31. Graciella
THIRTY-ONE
GRACIELLA
GIRL, JUST GIVE IN.
Me:
Read this over and memorize the responses
Monroe:
I love it when you bark orders at me like that
Me:
Oh, the irony in that statement
Monroe:
When are we going to talk about it?
Me:
I don’t know what you’re talking about…
Monroe:
Let me rephrase that.
Monroe:
We’re talking about it TODAY
Me:
Your schedule’s busy. You’ve got an interview and an opening pitch
Monroe:
I’ll make time for you
My cuticles were fucked. Raw and red from being picked at all morning.
Hell, for weeks.
The air buzzed with the energy of a live segment. Camera lenses glinted under the harsh studio lights as producers and crew milled about, electric with the novelty of having Monroe and Thatcher on set.
And all I wanted to do was find the nearest trash can to throw up in.
I’d practically worn a hole in my apartment floor the night before, running through every possible way this interview could go sideways.
At least that was the lie I was telling myself.
Not the fact that I’d been avoiding him for days, ever since getting home from the Draft. Not the fact that I’d woken up at three in the morning, heart slamming, drenched in sweat, with every thought wrapped around that man.
In my nightmare, Monroe’s mouth was pressed into a firm line despite my explicit instructions to smile, while my old boss asked every single one of my do-not-ask questions.
And when I tried making my way onto the set—to do who-the-fuck-knows what—I looked down, and my legs were stuck in quicksand.
And my dad stood behind the camera, laughing, telling me what a disappointment I was.
That wasn’t even the worst part.
The worst part was Itzel draped across Monroe’s lap.
“How are they doing?”
“Fuck, Ari.” My hand flew to my chest at Ari’s whisper.
Not that I’d feel my racing heart since she’d sent it plummeting to my ass.
I exhaled through my nose, forcing my eyes back to the set.
“Good. His answers have been more than one syllable, so we’re calling it a win.
But Monroe’s got a resting bitch face situation happening, and I’ve been doing the pageant mom thing for two minutes. ” I pointed to my smile like an idiot.
She laughed and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth when the boom guy shot us a look.
“Come on.” I took her hand and steered her toward the craft services table, far enough from the set to talk without getting death-glared again.
I grabbed a bottle of water I didn’t want and cracked the cap just to have something to do with my hands.
“Smart move having Thatcher up there with him,” Ari said, smiling when the reporter turned a question toward Dalton.
“I didn’t think he was ready for a solo interview.” I shrugged, swallowing the real reason—that I couldn’t stomach watching him sit up there next to Itzel for twenty-five minutes.
That I’d already been dreading seeing them together on the jumbotron that night. Or in the photos and articles I’d lined up for the next day. Every outlet would caption them like they were the real thing, just as I’d planned…and it sat like a stone in my gut.
“I think you wanted Monroe comfortable. Because you’re good at your job,” Ari said, cutting through my spiral. Her voice had that careful tone she used when she was about to say something I wasn’t ready to hear. “Good for him.”
I bit down on my lip. She was fishing.
I’d almost called her over the past week a dozen times. Finger hovering over her name before I clicked the screen off. Did the same with Monroe’s contact, too. Opened it. Stared at the last text thread. Closed it, then repeated the whole stupid cycle.
“Sorry I’m late. San Jose traffic is a nightmare.” Itzel appeared at my other side, steam curling from her tea, cheeks still flushed from rushing. She looked between us. “What did I miss?”
The newscaster’s voice cut off my response.
“So, Coach Monroe, last weekend you were at the NHL Draft announcing the Stars pick, and soon you’ll be throwing the opening pitch at the San Jose game. What else do you have going on this offseason?”
His mouth tipped up in the barest of smiles. I’d take it. At least it wasn’t a glare.
“Yeah, it’s been a real honor to be selected for both.” He gripped Thatcher’s shoulder, giving him a shake. “When I told my guys they had a few weeks off before summer training to decompress, I didn’t realize that meant I’d have to pick up the slack for these things. Not my typical duties.”
The reporter laughed. “Speaking of that, historically, you tend to keep to yourself. So I have to ask—what’s prompted this change in your media presence? And can we expect to see more of you?”
His eyes found mine, and awareness zapped through me like a live wire.
My palms went damp, even though I’d known the question was coming. I’d sent the damn list myself. I straightened my back anyway, as if perfect posture would help me hold it together.
A smile bloomed on his lips, and my breath caught. This one wasn’t fake. Flutters and nerves swarmed in my stomach.
“Yeah, I don’t really like talking about myself.
My players are the ones who deserve all the attention for the hard work they put in day after day.
” Monroe folded his hands on the desk, easy smile still in place, but his attention back on the reporter.
“I’m very thankful to be a part of the Stars organization, and they have a culture that highlights their staff as well as their players.
It’s definitely been an adjustment to be more in the spotlight, and I think we all know I’m still learning how to be better at that. ”
The joke earned him soft chuckles from the newscasters and Dalton.
“Yes, we have noticed that you’re improving in that area. This has been such a pleasant interview—I’m sure the viewers are thinking the same thing,” she said with a smile, doing exactly what I’d asked and steering clear of his recent negative press.
