Read with BonusRead with Bonus

Chapter 4

A man stood next to Brit’s stall when she came out of Bernard’s office. Mid-fifties with close-cropped white hair, he wore a black tracksuit with the Gold’s logo and skates. A pair of gloves and a stick were propped next to her gear.

“Brit,” he said, putting out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Frank, but the boys call me Frankie, so feel free.”

Call him Frankie?

Words literally would not form on her tongue.

Because she already knew who the man was. Had researched each member of the Gold’s coaching staff before she’d signed her contract.

But that didn’t stop her from being starstruck.

Frank wasn’t just Frankie. He was Franklin Todd, renowned goalie coach and former professional player, and just about as close as she got to a hockey orgasm.

Meeting him, talking to him was better than shutting down a cocky forward on a breakaway, better than stacking the pads and stealing an almost-guaranteed goal.

He was her idol.

Except . . .

Her heart sank because he probably felt the same way as Bernard. She was an annoyance, a not-quite-good-enough player.

Worse. She was a girl.

Well, fuck that.

Straightening her shoulders, Brit glanced up and forced herself to witness the derision in Frankie’s eyes firsthand.

Except it wasn’t there.

She stumbled for a moment before settling on “H-hi, Frankie.”

He grinned, grabbed up his stick and gloves. “Hi, yourself. Don’t let Bernard get to you. He’s a hardass to every new player, and he especially doesn’t like rookies.”

She shrugged into her chest protector and began securing it in place. It was strange to be considered a rookie at her ripe old age. In hockey, rookies tended to be in their teens, or sometimes their early twenties. Definitely not well on their way to their third decade.

But that aside, she decided to ask the bigger question. “Why’d he agree to have me on the team?”

If she’d been expecting a platitude about Bernard really liking her on the inside or some crap, she’d have been wrong.

“He had no choice.”

Okay then.

“I wanted you and threatened to walk if management didn’t give you a contract.”

Brit was dumbfounded for a long moment before she found her voice. “But . . . why?”

She’d had her fair share of supporters through the years, her brother, some coaches and players, a small—very small—segment of fans who knew who she was.

But why would someone she’d never met—someone she didn’t know—put his neck out for her?

“I saw you in Buffalo.”

She frowned, thought back to all the times she’d played in Buffalo. Only one game stood out. And not because they’d dominated. “But we got creamed.”

Her team had lost 8-1, and she remembered each of the four goals that she’d let in with crystal-clear accuracy. The two periods she’d played had been some of her worst hockey ever.

“I know.”

Confused, she just stared at him.

“You let in some soft ones.”

Was that supposed to make her feel better?

“But after you were pulled”—after the coach had taken her out of the game and let the other goalie play—“you stayed on the bench instead of going to the locker room.”

Brit remembered sitting there, at first because she hadn’t wanted to make the walk of shame past her teammates, and then in sympathy when the score continued to rise.

“Yeah, I did.”

Frankie watched her for a long moment, his eyes fixed on hers, as though willing her to understand.

She didn’t.

Big deal. She sat on the bench. It isn’t like she’d done it for unselfish reasons.

Frankie sighed, clapped her on the shoulder, and turned toward the hall that led to the ice.

“Five minutes.”

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter