Stuck With The Hockey god

Complicated

Evie’s POV

A black SUV rolled into the parking lot of our hockey center. I stood frozen behind the glass door. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart thumped hard.

Tristan stepped out and pulled his hood back. Two bodyguards walked beside him. Sunglasses hid those blue eyes I remembered too well. But I saw the scow on his face. Yeah, he clearly didn't want to be here and he didn't bother to hide it.

Then cameras flashed. Hundreds of them. Fear gripped me hard. I already agreed with Tristan's agent to keep journalists away.

"Get them out of here!" I called to the security guys.

I had no idea how these reporters got in. They swarmed around Tristan's car, taking pictures of him and thrusting microphones in his face.

Tristan dropped the hood over his head and covered his face with his hand. His bodyguards pushed the reporters back.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Mateo running off the rink to hide. The noise had gotten to him. I saw him press his hands to his ears and I quickly went after him. I touched his shoulder gentle.

“Mateo, calm down. Okay?"

"They're coming to take me."

"No. It has nothing to do with you. Just breathe. Okay? Deep breaths."

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. His shoulders trembled but he kept at it. I kept my hand light on his arm.

“You’re doing great,” I whispered. “I’ve got you. Nobody will hurt you."

He nodded and rested his head in my arms. I looked up and saw reporters were still following Tristan everywhere he went. At some point, he turned back and headed to his car.

Security surrounded the reporters before Tristan got to his car and declared. “Private property. Move it. Now!"

I exhaled. I didn't expect things would turn out this rowdy. I watched as the last reporter backed off and then I got up. Mateo stayed close to me.

All the reporters were gone. Tristan took off his sunglasses and pulled back his hood. His blond hair danced in the wind.

As he came closer, I realised he had gotten taller and more built than I remembered. His blue eyes scanned the rink and then they landed on me. They lit up and his lips stretched into a smile.

He came closer and closer, then he stopped a few feet away from me. His cologne filled my nostrils. I was aware all eyes were on us.

I steadied my voice and met his gaze. “Hello Mr. Sterling. I’m Evie Monroe. Coordinator here. You're welcome to the center.”

“Evie,” he said. “From stats class. What a surprise!"

I didn’t let the rush of heat overwhelm me. Not now. Not in front of everyone. From the corner of my eye, I saw Becca folding her arms across her chest and glaring at us.

"Pleased to see you again," I tried not to smile too hard. "You're here now, so let's talk about the rules."

"What rules?"

I raised my voice so the kids could hear every word clearly. I wouldn't leave any room for misunderstanding. “Here, there are no ego. No tantrums. No yelling at the kids. Please, that's very important."

"Okay."

"Keep your bodyguards away. The security team will handle reporters."

"They certainly didn't do a good job today."

"We didn't expect they would be that much. Going forward, we would be more prepared."

"Okay, that's fine."

"That's about all. Please remember, no yelling at the kids. It doesn't matter what you want to teach them. Their welfare comes first. Always. If you can’t handle that, you can leave right now. We’ll tell your agent it didn’t work.”

Everywhere went silent. Tristan stared at me. His jaws were tight and his nose flares. Did I push him too hard? Nah, that was the fact. The kids were everything.

"It sounds like you don't agree with me," I told him.

He smiled and gave a short nod. “No, it's fine. Kids first. Got it.”

I let out a breath I didn't realise I had been holding. "Awesome." Then I turned to the group. “Alright everyone. Tristan’s here to help with drills. Listen to him. Show respect. Appreciate every moment you get to spend with him."

Other staff lined up to greet Tristan. I noticed Becca smiling wide as she shook his hands. Rodgers and his assistants came over to greet Tristan as well.

"He's the one in the video," one of the kids remarked.

"Jason, how about you concentrate on what he'll teach?"

Jason nodded and stayed silent.

Tristan wrapped up the greeting session and came to the edge of the rink. He dropped his bag and pulled on a pair of expensive-looking skates. All eyes were on him as he stepped onto the ice.

His strides were smooth and powerful. He staked to the center while everyone watched. The kids edged closer to him.

Tristan grabbed a stick and set the puck at his feet. “Watch this.”

I folded my arms and kept my eyes glued on him.

He moved his stick, dribbled the puck between his legs. Then he flicked it up, caught it on the blade and hit a quick wrist shot that sent the puck into the net. The rink was silent for a moment, then applause roared.

"It's easy, you can do it, too," Tristan said. "I'll do it one more time then I'll let you copy the move. One at a time.”

Lila lined the kids up and they went to Tristan one after the other. It felt surreal watching one of the best hockey players in the country teaching out kids this skill shot.

Riley got it on the first attempt and earned a high five from Tristan. Some boys needed multiple trials, but they all got it.

Mateo went last. He skated forward slowly. I noticed the stick trembling in his small hands. He balanced in front of the puck and tried the dribble. The puck rolled off the stick and slid away.

He tried to shoot and missed completely. Laughter rang out on the ring. Mateo dropped his stick and covered his face.

Tristan’s voice rang out. “No, don't do that. Try harder!"

Mateo flinched like he had been slapped. He spun fast and skates straight toward me. He hid behind me. His face was buried in my back and his body shuddered.

My blood went hot. We literally talked about this not up to ten minutes from now.

"I told you already. No yelling ever. You can't shout at these kids. Control your emotions!"

Tristan’s nose flared. His eyes narrowed and he looked like he wanted to argue. His shoulders tensed and he gripped the stick so hard that his knuckles went white.

I held his gaze. I wasn't afraid of him. He could leave if he wanted. Nobody would yell at these kids.

The air crackled with tension. Why the hell was Tristan making everything so complicated?