Chapter 34
Cassie
Watching Cole play hockey is different when you know what he looks like naked.
For one thing, it’s way more distracting.
I mean, it was already distracting, but now… Now I know exactly how gorgeous his body is under that goalie uniform and can vividly remember every filthy word he’s whispered in my ear while inside me over the past month.
I’m sitting in the stands at the Nor’easters’ arena, the crowd of fans buzzing intensely around me as the team battles out the tied-up third period against Montreal. I’m also half-working on some paperwork Rick asked me to clean up.
But it beats sitting alone with my thoughts. Ever since I ran into my dad at the agency party two weeks ago, I’ve been forcing myself to not be in a constant low-level freak out about it. I try to let the worries drift away, but this time they’re really not budging.
The only thing that helps is the memory of how good it felt when Cole looked me in the eye and told me he believed me and knows I belong here. No matter what kind of threat my dad throws at me.
“Cassie?”
I turn at the sound of my name to see Noah standing at the end of the row. “Noah! I didn’t know you were here for the game.”
“I had a meeting with my agent in the city earlier and—and I decided to head over here. Could we talk?”
It’s only then I notice it. Noah’s skin is shining with a layer of sweat, even though he’s not in workout clothes, just jeans and a hoodie. His face is pale, kind of gray, and that’s when I get worried.
I glance back at the game on the ice. I think Cole can handle the third period without his professional supervisor sitting in the stands. “Sure, Noah. Let’s find somewhere to talk.”
We walk out into the main concourse, but his eyes nervously scan the crowd. He pulls his baseball cap a little lower over his eyes, as if he’s hoping no one will recognize him.
“Not in the arena. Can we go somewhere private?”
“Of course.”
We head outside. It’s dark out in downtown Boston, the streetlights illuminating the frosty sidewalks.
A college kid does a double take as we walk past. “Woah! Noah Roy!”
I hope Noah is ready to be a celebrity because Nor’easters fans are already obsessed with him and he hasn’t even left the minor league yet.
For the last few months, they’ve been demanding for the team to call him up to the NHL. The Nor’easters’ championship drought has been a long one, and they’re desperate for a new star to pin the hopes of the franchise on.
It doesn’t ease up as we walk down the street away from the arena. “Hey, it’s Roy!” another fanboy in a New England beanie yells as we go by. “When are you getting called up?”
Another stops in front of us, blocking our path, and I can basically see the hero worship on his face.
“Holy shit. Hey. If the front office trades you, I’m boycotting games, okay? Season tickets shredded. The Nor’easters need you, buddy.”
Noah forces a polite smile and a well-mannered wave at each fan, but his face goes more gray with each excited comment. The pressure is obviously getting to him.
“Okay,” I say, “new plan. Let’s get further away from the arena. Luckily, I know somewhere where no one bothers hockey players.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’ve arrived at Murphy’s Bar.
I grab us a seat in the booth and flag down the waitress for some sodas (something nice and sugary) and a plate of fries.
“This is Cole’s favorite bar in Boston,” I explain. “If anyone tries to bother you, the bartender will kick their ass.”
He glances over at the tattooed, gray-haired lady behind the bar who’s scowling at someone who dared to order a drink. “Checks out,” he says weakly.
“So, Noah. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“My agent.” His baby face falls.
“Ah. The Shark.”
Noah’s agent is one of the best in the game. But he has a brutal reputation. I’m not surprised Noah signed with him after the draft, because he’s known for making his clients a lot of money. But he’s tough, old-school, and mean. Hence the very flattering nickname.
“Right. Shit, I should’ve known he was going to be like this. I mean, he’s called the Shark, for god’s sake.”
“What happened?”
Noah stares down adamantly at his hands, where he’s ripping the paper bar coaster into pieces. “We had a meeting earlier today. He was talking about what will happen when I get the call from the NHL, and…” He shreds the coaster faster. “I was dumb. I told him about my, um, panic attacks.”
Finally, he glances up at me, and I feel my heart sink. “Let me guess,” I joke softly, “the Shark was super supportive about it and has a very progressive perspective on mental health?”
Noah laughs. “If only. He warned me that if I ever told the Nor’easters’ front office about this, they’d see me as mentally weak and I’d be labeled as a liability.
He said that if I care about my career, I’ll keep it to myself.
I left the meeting and went to the Nor’easters game, but I had a bigass panic attack right there in the arena restroom. ”
An ache hits my heart so hard that I can’t help but reach out and give his hand a supportive squeeze.
“Noah, please don’t listen to him. I’m just a junior agent, but it doesn’t take long in the business before you see that managing anxiety is one of the most common challenges for athletes.
I mean, you live and die by the outcome of a game played in front of 20,000 screaming strangers who are all intensely emotionally invested in the outcome. Of course that’s mentally tough.”
He frowns, taking a gulp of soda. “Wouldn’t the Nor’easters’ office see it as a problem? They threatened to trade Cole because he was having trouble off the ice. If they would consider trading away Cole Taylor for that, what’s stopping them getting rid of me?”
