Chapter Nine
Owen
The next morning, I show up at the rink early enough that I’m sure I’ll be the first person there.
I do a double-take when I spot Remy leaning on the boards with her coffee in one hand and clipboard in the other.
As always, she looks like she’s about ten steps ahead.
As if she’s already mapped out every possible version of how this could go and decided which one she’s aiming for.
I don’t know where that leaves me in the equation.
A variable she’s already accounted for, or the one thing she hasn’t figured out yet.
Last night, when I was flopped on the living room floor with Shutout draped across my body, I found myself thinking about everything she said in Dante’s office.
She’s watched my old games. She thinks I’m a good player. That shouldn’t matter to me, but it does. More than it should. More than anything she’s said about contracts, behavior, or PR strategy.
Because she didn’t have to say it. She didn’t have to go looking for reasons to give me the benefit of the doubt.
Remy lifts her head when I approach and takes a sip of her coffee. “Good morning. So, I have a plan.”
She always does. The problem is, I’m starting to care whether I fit into it.
“Of course you do.” It comes out rougher than I intended. I’m already bracing for whatever she’s about to throw at me.
My tone must be off, because Remy frowns. “Is that a problem?”
“No. You’re just.” Goddamn it, why are words so hard? “You solve problems.” Which hurts to say, because I’m the problem in this situation. And she’s the one who’s supposed to fix it. Fix me. And I hate how easily that puts me on the other side of her.
Remy considers me for a moment. I truly have no idea what’s going on in her head. But I get the feeling she knows exactly what’s going on in mine, whether I say it out loud or not. That’s what gets me. Not that she’s paying attention. That she’s paying attention and not using it against me.
Most of the time, I can tell that she’s wearing a mask.
She gives off the aura of calm control without letting people see what’s going on in her brain.
At first, I thought she was secretly judging the shit out of everyone—namely, me—but after seeing her face off with Dante yesterday, I think I’d know if she was judging me.
“Mm.” She glances down at her clipboard, then extends it to me. “I suppose I do. Speaking of which, I’m going to need you to read this and sign it. If you have any complaints, we can discuss revisions.”
I take half a step back. Instinct. Distance first, figure it out second. “Dante needs to sign that, right? Technically, you work for him.”
“The contract with Dante has already been settled. This agreement is between you and me.” When I don’t take the clipboard, Remy starts reading from the top sheet of paper.
“We need to set some boundaries. According to my new contract, I’ll be attending all your practices and home games, and I’ll stick with you anytime you go out on team business.
That includes the team lunch at the Puck Drop tomorrow, as well as any charity events, team galas, and public appearances of any kind.
This contract does not extend to personal business such as grocery shopping or family trips, but there are gray areas that we’ll need to discuss. ”
I shake my head at the absurdity of this contract. The word “boundaries” hits harder than it should. That word means rules. Rules mean I’ve already crossed a line somewhere. “Why?”
Remy shoves the clipboard under my nose.
“Because I need you to be honest with me. If I’m going to spend the rest of the season chaperoning you around the circuit, I need to know that you aren’t going to do anything stupid when my back is turned.
And there’s the question of things like private parties at your teammates’ places.
That’s not explicitly covered in the contract, so I think it’s an issue we need to—”
“No.” I pluck the clipboard from her fingers. “I mean, why did you agree to this?”
I don’t expect a real answer. People don’t usually step into situations like this unless they have to.
She lifts one shoulder. “Dante was persistent, and I wasn’t going to let him win.”
That’s not the whole answer. I can tell it isn’t. But it’s enough to make my chest shift anyway.
I smile in spite of myself. I can tell she’s pissed because her North Shore accent is becoming more noticeable. “Okay. But why did you agree in the first place? You could have just let me deal with him.”
Remy’s green eyes narrow. “You know, as someone who was ready to body-block in defense of a teammate yesterday, I kind of thought you’d get it.”
I shake my head slowly. “Nope. No idea.”
Remy crosses her arms. In the process, she pushes up her breasts toward the relatively modest neckline of her blouse.
I do my best not to notice, which is impossible, now that I’ve noticed it.
But for some fucked-up reason, her whole vibe right now is messing with my head. I bet she’d be really bossy in—
Oh, my God, Owen, do not think about what it would be like to have Remy underneath you.
Too late. I’m certain that she’d have a whole plan, and since her plans so far have worked out for me, I can only imagine—
Nope. I’m not imagining shit. Which means I’m absolutely imagining it. This is exactly the kind of thinking that gets me into trouble.
“Dante’s a bully,” Remy announces. “He knows he has power over you. He could fire you if he chose to, and he could make it incredibly hard for you to play in the League ever again. You know that. He knows that. So when he laid into you yesterday, you just sat there and took it, because you pretty much had to. Not me. Dante could set my career back, sure, but I’d get over it.
I spoke up because I was the only person in that room who wasn’t under his thumb. ”
“Oh.” I blink at her. Yeah. That makes sense.
Hearing someone else say it out loud, though, pings behind my ribs.
It’s one thing to know it. Another to have someone else see it and call it what it is.
She’s right about Dante’s power trip, but that wasn’t at the top of my mind yesterday.
I was thinking about my dad, and how I could never find the words to stand up to him when I needed them most.
I’m used to being the one who steps in. Not the one someone steps in for.
Remy goes on. “Yesterday, you asked me how I see you. I couldn’t answer at the time. I still can’t. I barely know you, Owen, but the one thing I do know is that you’re not a grenade.”
