39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Changes continue at Renegade Ice as unconventional items including balloons and flowers were documented within the video coaching offices this morning.
While the symbolism appears personal in nature, such displays raise questions about maintaining professional boundaries within the organization.
The Renegades need to prove they can handle off-ice developments without impacting their push for the playoffs. ~Renegades Rinkside
Merri
The next morning I entered the Renegades facility in much the same way as I had the previous day. People stared again. Not as hard. Less curiosity and more welcome, maybe. More like my first day on the job and less like I was evil incarnate here to destroy their precious Renegades.
I passed the player lounge just as Zacha stepped through the exit. He dipped his chin in greeting. “Dobré ráno, Wylie.”
I stopped. “Morning, Zacha. How’s it going?”
“Good, good.”
But he grinned. A suspicious, something’s up, knowing kind of grin. I planted one hand on my hip and motioned in the direction of his face with the flick of my fingers. “What’s that about?”
“What’s what about?” His grin widened. “Can’t a man say good morning?”
“A grumpy, non-talkative hockey player doesn’t suddenly become Mr. Congeniality.”
He chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled up from his chest and kicked his thumb over his shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t understand. I left my Czech-English dictionary inside.”
I hmmmphed, rolled my eyes—hard, so he couldn’t miss it—before continuing on to my office. Wilson met me in the hall. I side-stepped into his path. “Leaving so soon?”
“Coffee run.” He shook his battered old silver and blue cup and sidled around me, then paused, turning back. “Get you one?”
My jaw dropped open and I clutched my chest. “What is happening right now? Have I walked into a new dimension? Are you, Wilson, offering to grab little ol’ me a cup of coffee?”
“Not if you’re gonna be a dick about it, no.” A hint of a smile threatened to crack his gruff demeanor.
I laughed, held up my sunshine-yellow travel mug. “I’m good, but thanks for asking. I feel like our relationship just took a major step forward, Wils. Opening a new chapter. Forging a brighter future—”
He swatted a hand in the air and grumbled off without another word.
Today was a beautiful day. I still had my dream job. I had a great curmudgeon of an officemate who’d almost offered to buy me coffee. I rounded the corner into my office and stopped dead.
Balloons. Everywhere. Yellow and white, bobbing merrily, filling the space with a cheerful bit of chaos.
And flowers. A profusion of yellow ranunculus and white roses. Pretty little chamomile flowers and friendly daisies. A heady mix of floral sweetness perfumed the air, a stark contrast to the stale office smell to which I’d grown accustomed.
And there, in pride of place in the center of my desk, sat Joonie. My little blue-haired lifesaver.
And at the end of the string tied around his feet? A giant, heart-shaped balloon in sunshine gold foil.
With the words “Marry me” in big bold Renegade blue letters.
My pulse galloped, a wild rhythm against my ribs. I spun around to find the source of this madness, and there he stood. Shep Landon, Golden Boy and hometown hockey hero, leaned against the doorjamb, a cocky grin parting his lips.
“Only one acceptable answer, Wylie.” His husky murmur raised the tiny hairs along the back of my neck and made my belly do a somersault.
“You’re not the boss of me.” Did my voice crack? I definitely sounded a little winded. I fought to breathe, even as a tear slipped past my defenses. I flicked it away with a swipe of my finger. “What if I’m not interested in being a WAG?”
“Too late,” he said, his grin widening. “The world already knows about us. No stopping the internet. You officially have the worst job on the planet. Not only a player’s girlfriend, but his coach, too. Just gonna have to suck it up, buttercup.”
I reached for Joonie off my desk, the mystery of him staying grounded solved when I glimpsed the tape anchoring the balloon beneath his feet. With the Pop in hand, I approached Shep. “You messed with my Joonie again. We had a deal. You have to find your own bit of luck. Joonie’s mine.”
“And you’re mine. Problem solved.” He drew me close, close enough I could lean into his big broad hockey-player chest. Heaven.
We stood like that for several moments, in the center of my office, balloons and flowers covering my desk and Wilson’s. “How did you convince Wilson to let you cover his desk?”
“I’m covering his coffee tab for the next two seasons.”
“No wonder he offered to get me one. He’s not paying.”
“You gonna answer, Wylie, or leave a man hanging?”
I lifted Joonie to his shoulder, the little figurine a silent witness to this silly, wonderful moment—the embodiment of our silly, wonderful relationship. Then, rising on my tiptoes, I smacked a kiss to his cheek. Then the other. Then the scruff of his chin and finally to his smiling lips.
“Yes. Yes. Yes. I will marry you and we will live happily ever after.”