Boldly by Elise Faber

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Oliver

By the timehe showered and dressed and made his way out of the locker, his entire body was a mess of tired muscles and over-sensitized nerves.

Hell, it felt like his heart was still pounding, even though he’d been off the ice for a half hour.

But that was hockey.

It was exhausting in a way that was nearly impossible to train for.

Intervals. High impact action. Strength. Speed. Finesse.

And with the sled strapped to his hips and leg, learning a different kind of balance, using a different type of strength.

Nothing was instinctual.

It all took extra brainpower to move, to turn, to sprint, to shoot.

Which meant he was exhausted in a way he hadn’t been since he first started playing. But…he’d played.

Holy shit.

It hadn’t felt like before. It was different. Frustrating in a way. But it was hockey and on the ice and feeling the breeze on his face and shooting and scoring—even if it was with one hand and his angles were off because he was lower to the ice.

It was hockey.

It was amazing.

And Hazel had given that to him.

He pushed through the doors after he’d thanked Zack and Shelly—the two men who’d loaned him the equipment and had helped him gear up and navigate—promising to be back soon and stepped out of the rink and into the lobby.

His upper body was tired, but he was surprised at how wiped his thighs were, his hips, his calf. Every muscle overcompensating, he supposed, but he’d also figured his back and core, shoulders and arms would be wrecked. Instead, they were tired but okay, and his lower body was like Jell-O. He was ready for a rubdown, a soak in the cool and hot tubs, and then to sleep for a hundred years.

Unfortunately, the best he might do is some IcyHot, coaxing Hazel into bed (for that rubdown…not of his thighs, ha), and then passing out and vegging for the rest of the day.

But he had to find her first.

He’d looked up frequently, had seen her watching him in the stands, but when he came out of the locker room, he didn’t see her there. Nor was she against the wall of windows where she, Hannah, and Aimie had cheered for him when he’d chipped a puck into the net.

Not really a goal because they were all just messing around on the ice.

But sort of one because it was in the net and Hannah had called for him to score and he had, even if it had been just in a skate and shoot.

So, not in the stands or by the windows or hiding in the shadows. He tugged out his phone, checked the screen. Nothing.

Weird.

Maybe she was in the bathroom.

He glanced around the lobby, but it was empty.

Or at least, empty of anyone but a few siblings keeping themselves busy by tearing through the space, empty of Hazel. A whistle drew his attention, and he headed toward the next set of doors, to the second rink. It was divided into thirds and there were several games happening at once.

Girls. Tiny little girls who looked more like marshmallow men than hockey players skated around the space.

And one flew on the ice.

Snagging the puck off a teammate’s stick (not ideal, but he appreciated her spunk and desire to take the puck), skating it up, scoring the goal, and then immediately going to the halfway point of the sectioned-off rink and waiting for the face-off.

While the other girls slowly made their way back—some with a little encouragement from their coach.

The puck dropped.

The girl got it.

Goal.

Again.

A whoop from the stands.

Oliver turned to look, saw Hazel and Aimie cheering loudly, Chuck beside them.

The girl skated back to the middle, and he looked closer, saw that it was Hannah. Of course it was Hannah, he thought, grinning like a fool. His little Hannah had spunk for days and was a killer on the ice. Though…

He watched as play continued and Hannah scored three more times, each time scooping up the puck with a definitive confidence he loved but also knew wasn’t exactly ideal (or at least the times she took it off her teammates’ sticks—which was well more than a half-dozen occurrences). When the coach blew the whistle for a water break, Oliver moved to the bench.

“Okay if I talk to Hannah for a second?” he asked the slender woman with dark brown hair.

Her eyes widened when she recognized him. “Sure,” she murmured. “But we’re back on in two minutes.”

“Got it.” He tapped Hannah lightly on the helmet, soaked in the smile that spread on her face.

“Oliver!”

“Hannah!” He winked when the coach chuckled, earned a smile from the cute brunette. “Can you come over here for a sec?”

“Yup!” She jumped down the two stairs that led up to the player’s bench and raced over, barely able to contain herself when she asked, “Did you see my goal?”

“Your goal?” he teased. “I saw four of them. You’re doing awesome.” He held his hand up for a fist bump.

“Did you do awesome, too?”

“I had fun.” Another fist bump. “Thanks to you.”

She bounced, smile still wide.

“I thought I’d tell you a special secret that makes hockey extra fun for me. Do you want to hear it?”

“Yes!”

“You know what can be better than scoring?” he asked.