I don’t think she realizes how much that lands. Or maybe she does, and that’s the point.
“No?” It’s barely even a compliment, but her words feel like a knife to the chest. A… good knife? An emotional tracheotomy? Like something sharp cutting through all the noise I’ve been carrying around since the suspension.
You know, I think I might be bad at experiencing emotions. Or maybe I’ve spent too long pretending they don’t matter.
“If I thought you were dangerous, I wouldn’t have agreed to this insane new contract.” Remy takes another swig of her coffee. “Read over my suggestions. Let me know what you think.”
I think I’d do anything she asked me to do right now. I’d sign anything. That should probably concern me more than it does. When the hell did I go from being upset that I was being handled to wanting her to handle me? That’s new. And probably not something I should get used to.
Actually, I know when. Yesterday, when she stood up for me. I can’t remember the last time that someone protected me. It’s always been the other way around. Me stepping in. Me taking the hit.
I’m grateful that I don’t have time to unpack that thought before the guys start showing up.
Tristan, Cam, and Bowen arrive around the same time.
Viktor and Knight come in together, both holding massive coffee cups from the good bakery in Serenity Shores.
I take the clipboard and slip off to the locker room before they notice me talking with Remy.
Not because there’s anything to hide. Because I don’t feel like explaining it.
When Adler turns up for morning skate, he throws one arm around my shoulder. “Hey, buddy. Has Remy mentioned me at all?”
My ribs squeeze before I can stop them. I don’t like that reaction. Not even a little.
“Literally not once,” I grumble. I like Adler just fine most of the time. I won’t say that he’s harmless, but he’s not predatory. That said, I’m pretty sure he’d flirt with a brick wall, and I don’t want him pulling that shit with Remy.
“Are you sure? I would have sworn we had, you know. A connection.” He wiggles the fingers of his free hand.
“When?” I ask. “You met her for two seconds.”
“Time doesn’t matter when there’s chemistry involved. I’m hot. She’s hot. The math is simple.”
I prod him in the ribs with my elbow. “She’s too good for you.”
The words come out without thinking. Too fast. Too certain. Like I’ve already decided something I don’t have any right to decide.
“Is that so?” Adler bounces his eyebrows up and down. “Interesting, interesting. Good to know. I will most definitely keep that in mind.”
Adler’s chirping aside, I’m relieved that nobody brings up yesterday's debacle. They’re too busy coming up with names for Knight’s kid.
“I think Deebee is a good one,” Viktor muses.
Knight wrinkles his nose. “What, like the letters D.B.?”
“Nah, spell it out. It would be short for D.B. Cooper.”
“That…” Knight makes a face that suggests his entire brain is melting. “No part of what you just said makes sense.”
Viktor nods sagely and clasps Knight’s shoulder. “I know, I’m a genius ahead of my time.”
“I think you’ve gotten one too many head injuries over the years.”
“You should pick something gender-neutral,” Lenyx suggests. “Just make one decision, and then stick with it, you know?”
Knight pulls on his jersey. “Something like Alex, you mean? Or Sam?”
“I was thinking more like…” Lenyx spreads his hands with a flourish. “Major Moon.”
Knight makes a sound that might have started off as a word but never quite made it.
“Mos Eisley?”
Knight closes his mouth, grabs his skates, and rejects the conversation.
Lenyx cups his hands and calls out to his retreating back. “Diglett?”
“I’m not going to name my kid after a shitty Pokémon!” Knight hollers back.
Viktor scoffs at Lenyx. “I mean, obviously. Who names their kid Diglett? If you’re going to name your kid after a Pokémon, it’s Pikachu or bust.”
“Oh, my God.” Lenyx presses his hands to his cheeks and makes puppy dog eyes. “Human baby Pikachu? That’s the cutest thing ever. I bet they make Pikachu onesies, too. You could dress Pikachu as Pikachu. Can you imagine?”
The rest of the guys stop what they’re doing, presumably because they are all imagining exactly that.
“Fucking adorable,” Adler agrees.
“Too bad, you can’t have it. I’m calling dibs on Baby Pikachu.”
Adler slams his locker. “How about this? Whichever one of us becomes a dad first gets dibs on the name.”
“Fair,” Lenyx agrees.
They shake on it.
Morning skate goes smoothly. I can feel Remy’s eyes on me the whole time.
The rest of the team keeps calling out random names all morning, getting more and more absurd with each suggestion.
Coach shakes his head at their antics. I try to think of a funny clapback, but it’s hard to come up with anything when I’m both totally focused on Remy’s presence and simultaneously doing my best to ignore it.
Every time I steal a glance, she’s laser-focused on me. I want to make her proud of me. I want to earn her trust.
I want to prove that she’s right about me. To be worthy of her attention.
Which is a dangerous place to be, considering she’s supposed to be fixing me, not rooting for me.
Halfway through the morning, a rookie slams into me, hard enough that he nearly takes us both out. I manage to catch him and steady him.
“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“I know. Shit happens.” I thump him on the back. “Don’t worry about it.”
And it’s fine. It’s all good. Nobody makes it weird, Dante doesn’t come crawling out of the woodwork to scream in my face, and the other players don’t come rushing over to defend our teammate from the big bad goalie.
The next time I catch Remy’s eye, she nods her approval. Which is good. It doesn’t mean anything. She sees it. That I didn’t react. That I stayed in control.
And it definitely doesn’t make my heart beat double-time inside my chest.