Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Josie
“One java chip frap.”
I pass Gina the drink I got her on my Starbucks run and she gives me a grateful look.
“I’m naming my firstborn after you. I couldn’t sleep on the plane because of Parker’s snoring.”
We’re in the training room at the Seattle arena; puck drop still a few hours away. I got lucky last night—I was so tired I fell asleep against the plane window shortly after sitting down and didn’t wake up until the plane was descending. Of course, I threw up immediately, but it was only twenty minutes of misery, which is progress.
Dalton walks into the training room and gives Gina an expectant look.
“Are you gonna wrap my ankle?”
“Yeah, get on the table.”
Dalton nods at me in greeting. “Thanks for asking if I wanted Starbucks, Josie.”
Gina rolls her eyes. “Leave her alone. Coffee gives you the shits, D. Remember that time you didn’t make it to the bathroom in time in Dallas?”
“One doesn’t forget shitting one’s self.”
I take out my laptop to check my email and fall down a rabbit hole, helping a colleague write a proposal for a potential new client. While Gina wraps, massages and ices players, I spend nearly three hours typing on my computer while sitting in a folding chair.
My back protests when I finally stand up and stretch.
“I’m going to the bathroom. Do you need anything?” I ask Gina.
“No, thanks.”
The Mammoths goalie, Lucas Robinson, comes into the training room wearing his bulky gear.
“Hey, Josie,” he says.
“Hey.”
“What’s up with you?” Gina asks him as I leave the room.
I have to walk through the locker room to get to the bathroom, and when I glance over at Dane, he’s engaged in a heated conversation with Tim, his coach.
“Prove yourself with your play,” Tim says earnestly. “Let go of the past.”
Dane shakes his head, his brow lined with aggravation. “I won’t start shit with him, but if he starts it, I’ll damn well finish it.”
Tim rubs his forehead. “That approach lands you in the box every time. I know there’s bad blood between the two of you, but”
“You don’t know,” Dane says angrily. “Until it happens to you, you have no idea.”
I walk into the bathroom, wondering what they’re talking about. By the time I walk back out, Dane is sitting with his back against the wall, wearing headphones. His eyes are closed and it’s clear he doesn’t want to be disturbed.
Back in the training room, Gina is looking through the bag of supplies she takes to the bench for games, and Lucas is sitting in the folding chair I was in before.
“Hey, Josie,” he says, standing.
He’s never spoken to me until today, but from everything I’ve heard, he’s a nice guy. He has longish blond hair with loose curls and warm brown eyes.
“Hi, Lucas, how’s it going?”
“It’s good. Always gotta be on our toes in Seattle.”
I approach to pack my laptop and cord into my bag. “They have a really nice arena here.”
“Yeah, it’s one of the best.” He clears his throat. “So I heard you get sick on the plane. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m good. I actually slept for most of the flight last night.”
He clears his throat again. “That’s good. You look, you know, well rested.”
“Lucas fucking Robinson!” someone yells from the locker room.
He glances in that direction and gives me a sheepish grin. “Duty calls. I’ll catch you later.”
“Yeah, have a good game.”
“Thanks.”
He leaves the room and I finish packing my things. Gina gives me a knowing smile.
“What?” I ask.
“He’s really shy. So sweet, though. He likes you.”
“What? No.”
She laughs. “You’re blind if you didn’t notice. He didn’t need anything from me. He only came in here to see you.”
I’m pretty sure Lucas was just being nice. Trying to make me feel welcome. Which is nice, but doesn’t mean he’s interested in me.
“I’m going to find my seat,” I say.
Gina sighs dramatically. “Enjoy the buffet up there. Eat some crab legs for me. I’ll be having a soggy sub sandwich.”
Tonight, I’m sitting with the team owner, Arnold. Before every game, someone from the Mammoths’ PR department texts me to tell me where I’ll be sitting. I haven’t eaten since I wolfed down a little food before catching the bus this morning, so a buffet sounds great.
“You get a better view of the game, though,” I say.
“True. I have to smell the stank hockey gear, though.”
I want to ask her if she knows what Tim and Dane were talking about earlier. If Dane has a beef with someone from the Seattle team, I need to know about it. It could lead to negative headlines.
It’s too late, though. Interns and equipment people are coming in and out of the room. I’ll have to ask her another time.
“See you later,” I tell Gina.
“Later, Josie.”
Arnold walks into the VIP box just before puck drop, shaking hands and chatting with his invited guests. I’m glad to be sitting alone in the corner of the box, because it allows me to focus on the game.
