34. Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Renegades are facing a full-blown crisis.
Photos of a player and the team’s video coach engaged in an inappropriate encounter during a recent team event have surfaced, violating team policy and sparking a frenzy among fans.
Management is furious. This scandal has thrown the organization into crisis management.
Can they restore order, regain focus, and avoid a repeat of last year’s disastrous playoff collapse? ~Renegades Rinkside
Merri
A cascade of chimes ripped me from a sound sleep. With a groan, I pawed at my nightstand, dragging my phone into bed with me. The screen’s brightness blinded me and I nearly buried it beneath the covers because holy cow, it was still pitch dark in my bedroom and no one needed to be up at this hour.
Another ping echoed and curiosity had me rolling over and squinting down at the stupid thing. I swiped to unlock it, my heart plummeting as I saw the messages flooding in.
I shoved up on my pillow and tapped on a familiar name.
Nat: Wake up, cupcake. You’ve been exposed. Call me if you need me.
Dread coiled in my stomach. Exposed? I scrolled through the messages, a dizzying blur of names—old classmates, coworkers from Arvon, messages from unknown numbers.
My attention snagged on Novy’s name. My new friend, when it was so hard to make new female friends these days. I tapped to open Novy’s message.
Novy: If you need anything, I’m here.
My fingers trembled as I clicked on a news alert. The headline screamed: Renegades Star Shep Landon Caught in Steamy Escape Room Rendezvous with Video Coach!
Below it, a grainy image from the security camera: Shep with his arms locked around me, his lips on mine. The kiss we’d shared before leaving. The one right after he’d told me he wanted to be with me. That he loved me.
Another headline blazed beneath: Romance Violates Team Policy—Will the Renegades Take Action?
I swiped my hand across my cheek, startled when it came away wet. Tears. Panic swelled, a suffocating tide pulling me down, down…
Deep breath, Meredith. You can handle this.
The words felt hollow, meaningless.
And the tears kept coming, hot and relentless. My chest ached with the struggle to keep it together. But a weight settled over me, stealing my breath. I rolled over, buried my face in the pillow and gave in to the panic cracking my chest open wide.
I’d lived in college housing until the last possible moment.
When I shopped around for a new place after graduation, the bathroom in this apartment sold me.
Bright yellow mosaic tiles lined the wall behind the mirror.
The mirror was another design treat with its tall, black gothic frame extending nearly to the ceiling.
No windows, but hey, sometimes a girl couldn’t have everything.
I stared at my reflection. Who would want this walking disaster? My eyes bloodshot, red-rimmed and swollen, my hair a matted mess plastered to the side of my head.
Shep had. Shep had wanted this walking disaster.
Shep Landon, with his heart-stopping smile and those big, broad shoulders that could block out the world. He’d surprised me, this hockey hero with a heart even bigger than his ginormous ego. He’d embraced fatherhood, turning the whole single dad thing into… well, something undeniably sexy.
And he’d asked me to be a part of that life. A part of his life. And, against my better judgment, I’d wanted more than anything to say yes.
But now?
Who knew where I’d be in a week. Fat chance Arvon would take me back after the Renegades showed me the door.
The skeletons in my past would tumble from the closet, rattling away, scaring any administrator off taking a chance on me.
Who, Meredith Wylie? Didn’t she cause an uproar with a player? We don’t need that kind of drama.
Never mind it took two to tango. I’d be the cause; I’d be assigned the blame.
Not that I wanted to see Shep’s career go up in smoke. But why did mine have to be the sacrificial offering?
A chime jolted me from my self-pity spiral. I fumbled with my phone, momentarily mistaking the doorbell for my phone’s alert. Talk about a brain fog. I left the bathroom and headed to the front door.
After a quick check through the peephole, I yanked the door wide for Natalie. She pushed in far enough to close the door behind herself then pulled me into a tight hug. My eyes stung and I grabbed on tight.
“You didn’t respond to my message.”
“I was busy.” I mumbled into her sweater.
“Busy freaking out.”
“Exactly.”
She pulled back, inspected my face like she expected to find the secrets of the universe plastered across my forehead, then steered me back to the bathroom. “First things first, wash up, get changed. You’ll think better when you’re human again.”
I nodded, too emotionally wrung out to argue. What did it matter? My life, my carefully constructed future, my dreams and promises to my mother, all of it was up in smoke.