I think about Cole. How he had turned inward, put up walls of ice to stop anyone breaking through to what’s really troubling him.
How different he is when he lets that ice thaw.
“Cole would tell you he wasn’t dealing with things the best way. But you’re not alone, and there are things we can do to help you manage your anxiety. Even if you aren’t ready to share what you’ve been going through with the whole Nor’easters’ staff yet.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”
I think for a moment. Then I grab my phone, pulling up my contact list. “Here’s a place you could start. I’m sending you the email address of the best sports psychologist in the business.”
His voice turns panicked. “I don’t want to see a shrink. If people found out, they might think I’m crazy.”
“You know how I know about this psychologist? Because Rick has organized for her to work with at least fifteen of his clients. They needed help, and they got it from her. Talking to someone helped every last one of them.”
Noah’s eyes widen, and he slowly stops shredding the coaster. “Seriously? That many of his athletes are seeing a psych?”
“And that’s just Rick’s clients. The business isn’t exactly the most enlightened about mental health, but it’s improving. Your agent is wrong. Be honest and open to help, and there will be people in the organization who will meet you halfway.”
He leans back in his seat, exhaling like a weight has been lifted from him. “Thank you, Cassie. Okay, then. I’ll email the psych first thing tomorrow.”
“Anytime, Noah. I mean that.”
The puppy dog enthusiasm returns to his face as he glances around the bar. “Hey, you wanna play Skee-Ball?”
“Sure,” I say brightly. “But I’ve never played before. Winner buys another plate of fries?”
By the time Noah has figured out that I have in fact played Skee-Ball before, I’m already snacking on the fries I won by slightly dishonest means.
“Okay, okay,” I admit, “that was sneaky of me.”
“I was going easy on you!” Noah complains.
“Were you really?”
He shifts on his feet, grinning sheepishly. “To be honest, no. I just suck at Skee-Ball.”
We’re both laughing when Cole suddenly bursts in through the entrance, cold air whooshing into the warm bar. All the patrons turn to glare at him. Cole glares back—and he is the best at glaring, an All Star glarer—which scares them into quickly turning back to their drinks.
“Noah. You okay?” Cole asks, striding over to where we’re standing and quickly pulling off his winter jacket. “I saw I had missed calls from you when the game ended, and then Cassie texted me saying you were with her, and she said you were okay, but I was worried—”
“Everything’s okay,” I say, placing my hand on Cole’s arm. “Right, Noah?”
Noah runs a hand over his neck bashfully. “Sorry, Cole. Didn’t mean to worry you, man. I had a panic attack earlier at the arena, but Cassie was really helpful… and I think I’m feeling better about the future now.”
Noah’s eyes meet mine, and we share a smile. That feels unbelievably good. Knowing that I helped a young athlete here tonight, that I eased the weight on his shoulders just a little.
Cole’s tight expression softens into relief. “Good. I’m really glad to hear that, Noah.”
Cole slides his hand around my waist, slipping just under my shirt, thumb tracing a warm little pattern on my skin. My heart skitters in my chest. We’ve been careful in public so far, but… I can’t help leaning into it. It just feels right.
Noah raises his eyebrows slightly, but his face lights up. “Are you two…?”
So much for our first rule of keep it secret. I think the smile on my face at Cole’s touch is wide enough to give it away to the whole bar anyway, if anyone else in here cared.
“None of your business, kid,” Cole says gruffly, ruffling Noah’s sandy hair. “But don’t tell anyone.”
“That’s cute as hell,” Noah snickers. “Your secret is safe with me. Well, I’ve got to get home, anyway. I’ll leave you two colleagues for some alone time.” He grins and thanks me again before he leaves the bar, cold air rushing in again on his way out.
But it’s not the cold air that makes my skin shiver.
I look up at Cole and his stare goes beyond anything that feels like a ‘colleague’. It’s possessive and admiring and it makes my brain dizzier than any Cape Cod Colada could.
“Sorry,” Cole says. “Couldn’t resist touching you just now. But Noah is trustworthy.”
“I know. He’s a great kid.”
“Thanks for helping him. You’re good at that, you know. Helping people who really need it. That’s what makes you a good agent. Not just the way you have a weird love affair with contract paperwork.”
I laugh, but his words touch me somewhere deep within my chest. “I’m not his agent. I’m just his friend.”
“It’s what makes you a good person, then.”
I catch Cole’s gaze traveling to the pool table across the room, where we played that first night.
“Still hurting about your loss, All Star?” I say lightly.
“I got the girl, didn’t I? Definitely seems like I won.”
That makes my stomach swoop, but I still tease him. “Wow, getting laid has made you all soft and gooey. What happened to the tough as nails goalie, huh?”
“Damn, those are fighting words, Cass. How about a rematch?” He takes my hand and leads me over to the table. “This time I know exactly who I’m up against. No underestimating 007 a second time.”
“Deal. What are we playing for?”
He plants his hands either side of me, encasing me between the firm muscles of his arms, and I feel heat tingling all over me.
“We’ll figure something out. But either way, you’re coming home with me tonight.” His lips graze mine. “Baby, I’m playing for keeps.”