Chapter Seven #2
I guess it doesn’t matter what they post. If a hater wants a message to reach me, they’ll just send it straight to my email.
And they do. Almost daily.
“Sure. Yeah—yes. You’re right.” I sound half-hearted, even to my own ears.
Vivi’s gaze slides sideways. “You’re still seeing that therapist, right?”
Guilt squirms in my stomach. I hate lying to her.
But after a session last spring where my therapist encouraged me to think long and hard about whether taking this job was the right choice, or even felt safe, I can’t bring myself to go back.
I don’t want to pour my heart out to someone who doesn’t believe this job is right for me.
Turning down the dream was never an option.
“Yes,” I say, squeezing Vivi’s forearm. “I should schedule a session soon, in fact. Thank you for reminding me.”
Her honeyed eyes are kind. “Anytime.”
I try very hard to adopt her laissez-faire mindset as we step into the dimly lit atrium and follow the flow of traffic to Glacier Hall.
Similar to the Ice Box meeting room upstairs, the theme of this room is sleek and cool, but in a much more posh way, given that it’s the most expensive room to rent out.
Chandeliers with dangling crystals hang overhead, evoking dripping ice.
The carpet is a rich, swirling gray that swallows a half inch of my high heels with every step.
Dark blue velvet lounge chairs decorate the lounge space on one side, and a bar sits on the other.
A beveled glass wall divides it from the formal dining area.
Tonight, cocktail tables have been set up near the bar with cinched tablecloths that make them look like black hourglasses. Four pop-up gambling tables with five seats each are positioned throughout the lounge, and there’s a table where you can exchange cash for chips.
A man with a champagne tray descends upon us. “Good evening. On the left side you’ll find The Puck Drop, prosecco with a splash of elderflower liqueur, and on the right side our Furious Blush, a sparkling rosé.”
I choose a Puck Drop and sample it immediately. “Delicious. Just a hint of sweetness.”
Vivi takes the closest Blush with a “Yoink. Many thanks, sir.”
She lifts it demurely to her lips and gives it a little swirl before taking a sip. “It tastes like huffing cotton candy, eating a grape, and drinking club soda all at the same time.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Obviously.” She taps her glass to mine.
As the server moves on to the next batch of guests, my gaze wanders. “Blackjack, roulette, poker. And they’ve even got a slot machine, wow. Color me impressed.”
We buy a healthy amount of chips. All proceeds go to the hospital, but a projector in the corner boasts a leaderboard where you can report your winnings throughout the night. Chips can’t be redeemed for cash—that’d defeat the purpose—but they can be used for bragging rights.
In a room filled with rich, competitive hockey players and equally competitive fans, that’s incentive enough.
Isla flies past, checking on players, dealers, and guests alike.
She’s not dressed so much as decorated in a short beaded flapper dress.
Her auburn hair is piled on her head in an artfully messy bun, with loose tendrils left out to frame her face.
She’s a fierce beauty and, judging by the look of this place, a little scary in her competency.
I’ll make a point to tell her how much I love everything she’s done here when she has time to chat.
Right now she appears to have her sights set on Jax, who I am nearly certain sees her before making a dramatic about-face for the bar.
Interesting.
“Where do we sign up to win stuff?” Vivi asks.
I point at the silent auction sign next to the dining room. The glass doors have been left open so people can move in and out at their leisure to bid.
A few feet away but still out of earshot, a group of players—Ivan, Nash, and Mikael—descends on the blackjack table.
“Oh look, it’s the three men most likely to leave us for dead at the first available opportunity,” Vivi says cheerfully.
I nearly spit out my prosecco. “Stop.”
“Am I wrong?”
In lieu of answering, I take another sip and perform a silent roll call.
Gabriel and Lachlan join Ivan’s crew, filling the last two seats at the table. Callum and Nic are currently swooping in at the roulette table beside them. Henri is already there.
Anders and his back-up goalie Beau are sitting in what appears to be amicable silence at the bar. A few others are waiting for drinks.
I peer over my shoulder, looking for my missing captain.
Vivi gestures with her flute toward the roulette table. “You want to say hi to any of them?”
“Nah.” I open my mouth to add I’m not sure they want to see me, but snap it shut, strangely vulnerable.
Okay, I know they don’t want to see me. Not here, not at practice, probably not ever. It was easier not to care when I didn’t know them, but we’ve spent several weeks together and the needle hasn’t moved.
It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.
Hopefully.
I down half my drink as a dark head of hair catches my eye above the crowd.