Nat followed me into the bathroom, perched on the edge of the vanity while I climbed into the shower. “Have you heard from Shep?”
“No.”
“Still early yet. He could be working with his PR people to formulate a response.”
“Or avoiding me. And the drama.”
“Not really his style, is it?”
“Maybe before Hannah. Now he has a daughter to consider.”
She didn’t answer and I squinted through the frosted glass of the shower door to where she sat on the commode, her fingers flicking across my phone. She must have felt my gaze because she glanced up. “You haven’t looked to see what they’re saying, have you?”
“I saw a couple headlines.” I tipped my head back under the spray and scrubbed the shampoo from my hair. What was the point in looking further? I’d read enough of the messages to get the gist.
The hot water ran out, hurrying me out of the shower. Still resistant to facing the world, I shrugged into a sunshine yellow robe my mother’d given me in high school and was only threadbare in a couple of places and wrapped my hair in a fluffy towel.
Nat waved me toward the door. “Onward. Kitchen next. I’m thirsty and you need a good drink.”
“I don’t have any wine.”
“What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t come prepared?
” She pulled a cheap Moscato from her bag.
“I brought my favorite, though, and not yours since it’s what I had at home and I didn’t want to make a stop on the way.
I was sure I would find you still in bed. Go you for being up and about already.”
I dragged my feet toward the kitchen, drawing down two glasses to set beside the bright blue bottle of wine. “Barely up.”
“I’m having water,” she said as she filled her wine glass with cold water from the fridge.
I poured my own glass of wine, staring at the golden liquid. No condensation formed on my glass. How rude. “This isn’t even chilled.”
“Who cares. Suck it down, Mer. Then we’ll make a plan. But you need one glass in you, at least, before that happens.”
We took the wine to the bedroom where Nat thumbed through my phone while I dressed. Work clothes or nah? Maybe I wouldn’t even bother with work today. Maybe I’d just tuck my whiney butt back under the covers and avoid the sly glances and knowing smirks waiting for me at Renegade Ice.
“Wear that blue dress we found the last time we hit that vintage-not-vintage shop you like so much. The one with the tulle and stars.”
With a roll of my eyes in Nat’s direction, I rifled through my closet.
The one with the tulle, she said. As if that didn’t describe half my wardrobe.
But I remembered the dress she meant—the showstopper I’d been saving for a cool Renegades’ event.
Sparkly yellow and pewter stars dotted the blue skirt all the way up to the high collar.
A strip of nearly invisible navy buttons lined the bodice.
The happy anticipation I’d felt when I bought the dress was gone, replaced by a dull ache.
Sparkly stars and fluffy tulle couldn’t hide the wreckage of my NHL dreams.
Moping was the plan, and I intended to execute it flawlessly.
“You have a message from Shep. And from your head coach. And about a hundred requests for statements from everyone from Hockey Canada to The Dispatch.”
I scurried to the doorway of my closet. “What?”
Nat glared down at the cell in her hand before turning her attention to me. “That looks great. Stop pouting. Great way to catch wrinkles, friend.”
I tsked at her and added a side eye for good measure. The kind that snarled I hate you but not as much as I love you, and flopped down beside her on the bed. “I deserve to pout. You’d pout too in my circumstances.”
“Your circumstances may not be as dire as we thought.” She wiggled the phone in between us but didn’t give it up. Instead, she pulled up a social feed. “Look at these trending hashtags.”
She flashed the phone my way but pulled it back before I could read more than a trending #richlandrenegades hashtag. “Give it back. I didn’t see—”
“One sec. I want to show you some of these posts.” She flicked the screen, a flurry of taps, then held it out again. “These are fans, not reporters.”
The first post featured an image of Shep during the game, in his classic celebratory pose, fist and stick waving over his head, wide grin splitting his lips.
The caption read “He scores!” with a laundry list of hashtags, including #sheplandonmerriwyle, #sheplandonrenegadescoach, #renegadescoachscores, #shepmerriromance, #goldenboyscoresagain
The list went on and on, and as I scrolled through the posts they all followed the same trend.
Shep Landon, Richland’s golden boy and hometown hero, scores big with the Renegades video coach.
The photos chafed, but the video stopped my heart.
Another angle of Shep and I in the escape room, our silhouettes outlined in a blue, night-vision glow.
Him backing me against the wall, his lips on mine, a kiss so consuming we hadn’t even thought to consider security cameras.