I had no idea how exciting hockey was until I started this assignment. It’s fast paced, the energy of it unlike any sport I’ve ever watched.
From my seat, I can see all the action. Dane came out charging tonight, playing more aggressively than anyone else on the ice. It pays off when he slides a puck into the net, colliding with another player while scoring a goal.
The celebration in the box is low key, most people immediately going back to their conversations. I return my attention to the game, following the players and the puck up and down the ice over and over. There are a few close shots, but no other goals are scored before the end of the first period.
Arnold approaches me during the break, extending his hand for me to shake.
“How are you, Josie?”
“Hi, Arnold, I’m great,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Is Dane treating you okay?”
I smile. “I can handle myself when he’s temperamental.”
He grins. “Jane said you’ve got the backbone to handle him. I’ve learned over the years to trust her judgment.”
My aunt said that about me? I’m flattered but also stunned. All my performance reviews focus on what I need to improve on. There are never compliments.
“I hear Dane is trending on social media for something other than bad behavior,” Arnold says. “So you’re doing a great job.”
I’m not doing much, but I don’t argue with Arnold. I’ve endured too much air sickness and lack of sleep to tell him it was nothing.
“Oh, the law student who wants a date with him?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“I think he should do it.”
“Sure, our PR people could even set everything up,” he says.
The players return to the ice, the crowd roaring as music booms.
“We need this win,” Arnold says. “It’s crunch time.”
I squint at one of the screens in the arena, making out the words on the cardboard sign a fan is holding up.
It says Marry Me Lucas. Sweet. I read another one.
Shaw doesn’t need a penalty to get in my box.
WTF? The camera quickly pans to another set of fans. Shaw must be a Seattle player. Looks like Dane isn’t the only one with thirsty female fans.
The game resumes and Arnold sits down in the open seat next to me. We watch the game in silence for a couple of minutes, but when Dane gets shoved by a Seattle player between plays, Arnold groans.
Dane immediately throws his gloves off. My heart pounds hard as he throws a punch at another player. Fans jump to their feet, yelling as the two men fight.
I look at Arnold, wondering why this is being allowed. Aren’t the referees supposed to stop it? Dane’s getting the better end of the fight, but he’s taken several blows to the head.
The Seattle player says something that causes Dane to shove him to the ice and climb on top of him, punching him repeatedly. Players from both teams jump into the fight, the referees trying to break it up with no luck.
“Dammit,” Arnold mutters, burying his face in his hands.
Finally, the refs break the fight up, fans screaming as a ref points at Dane and he skates away.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He was ejected.”
Dane is almost off the ice when he says something to a fan who’s yelling at him from the stands. The fan flips him the double bird and Dane opens his arms and says, “Come on! Let’s go!”
“Dane, stop,” I say softly.
“Nothing gets him going like Sam Styles,” Arnold says, typing out a text on his phone.
“Is that the Seattle player who started the fight?”
He nods. “I don’t know who started it, but Dane can’t play this team without a major altercation with Styles.”
“Why?”
He looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is in earshot, then speaks in a low tone. “His wife left him for Sam. It’s been years, but...” He shrugs. “I don’t think a man ever forgives that. They were teammates when it happened.”
“Oh my God.”
I sit back in my seat, stunned. The conversation between Dane and Tim makes sense now.
“Don’t even try to talk to him,” Arnold cautions. “I hear he’s impossible to be around after one of these fights.”
I sigh heavily. “I wish I’d known about this.”
He gives me a small smile. “You couldn’t have done anything about it, Josie. It’s going to be like this until one of them retires.”
“What does this mean? He got ejected from the game, is that it?”
“We’ll know more soon.”
I gather up my things. “I’m going to talk to him.”
Without waiting for Arnold to tell me not to, I leave the VIP box, my heart still racing. I have to flash my all-access badge at least a dozen times before I get into the locker room, and when I do, I inhale sharply as I lay eyes on Dane.
The team doctor is examining him in the training room. Both of his eyes are swollen, one nearly closed, and he has a fat lip. There’s a distant look in his eyes.
“I need to sew up the eyebrow,” the doctor says.
I let the doctor work, a training assistant passing him things as he needs them. When he takes a break to wash the blood from his hands, I approach Dane.
“Not now,” he says, not even looking at me.
I nod, unable to feel angry at him. His wife cheated on him with a teammate. It explains so much.
It also leaves me with a thousand questions. None of which will be answered anytime soon.