career Cal would be enough for her.
Thinking out loud, I asked softly, “Will you still love me when I can’t play anymore?”
I’d chosen those words carefully, dropping the L-word on purpose. I knew how I felt, but I was too chickenshit to say it first. This was my way of trying to trick her into saying it so I could say it right back without hesitation.
Giving me a playful smirk, she answered with a question of her own, “Who said I love you?”
My heartbeat was so loud in my ears that I was half convinced that Hannah could hear it.
Three little words, that’s all I wanted.
Playing it cool, I causally leaned back, placing one arm behind my head on the couch. “Just a hunch.”
“You always were a cocky bastard. Glad to see that hasn’t changed. You probably think every girl you’ve ever slept with has a shrine built with your face front and center hidden in their closet.”
As nervous as I was, I couldn’t help but laugh. Where did she come up with this stuff?
Leaning into her ridiculousness, I challenged, “What? You don’t?” Hannah’s smile was so wide it reached up to her beautiful blue eyes.
“Dream on, Berg. You’re not that good in bed.” “Oh, now you’re gonna get it,” I warned.
“Promise?” The twinkle in her eye did me in. Without warning, I pounced on her, loving the sound of her laughter floating in the air.
She was in my arms. I could wait for the rest to fall into place. I wasn’t going anywhere.
