3. Sophie
Chapter 3
Sophie
P ro tip: when you're trying to make a good impression, maybe don't show up to your first big assignment looking like you got dressed in the dark.
But here I am, racing through the Blades' practice facility at six forty-five a.m., trying to smooth down my definitely-not-supposed-to-be-wrinkled blouse with one hand while balancing my laptop bag, purse, and a tray of coffees with the other.
“Don’t overthink this,” I grit out beneath clenched teeth, dodging a golf cart loaded with equipment. "You are a professional reporter. You are capable. You are…"
Lost. I am completely lost. The practice facility looks different at dawn, all shadowy corridors and echoing spaces. During my internship, I never had to be here this early.
But Lexi was very clear: if I wanted to shadow Ryland Daniels, I had to be there for morning practice. All of morning practice. Including the ungodly hour when they actually arrive.
I check my phone again, which still shows Ryland's text:
Ryland: Meet me by the players' entrance. Can't miss it.
Except I absolutely can miss it, because everything looks the same in this maze of concrete and steel. Left takes me past the weight room. Right leads to...another hallway that looks exactly like the last one.
Great. Just great.
At least I had the foresight to stop for coffee. Nothing says, "please don't hate me for invading your space", quite like caffeinated peace offerings.
One black coffee for Evan (because of course I remember how he takes it), one fancy caramel thing for Ryland (courtesy of his Instagram stories), and one triple-shot vanilla latte for me (because…I’m still not awake).
A door slams somewhere ahead, making me jump.
Okay, new plan: follow the noise. Where there are sounds, there are people. Where there are people, there are directions.
I round the corner at full speed—and slam directly into a wall of solid muscle.
Coffee goes everywhere. And I mean everywhere.
My laptop bag hits the floor with a concerning thud. My purse spills its contents like a pinata at a kid's birthday party.
And there, standing in front of me with vanilla latte dripping down his previously pristine practice jersey, is Evan Daniels.
Fuck. My. Life.
"I—oh God—I'm so sorry!" I drop to my knees, frantically grabbing for the napkins that are definitely not going to be enough for this situation. "I didn't see you! I was lost, and then I heard a noise, and I thought maybe it was Ryland, but obviously it wasn't Ryland because you're you, and now you're covered in coffee, and…"
"Sophie." His voice is surprisingly calm for someone wearing my morning beverage. "Breathe."
Right. Breathing. That's a thing people do when they are calm and collected. Something I need right now.
I inhale shakily, still clutching a fistful of napkins like they might somehow fix this disaster. "I can wash that for you. Or buy you a new jersey. Or move to Antarctica and never show my face again."
Is that...is that a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth?
"Don’t worry about it," he says, though I absolutely will. "What are you doing here? You don’t work here anymore."
Uh oh. Does this mean it’s explanation time? He must not know about the Ryland piece yet.
"About that..." I start gathering my scattered belongings, buying time. "I'm actually here for…"
"Uncle Evan!" Ryland's voice echoes down the hallway. With sandy-brown hair and gray-green eyes, he’s the spitting image of his mother—Evan’s sister. “You're early! And...wearing your coffee?" His eyes travel to me. “I see you met my new shadow."
I risk a glance up. Evan's expression has shifted from almost amused to something much more guarded. The temperature in the hallway drops about ten degrees.
“Your…what?" Evan coughs out.
Ryland runs a hand through his hair—a gesture so similar to his uncle's it's uncanny. “You didn't give me a chance to break the news to you."
"Break what news?" Evan's voice has gone dangerously quiet.
"Sophie's the reporter from Sports News Now ," Ryland says quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. "The one doing the feature on me."
If I thought the hallway was cold before, it's practically arctic in here now.
Evan's jaw tightens. "No."
"Uncle Evan…"
"I said no." He turns those ice-blue eyes on me, and suddenly I understand why they call him the Ice Man. "This isn't happening. You can just head on back home."