Her brows drew together in a way that told him she couldn’t imagine anything being better than scoring. Which was kind of true. Putting a goal in was awesome. But, “Passing to your teammates or waiting for them to pass to you can be even more fun.”

Her face screwed up. “Why?”

Definitely not convinced.

“Because it takes more skill sometimes,” he said. “You know out there that you can skate straight up and score—you did it four times that I saw—but doesn’t doing the same thing get a little boring after a while?” Her brows were still furrowed, though maybe slightly less. “You can do something different—make a move, try to shoot on your backhand, or see if you can get your teammate a goal, too.”

Her face relaxed.

“Because it feels good to score, right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“And it’s fun to make our teammates feel good, too.”

Another nod.

“But it also makes you a better hockey player when you can pass and shoot and make a move.” He patted her helmet. “You get good at all three of those, and you’ll be unstoppable.”

Thatshe liked, as evidenced by her raising her stick in the air and yelling, “Unstoppable!”

“Damn right,” he said.

She giggled. “Damn is a bad word.”

Shit. He glanced toward the stands. “Don’t tell your mom.”

A shrug. “Okay!” The whistle blew. “Gotta go!” She was gone before he could say goodbye, but his eyes stayed on her as she went back onto the ice, took the face-off, and started for the goal. Straight for the goal, forgetting everything he had just told her.

Until, in almost comical fashion, she skidded to a stop, the pieces seeming to click into place.

And…then she looked up.

She saw a teammate.

And she passed. A damned good pass, too. Slightly in front of the little girl—so she could skate to it without having to slow down. Hannah’s teammate fumbled a bit, but then got the puck under control and skated to the net.

A shot.

A block.

The girl got another try, jamming it at the goalie, and…

Goal!

The girl squealed! Hannah bounced on her skates, and they both skated back to center ice.

“You want a job?” the brunette coaching Hannah and company said, her eyes warm. “I’ve been trying to make that happen for almost six months now.”

“You’re doing a great job with them.”

A shrug. “I’m just a mom, not a former player. My limited skating experience doesn’t mean I’m a good coach.”

“The smiles on their faces tell me you’re a good coach.” He stuck out his hand. “Oliver.”

“I know.” She shook it. “Flo.” A beat. “And I’m kidding about the job. Sort of.”

He grinned. “I’ll see what I can work out for next season,” he said. “You guys are almost done now, right?”

A nod.

“I might be more comfortable being back on the ice then.”

Her brows drew together, and then it dawned on her. He wasn’t the player he’d been. He couldn’t just jump onto the rink and be what he was. “Shit, I’m so—”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he murmured. “Shit happens.”

Her face gentled, regret in her eyes. “It does. But I’m still sorry it happened to you.”

Maybe once that apology would have derailed him, would have made him feel like shit, or less than a whole person. Would have made him think this woman saw him as an injury and nothing more. But Hazel had shown him differently. He’d shown himself that he was different. More. Which was why he touched her arm and said, “But I meant what I said about next season. I’ll give you my number. You call me when it’s set, and I’ll try to come out and help as much as I can.”

“Really?” she exclaimed.

“Really,” he said.

“Wow. I—” Her mouth opened and closed. “You are amazing.”

His cheeks felt hot. “No,” he said quickly. “Hannah is. These girls are. And you are because you’re a coach who told her players that the most important thing is to help others and to be kind.”

Flo sniffed. “Now you’re going to make me cry.”

“Then you’d better put my number into your phone before you can’t see the screen.”

A laugh, albeit one that was watery. But she plugged his number into her phone.

Then went to corral the masses.

“Charmer,” came a soft voice.

He spun, saw Hazel had come up behind him. She was smiling, but it was tentative. Probably worried she’d pushed him when he wasn’t ready, that he would take it out on her because he was upset.

But…how could he be upset?

She’d given him everything.

Instead of telling her that, of trying to convince her that he wasn’t mad, he tugged her close and wrapped his arms around her. Oliver couldn’t lie. He’d been terrified he’d embarrass himself, scared he would look like an idiot who didn’t know what to do, upset that it wouldn’t feel the same.

And it was all those things.

In a way, he’d felt like a rookie. He had fallen more than was good for his pride. He hadn’t known exactly what to do.

But he’d figured it out.

He’d managed.

He’d moved forward while part of him had still been looking back, blending the joy of the past with the excitement of the future, of a new challenge with threads of something he’d loved beyond reason.

Because of Hazel.

So, hell no, he wasn’t upset.

He was so fucking in love with this woman.

So, he told her. So, he kissed her.

Then with their fingers laced together, they walked out to her car.