“Truthfully, I can’t take all the credit for the improvements. There’s someone new in my life, and she works hard to keep me in line.” Those blue eyes cut straight to me again. “Gotta make sure I brag about her.”
Blood pounded in my ears so loud I almost missed the reporter’s response.
“Well, then we can’t wait to see more of her.”
She followed his gaze, but hers landed on Itzel, who lifted her hand in a small, shy wave, color rising in her cheeks.
Monroe’s eyes never moved off me.
Not one word of that speech was in the document I’d sent him. I’d gone over that list so many times in the last forty-eight hours I could’ve recited it in my sleep, and none of it—none of it—looked like what he’d just said.
I blinked, swallowing down the realization of how deep I was in with this man.
“Wow.” Ari’s voice was careful, pitched low. “Quite a speech about the special someone in his life.”
“Yeah.” My throat felt strange. “Just like I rehearsed with him.”
Lie.
She let it sit there for exactly two seconds. “So, when are we going to talk about what’s going on between you two?”
“No clue what you’re talking about, Ari.” I kept my eyes on the stage, fixing them on the conversation about developmental camp like it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever heard.
She rammed an elbow into my ribs.
“Ow—”
“Those things he said.” She dropped her voice further. “They’re not about Itzel.”
“Of course they are.”
“Tonta.” She clucked her tongue. “We are standing in a room full of cameras and his eyes were only ever on you.” She tilted her head toward the stage. “He was talking about you. Now spill.”
I peeled my gaze off the stage. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“What do you mean there’s nothing to talk about?” A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “He likes you. And based on those heart eyes he sent your way, I’m guessing a lot.”
Itzel popped her head into our huddle. “Are we talking about the fact that Monroe just made a confession of love to Graciella on live TV?” She clutched her hands to her chest. “Because that was so romantic.”
Something swelled in my throat, warm and unwanted, and I shoved it back down before it could take root.
Hope sucked. Hope was fragile and self-serving. And it hurt every time it failed.
I twisted my lips, pressing them together. Trying to keep the confession from spilling out. “There’s nothing happening between us.”
Itzel rolled her eyes so hard it surprised me she didn’t strain something.
“That is the biggest load of crap I have ever heard.” She planted a hand on her hip, curls wild around her face, staring me down with a directness she rarely used.
“His eyes track you every five seconds, Chella. And your voice just went all high and squeaky.”
“He’s dating someone,” I argued. “You, in fact. And he has a kid, and—”
I racked my brain. There had to be more. There was more. I’d made a whole mental list.
Itzel didn’t even let me finish. “All crap reasons. I knew you liked him from the moment you came to talk to me about this job.”
“Is this some sort of weird intervention you two planned?” I flicked a finger between them. “Because I’m feeling very set up right now.”
“So defensive when love gets brought up,” Ari said, smiling.
“Espérame.” I held up a hand. “Nobody said anything about love. I do not love Monroe.”
They ignored me completely.
“Damned near obsessed with Graciella,” Ari said, pointing at Itzel like she was presenting evidence.
“The only thing we talk about is her.”
Itzel’s words hit me somewhere I wasn’t prepared for.
“Wait.” I shook my head. “What do you mean all you talk about is me?”
Something about Itzel’s soft smile had my stomach in knots. Being nervous and excited on an empty stomach was not a great combination.
“Yeah, he asks all sorts of questions about you.”
“He told Dalton and Jimenez you’re the one he wishes he was on dates with,” Ari added.
The two grabbed hands and squealed like we were back in middle school discussing boys.
“So spill, Graciella.” Ari hit my arm. “What’s going on between you two?”
My teeth caught my bottom lip.
Don’t.
The words sat right there. All I needed to do was keep my mouth shut—
“I…we might’ve shared a room together at the Draft.” The confession poured out. “And he kissed me, and I kissed him back.”
Ariella started quietly squealing and clapping her hands.
Itzel’s face turned bright red. “I knew it. And believe me, he definitely likes you.”
Ari cackled when Itzel hit her shoulder and scolded her. “Clearly, he kissed you. I bet he wanted to kiss another set of lips at the Draft.”
“And I might have watched him jack off in the shower…”
Dead silence for half a second.
Then Itzel’s brows arched so high they disappeared into her curls. “Okay. So.” She held up a hand, composing herself. “You know he likes you. You like him. Why aren’t you doing something about it?”
My chest seized, the truth sitting too close to the surface.
“Because I like him more than I should.” My voice was quieter than I’d meant. “I don’t think I want a fling or a hookup with him...”
I think I want more.
Neither of them said anything.
I needed air. I needed the exit. I needed a cabin somewhere in the middle of nowhere with no cell service and absolutely no blue-eyed hockey coach to look at.
My gaze drifted back to the stage before I could stop it, because apparently I liked hurting my own feelings by looking at things I couldn’t have.
Blue eyes locked onto mine across the set like everything else in the room had stopped existing. His mouth moved, slow and deliberate, forming words I didn’t need to hear to understand.
We’re talking. Today.