Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5)(8)

I’m stunned. And honored. It’s the kind of opportunity I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. And yet my stomach’s a knot of worry. What if I mess up? What if I get it wrong? What if I fail the team? What if—

“You don’t look as happy as I thought you’d be.” Concern tightens Coach’s features as her eyes search mine.

“You kidding?” I sit back in my chair, lacing my hands behind my head and smiling my breeziest smile, hoping I hide my terror well. “Happier than a polar bear after the UN committed to taking concrete action to prevent global warming from exceeding two point seven degrees.”

“They haven’t done that,” Gavin grumbles, staring resolutely ahead. His voice is gravel, his speech crisp and neat, betraying that while he’s American, up until two years ago he’d been living in England since age seventeen.

“True,” I tell him. “But what do we have if we don’t have hope!”

Coach’s mouth quirks. “It’s okay to be nervous, Oliver.”

“Who, me?” I wave a hand. “Psh. Cooler than a mini cucumber shoved all the way back in the vegetable crisper. You know what I’m talking about? Those little ones that get so cold they’re practically tiny veggie popsicles. That’s how chill I am. Cucumber popsicle coo-ool.”

She smiles, eyes narrowed. “Mhmm.”

For a second, I could swear I feel Gavin’s eyes on me, but as soon as I glance his way, they’re trained over Coach’s shoulder. Bored, annoyed, already beyond this moment, this threshold we’re about to cross.

Becoming co-captains.

Taking a slow, deep breath, I force a smile. Then I say, “Coach, I’m honored.”

She smiles back. “I know you are. One of the many reasons you deserve this. You don’t see yourself as entitled to captaincy. You’ll treasure the opportunity for what it is—an honor. It is an honor to be a leader.”

Is that somehow meant for Gavin? She throws him a sharp glance and tears off a corner of the bun, then another, topped with marzipan whipped cream, and offers one to each of us. “It’s also a responsibility.”

Gavin shakes his head. I take the piece of semla and tell her, “I understand.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Hayes,” Coach says as she tosses back the bite he declined.

As I pop the bun in my mouth, I feel Gavin’s eyes on me again. I glance his way, licking the whipped cream off my thumb, and Gavin stands so abruptly, he sends his chair scraping across the floor.

“Excuse me,” he says.

“Excuse you where?” Coach says, arching an eyebrow.

Gavin clutches his lower back. “Ow,” he deadpans. “Back needs treatment. Common ailment, for an old veteran player,” he snaps, before throwing open the door, then slamming it shut behind him.

Groaning, Coach shoves another bite of semla in her mouth. “That went well.”

“Due respect, did you expect it to?”

She smirks, offering me another bite of semla. “No. But at least there’s the world’s best cream-filled buns.”

“True. Semlor can fix almost anything.”

“Except poorly timed due dates,” she mutters.

“Aw, Coach. It’ll be all right. We get you for the preseason at least. We’ll manage a few regular season games, then you’ll be back here, whipping us into shape again before you know it.”

“I know. It’s still annoying that I can’t just snap my fingers, pop out a baby, and get back to it. However, I suppose you’re right—it’s just a few games. Not the worst. And I’ve been told this kid’s cuteness will make the professional inconvenience completely worth it.”

A smile warms my face, thinking of how Linnea upended not only Freya and Aiden’s ordered world, but our whole family’s, beyond our wildest dreams. How superhero capes and playdough and miniature soccer nets, tiny sticky handprints and finger-paint pictures and endless photographs of a perfect dark-haired, ice-blue-eyed baby, then toddler, then preschooler, fill our homes, cover our refrigerators and walls. “I don’t believe you’re being misled.”

Sighing, Coach sits back and sets the semla in its container on her belly. “You and Hayes will work it out,” she says. “I’m confident. And with you two leading the team together, along with Rico and Jas, you’ll be fine without me.”

Our assistant coaches are solid, good people and excellent at their jobs. I have no doubt we’ll be in good hands until she comes back. The part about Gavin and I leading together, that’s what I’m not so sure about.

“He barely talks to me, Coach. It’s all grunts and fucks.”

She laughs. “He does swear like a sailor.”

“I’m ready to work with him…” I rake a hand through my hair. “But he does not seem to share my willingness.”

“Now come on,” she says, taking another bite of bun. “Don’t act like you’re entirely innocent.”

I gape. “Moi?”

“Uh-huh. Toi. I’m onto you. You put it real sweet, but everything you say to him is like it’s specially designed to get under his skin.”

I blush. Scrub the back of my neck. “I’m the second youngest of seven kids. It’s in my DNA.”