"Mr. Daniels," I try, summoning every ounce of confidence I can muster (which, covered in coffee and holding a broken laptop bag, isn't much). "I know you have concerns…"
"Concerns?" He lets out a harsh laugh. "You want to follow my nephew around with a camera, dig into our personal lives, and publish whatever half-truths get you the most clicks? No. I have more than just concerns."
"That's not what this is," I protest, heat rising in my cheeks. "This is about telling Ryland's story, about showing people who he really is…"
"I know exactly what this is." He steps closer, using every inch of his six-foot-plus height to loom over me. "It's a young reporter trying to make a name for herself, no matter who she has to step on to do it."
The words land on me like dynamite. "Is that really what you think of me?"
Something flashes in his eyes—regret maybe?—but it's gone before I can be sure. "What I think doesn't matter. What matters is protecting my family."
"From me?" The hurt in my voice surprises even me. "I brought you coffee every morning for three months. I kept stats for your games. I watched Natalia when your sitter canceled. Did you think I was just...what? Playing the long game?"
"Sophie…" Ryland starts with concern in his voice, but Evan cuts him off.
"You worked for us. Now you work for them." He gestures at my press badge like it's personally offended him. "And they only care about one thing: getting the story, no matter the cost."
"That's not true," I say quietly. "And I think you know it's not true."
"What I know," he says, each word precise and cutting, "is that the last time I trusted someone from the media, they turned my divorce into a circus. They camped outside my house. They followed my daughter to school. They turned the worst moment of my life into entertainment."
Oh shit.
"I didn't…I wouldn't…"
"Save it." He steps back, and somehow that hurts worse than the looming. "Ryland, practice starts in ten. Don't be late."
And then he's gone, leaving nothing but the scent of spilled coffee and the wreckage of my career aspirations in his wake.
Ryland lets out a long breath. "Well...that could have gone better."
I slump against the wall, feeling like I just finished a boxing match. "Does he really think I'm like that? That I'd exploit your family for a story?"
"Nah." Ryland slides down to sit next to me. "He's just...protective. Ever since the divorce, he's had this thing about the media. Can't really blame him."
"I guess not." I look down at my ruined coffee tray. "I'm sorry I ambushed you both like this. I should have waited, let you tell him first."
"Hey, this isn't your fault." Ryland bumps my shoulder with his. "Besides, Uncle Evan's bark is worse than his bite. Usually. Most of the time. Okay…sometimes."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Not helping."
"Look." He stands, offering me a hand up. "Give him time to cool off. Let him see that this isn't some tabloid hit piece. He'll come around."
"You think so?"
"Trust me." Ryland grins, and for a moment I can see the family resemblance in more than just gestures. "He liked you when you worked here. That doesn't just go away because you changed jobs."
I think about the way Evan looked at me just now, like I'd personally betrayed him. "I'm not so sure about that."
"Well, I am." He glances at his watch and winces. "Shit. Practice. Um, you can watch from the media box? It's probably safer than rinkside, given Uncle Evan's current mood."
"Good call." I gather what's left of my dignity and my belongings. "I should probably change first, though."
"Yeah, coffee isn't really your color." He starts backing away. "Meet you after practice? We can talk about what you're looking for with the feature."
I nod, watching him jog off toward the locker room. Only when he's gone do I let myself back into the wall, head in my hands.
What am I doing here? Evan clearly doesn't want me anywhere near his family. Maybe I should call Lexi, tell her to send someone else...
But then I think about what that would mean. Giving up on my first real chance to prove myself. Backing down when there’s some resistance. No. I've worked too hard to back down now.
Standing up, I straighten my coffee-stained blouse and take a deep breath. If Evan Daniels thinks I'm just another ruthless reporter out for a story, I'll just have to prove him wrong.
Even if it kills me.
Which, given my track record with regard to embarrassing myself in front of him, it probably will.