Leo.
He moves slowly, in that unhurried way that suggests he knows he needs to be seen by several people before he’s allowed to bail.
At the sight of him, the champagne in my stomach froths.
His suit is crisp black. Not fuzzy or muted or bordering on gray—it’s the darkness of a hotel room with the shades drawn. It plays well with his midnight-sleek hair.
Even in a room full of pretty boy players tugging at their lapels and carrying their athletic bodies with confidence, Leo stands out.
He’s a different kind of handsome. Soulful eyes, expressive brows, thick hair.
A jawline sharp as skates. There’s poetry to his face that doesn’t match his brutish personality. I bet he smells expensive.
Overtime magazine voted him hockey’s Most Striking Man, beacon of journalism that they are. A man who looks like Leo should be on his knees thanking God. Or maybe on his knees between the most beautiful woman in the world’s legs.
I nearly drop my champagne flute at the thought. One glass of the stuff and my mind is wandering out of bounds. There’s something being pumped through the AC vents tonight. Something more than the usual pine scent.
Or maybe I need to just accept that he’s attractive. If I were to describe an archetype of man that could awaken my dirtiest impulses—physically speaking—Leo would check a lot of those boxes.
Maybe all of them.
And I’m not just talking about his face.
While I tend to be immune to the size and general grit of a hockey player given what I do, there’s something about the way he fills out his sleek suit that makes me take notice.
The contrast between his powerful body and soft, cranky pout.
His big, calloused hands and a silk tie. Light eyes and a storm-cloud demeanor.
These are completely inappropriate things to notice about one of my players.
Leo runs his hand through his hair. He scans the crowd as though looking for someone. A plus-one, maybe?
“What are you looking at?” Vivi asks.
I bite my lip. “No one. I mean nothing. Just uh—doing a head count of our players.”
“Yeah? How many are there?”
My cheeks heat. “I don’t know yet.”
Vivi pins me with a suspicious look. “I see.”
“There’s Andy,” I say, diverting.
Our owner is schmoozing with a group across the room. He’s sporting a plaid suit that will draw eyes all night, which is surely his goal. Mr. Center of Attention strikes again.
One of the women he’s talking to turns to grab a new Puck Drop off a tray. The breath catches in my lungs at the woman’s profile. “Holy hats. How did we get Kelly Kateb at this thing? Doesn’t she need to sleep if she’s going to anchor her morning show?”
“That’s not Kelly.” Vivi gasps. “Oh shit, it is Kelly. And—no freaking way. Sadie, that’s the star of NCIS: Colorado on her left, Claudia DiTizzo.” Vivi puts out her hand. “Look at me, I’m actually shaking. Seriously, how did we get them to Portland, Maine of all places?”
I give her hand a squeeze. “Andy Callahan works in mysterious ways. Or Isla is more well-connected than we realized.”
“Should we go say hello to them?” Her eyes are wide and adoring.
“Not yet. I don’t want to interrupt Andy and whatever story time he’s giving. Let’s let it marinate.”
“Yes, good, we’ll play it cool.” Her voice competes with the string quartet starting what I think is a cover of an Ariana Grande song. “So should we go bid on things or gamble?”
“Bid first, then gamble.” I guide her toward the dining room, where the bidding tables are set up. Vivi’s gaze is glued to her NCIS idol as we move.
The prizes are a free weekend at The Fairhaven Chateau in upstate Maine, a hot tub and installation from Jinglin’ Jerry’s Hot Tub Emporium, a deep-sea fishing trip chartered by Tidebreaker Tours, and several smaller packages from a local spa.
I bid far too much on the most elaborate spa package, because after a long week of coaching, I think I’d enjoy being wrapped up in seaweed for an hour and then exfoliated with salt. Vivi bids on the terrifying deep-sea fishing trip like the adrenaline junkie that she is.
“Hey Isla!” Vivi tosses her pen back on the table. “You got a sec?”
Isla, who was clearly cutting through on her way to the kitchen, halts in her tracks. “Yes, Coach?”
Vivi waves her manicured hand. “Please, call me Vivi. Now tell us, what’s your secret? This place is crawling with people. And some of them are famous. How’d you pull it off?”
A smile transforms her delicate features.
“Oh! Easy. I got Jax to cough up the funds to provide free shuttle transportation to and from the airport and negotiated discounted room rates with a hotel down the street. We have a lot of out-of-towners. With any luck, they’ll spread the Fury love far and wide. ”
Vivi nods, bottom lip jutted out in approval. “Very nice.”