Bring It Home (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 3)

I make notes on the screen with my pen to show Jakob in a couple hours. I should be taking a shower, getting ready, since I have to meet the coaches downstairs and head to the arena. I hate hotels, but being able to share with Boon now has been great. It’s calmed some of my anxieties, but not much since we are down three games and on the brink of elimination. I bite the end of my pen as I rewatch the play, trying to come up with some way to make a change, but I don’t understand how they are outplaying us. I may be biased, but I feel we’re better.

When I let out a sound of distress, Boon lifts his head and looks at me. “You good?”

“Fine,” I say, waving him off. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

He reaches for his phone and groans. “Did you even sleep, Posey?”

No. “Yeah. I just woke up early.”

He drops his phone back on the nightstand before setting me with a look. “Funny since when I fell asleep, you were on the tablet. And now that I’m awake, you’re back on it.”

I shrug. “There were a lot of hours in there for me to sleep. I don’t know what you’re implying.”

He gawks at me with one eye since he’s rubbing his other. “That you’ve been on your tablet all night, obsessing over something that can’t be changed until today.”

“I have to prepare. We have meetings and then morning skate.”

He drops his hand, now glaring at me. “And you need sleep. You sure as shit don’t need all this stress, so maybe quit.”

I glare back. “Boon, this is my job.”

“Mine too. And I get it. I do. But the difference is you’re carrying our baby. Take care of yourself.”

I narrow my eyes. “So, because I’m a woman, I can’t work like a man would?”

His whole face scrunches up. “I’m not saying that at all.”

“Sure does seem that way,” I snap as I save the notes I’ve made.

“I don’t care how you work as long as you take care of yourself and our baby.”

I shake my head. “I am taking care of myself.”

“No, you’re not. You aren’t sleeping, and you’re blaming yourself for the loss. It’s not you. It’s a team loss. It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.”

“Well, saying ‘It’s okay’ and ‘We’ll figure it out’ isn’t going to fix this. We have to find a plan to come back at them. Maybe if you worked the way I am, you could score.”

I kick off the blankets as he sits up. “Wow, please tell me how my scoring is lacking in your department!”

I get up, tossing my tablet on the end of the bed. “I’ve told you time and again, get in the fucking zone and stay sharp. You’re just throwing your body all over the place and not even scoring. You’ve had seven shots on goal, Boon! That’s nothing. You need to get your shit together, maybe worry a little more.”

I pull off my nightshirt, throwing it in my suitcase, as he yells, “I am doing my fucking best!”

He gets out of the bed, and I scoff as I grab a towel from the bathroom to wrap around myself. “Well, you need to find a better best because it’s not enough, just like mine is not enough.”

“Posey, what the fuck? We are only losing by one—”

“But we are still fucking losing!” I scream at him, glaring. “Don’t you see how important this is? Not only do I want to bring the Cup home for our team, our city, and our family, but it’s my coaching that will be scrutinized and talked about. I am the first female coach in the fucking NHL, and we are losing in the Cup final by three games. I look like a fucking loser.”

“Are you insane?” he yells back. “You took a team that was outside of a play-off berth, and you were a key factor in us getting where we are. You should be proud of yourself. I am! So, fucking relax.”

“No, I can’t just relax and hope for the best. I will make the best. I will win. I will succeed! I’ve already lost enough this year, Boon!”

“And you’ve gained even more!” he yells back, his eyes burning into mine. “I want to win. I do, but I will not allow you to neglect your health after everything.”

“Allow me, huh?”

“For the love of God, can you stop twisting my fucking words? You’re deflecting to keep me from being right, but guess what? I am right.”

“The hell you are,” I yell at him. “I am fine. Don’t you worry about me.”

I go to walk past him, and he takes me by the arm. I try to pull my arm from his big hand, but he doesn’t let me go, his eyes burning into mine. He moves his face close to mine, his eyes full of heat. “I won’t ever stop worrying about you. Relax. Seriously.”