Chapter 13
Finley
“You can go in,” Paige says from outside my office.
Sabrina walks through my door, smiling widely, and I try not to be annoyed that the competition is taking up so much of my time.
“I have great news, Finley,” Sabrina announces, taking a seat across the desk from me.
“We’ve had such a great response to the first two challenges that we’re calling it and announcing Kane and me as the winners?”
Sabrina chuckles like I’m joking. “Definitely not. The better the response, the more I want to add an additional challenge! But the internet’s response to the talent show is what I’m here to talk about,” Sabrina explains.
Oh no. That can’t be good.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you been on any social media today?” Sabrina asks.
“You know I haven’t. I let your team handle my professional account for a reason. I don’t need to see what people say about me online. All it does is distract me from what I should be doing: coaching.”
“Yes, yes. I know. Are you at least aware of the fact you’re trending?”
I shake my head. “No—actually wait. Larsen mentioned something about it after the first challenge. Something about L-squared.”
“I think it’s double L. The hashtag is just a two and then the letter L.” Sabrina waves her manicured hand. “But that’s not why I’m here. Though, if you wanted to consider changing your defensive pairs, so Li and Larsen—”
“No,” I interrupt. I draw the fucking line at changing my game plan to play into media attention.
She shrugs. “I just thought I’d ask.”
“Well, the answer is no,” I reply, straightening my back.
“Anyway,” Sabrina continues, her voice just as cheerful as ever. “The real reason I’m here today is to talk about your name. Or, more specifically, your and Kane’s. TeamBlane is viral.”
My chest tightens. Team Blane? Like… a couple name? There’s no way the audience saw anything between us, right? Of course not. Because there isn’t anything. And I made sure I buried my feelings down deep—even if I did catch myself smiling at Beckett. But it was just a friendly smile.
And shit. That’s what the woman called me in Dallas. It wasn’t a slip-up. She knew.
Sabrina continues, “They love you two. Particularly, the clip where you tell the team they’re going to have to do sprints. Over five million views already on that one. Truly, it’s gold. It’s the most successful community-engagement content we’ve had in years.”
Oh, thank goodness. It’s not us they like. It’s our team they like. It might be a fine distinction, but it’s a very fucking important one.
“Okay, well, thanks for letting me know,” I say, turning back to my work.
“This isn’t just a heads-up,” Sabrina replies. “We’re going to need to lean into this one. Have the two of you do a few additional videos together, teasing the next challenge, talking about the team, that sort of thing. Maybe even an interview or two for some of the local networks.”
“Sabrina, I’m already spending a lot of time away from my actual job to make this happen. Can’t you get Li and Larsen to do it?”
“Knock, knock,” Mr. Peterson calls as he stands outside my office door.
Great. I guess everyone is just turning up today. Why not the team owner, too?
I gesture toward the other chair in front of my desk. “Come on in.”
“I was just giving Finley the good news about the success of the last competition,” Sabrina tells Ken with a smile.
“Well, great minds must think alike,” he replies. “I came to offer my congratulations as well. You know, Coach Blake, I wanted to see how you’d handle being the face of the team when the pressure is on, and it sure is convenient I get to before we’re in the playoffs.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, not sure how else to respond to his comment. Was being named interim coach after my boss had a heart attack on the bench, and then becoming the first ever female head coach at the ripe age of thirty-one, not enough pressure?
“Of course. This really is a great opportunity to cement you as the head of this team.”
I give him my media smile because, what the actual fuck? Am I not cemented as the head of this team? Interim has been gone from my title all season.
After promising to do whatever Sabrina needs from me, I tell them I have to leave, grabbing my skates to get a bit of ice time in before our game against the Archers tonight.
I skate laps, trying to burn off the angry energy flowing through my veins at the fact that the external optics matter so much. That so little of what I’m evaluated on is the way the team plays on the ice. That I’ve heard more about The Great Yeti Challenge than Pike’s recovery.
My watch buzzes, letting me know a call is coming in. Seeing it’s from my dad, I skate over to where I left my phone sitting by the bench.
“Dad,” I answer, stepping onto the rubber matting as I hastily make my way to the coaches’ suite. “Give me just a second.”
He remains silent while I walk down the tunnel, and I wait until I’m in the coaches’ room with the door closed before I put him on speakerphone.
“How are you?” I ask, untying my laces.
“I’ve been better, Finley. What is this I hear about you going viral for a dance? With a player?”
He says player like it’s a bad word, and I know it is in this situation, but at the same time, Beckett isn’t just some player.
He’s the man who understands what it’s like to be fully committed to the job.
The one I’ve laughed with in the last few weeks more times than I have in the years before he moved here with anyone.
The one who lifted me like I wasn’t a burden and never once let me fall.
I force myself to take a deep breath, to think rationally.
I did what I was told to do. Nothing more.
The slight warmth in my chest when Beckett’s around?
It’s nothing. Heartburn at most. The butterflies that seem to find me when Beckett is around were nothing when I was sixteen, and they’re less than nothing now.
“I told you about the social media thing Ken is pushing. You know how these things are,” I reply.
“But dancing, Finley? That’s a reckless reminder to the world that you’re a woman.”
“We weren’t the only team who danced, Dad.”
“You’re the only one who doesn’t get to blur the lines, though,” he practically barks at me.
“You can’t afford to have people question your professionalism, Finley.
You. Not Kane, not Li, certainly not Larsen.
Damn it. I knew you weren’t ready for this.
When you’re fifty? Sixty? Sure. But a thirty-one-year-old coach?
It’s really fucking rare. I don’t care how forward-thinking Ken Peterson is, or how much of a push there is for younger coaches.
It was bold if you were a man, but it’s just plain stupid to put a young woman in charge of a team of men. ”
“Dad,” I cut him off, knowing it’s the only way to end his rants. I know I can do this job better than any man, but I also know that he’s right. I wouldn’t have put myself in charge right now, based on the optics alone. But I am in charge, and I don’t plan on doing anything to mess it up.
“Just don’t give them a reason to question you.” He sighs.
Don’t mess up is the real message. One I know well.
“I know,” I say. “But I have to do this. Even if I don’t like it.”
Though that’s not necessarily accurate. I liked dancing with Beckett. I liked practicing with him. I liked the way the warmth of his body seeped into my own through every point of contact.
Dancing with him felt easy. If I missed a step, he’d cover for us. And when he held me above his head, there was no doubt in my mind that he had me. It was… fun.
And something else. Something that felt soft and new. A sign that maybe those butterflies from all those years ago aren’t as meaningless as I need them to be.
But, no. This can’t happen.
I hang up with my dad in time to see an email from Sabrina come through, one with details of the next challenge that explains how we’ll be paired with other professional athletes from Colorado.
It also reminds us that the fourth challenge will test our knowledge of each other.
It legitimately tells us to spend time “getting to know one another.”
And, damn it, why am I smiling at that directive?
Okay, yes. Beckett and I will need to spend time together to practice. But that’s all it will be. Hockey practice or preparing for The Great Yeti Challenge.
A second email from Sabrina hits my inbox, this one with a short list of additional filming she wants Beckett and me to do, including a request for me to wear the pink Yeti shirt again. Turns out, it’s sold out at the team store in the twenty-two hours since the last competition.
I reply, agreeing to the filming times.
And that little flutter in my chest? It’s not because I’m irritated at the additional time away from my job, like it should be. No, it’s because I just got told to spend more time with Beckett Kane. And that’s a real problem.