Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance, Jami Davenport [best reads txt] 📗

Well, not everything. Patrick didn’t know how much I hated being in his shadow or how much I hated being the forgotten, insignificant brother. He also didn’t know there were times I was insanely jealous of him. If I had anything to say about it, he’d never know. Patrick was one of the good guys, and he’d be ruined if he knew some of the shit rolling around in my head regarding him.

I skated around that rink like a demon with his ass on fire. I skated until my lungs burned and my legs threatened to give out. I skated until I didn’t have any gas left in my tank.

I coasted to the boards and leaned over, hands above my knees, gasping for breath.

Only then did I get the feeling I wasn’t alone.

Shit.

Someone had witnessed my crazy-assed insanity, which would be all anyone who was watching would be able to call it.

I closed my eyes for a moment and willed my brain to remain calm. Slowly, I straightened and met the gaze of assistant coach Magnus Garfunkle. He was an odd duck, and though his methods were effective, they were a little too new agey for me. I was more of a see-it-to-believe-it guy.

I’d pretty much flown under his radar last year, his first season with the team, but by the intense look on his face, my obscurity had ended. He’d given a few of the guys crystals and rocks and talked to them about auras and chis. I’d been hoping to escape that particular insanity.

“Paxton, that was quite an impressive display out there. I knew you were a powerful, fast skater, but I had no idea how fast. I’ve seen flashes of brilliance, but nothing like you demonstrated just now.” If only he knew what had driven me. He wouldn’t be so impressed.

I shrugged, embarrassed by his words. Essentially, I was being called out for not giving 150 percent, whether Coach Garfunkle meant his words that way or not.

“Skating helps me work through problems.” Skating had always been my solace from a father who considered me expendable, the bone-deep ache of losing my mother at ten years old, and being smothered in the shadow of my uber-talented twin.

“Did you?”

I frowned. “Did I what?”

“Did you work through them?”

“I don’t know.”

He laughed. He was an intense guy with moments of joy. Coach lived by his instincts and emotions, and he loved his hockey. He’d played college hockey but didn’t have what it took to go to the next level. Now he poured his heart and soul into teaching. I suspected he’d be our next head coach after Keller retired.

If he ever retired.

Our head coach was an institution. He’d been here forever, and he was a star maker. Patrick and I wouldn’t have gone to school anywhere else. Moo U was the college hockey mecca and our ticket to a career in professional hockey.

“Got time to talk?” Coach Garfunkle’s smile was contagious, and I found myself smiling back, lifting a bit of the weight off my shoulders.

“Yeah, sure.” I didn’t know why the sudden interest in me, but in my current state of mind, I assumed he wanted to discuss my brother. That was usually the only reason my dad or coaching staff singled me out. Okay, probably not true but I didn’t want anything raining on my pity party.

“Get changed and meet me in my office in ten.”

I nodded and headed for the locker room, took a quick shower, and dressed. In nine minutes, I was in his office.

He gestured for me to sit on the couch stacked with mounds of magazines and papers. I moved some aside to sit, while he rolled his desk chair to a spot in front of me.

“Coffee?”

“I’d love some. Black, please.” The coffee would give me something to do with my hands rather than fidgeting. I’d never been comfortable being the center of attention. Patrick did those honors.

Garfunkle sat back, studying me as if he was stripping away all my protection and saw deep into my soul. He steepled his fingers on his chin. “I watched you all last year, waited for you to mature and come into your own, but you never quite met my expectations. The ability is there, but you’re not consistent,” he began.

I squirmed, uneasy with the direction this conversation was taking. He was focusing on me, not on what I could do to make Patrick be a better player, and I was caught a little off guard.

I sipped the hot, nasty brew. Coach didn’t have good taste in coffee, but it was better than nothing. I stayed silent, uncertain how to respond and figuring zipping my mouth was my best shot.

“Last night’s game wasn’t an improvement over last year.”

Oh, shit, was I being kicked off the team? Or even worse, moved off the first line? Patrick and I had played on the same line together since we were toddlers. We were in each other’s heads. We knew each other out there on the ice.

He met my gaze, as if waiting for a response, so I gave him one. “I wasn’t feeling it last night. I was off,” I offered lamely with a shrug.

“I see great innate talent in you, and it’s squandered. You have a confidence problem. Not only do I want to fix you, I want you to become the best player on the team.”

I started to laugh, but he was dead serious. “My brother is the best player on this team. In fact, he’s one of the best college players in the country right now.”

“And you’re his identical twin. The talent is there. The confidence is not. Your brother plays hockey balls to the wall. He’s aggressive, constantly on the attack. He’s easy to coach because we just let him play his game. He’s used to being the go-to guy when a score is needed, and he expects to be. What do you expect, Paxton?”

“I, uh, I do my best to be a team player.”