11. Sophie
Chapter 11
Sophie
T here are three things I've learned during my time at Sports News Now .
One: the office coffee tastes like battery acid mixed with regret.
Two: no one—including me—actually knows how to work the printer.
And three: it's impossible to focus on work when you spent the previous night making out with Chicago's grumpiest goalie in his kitchen.
“Yo, Bennett!" Brad's voice breaks through my daydream. "What’s in God’s name are you doing over there?"
I quickly minimize my document—which may or may not contain more instances of the word "Evan" than strictly necessary for a feature about Ryland.
"I'm editing!"
"You're sighing. Again." He peers over our shared cubicle wall. "And you've got that look."
"What look? I don't have a look."
"The same look you had after the golf disaster. And the coffee incident. And that time he complimented your stats analysis and you nearly walked into a door." He pauses. "Also, you've got your 'Evan playlist' on repeat again."
I quickly shut off my music. "I do NOT have an Evan playlist!"
"Sophie." He pulls up my Spotify on his phone. "You have a playlist called 'Hockey Stats' that's nothing but love songs and saves from his best games set to music."
"Those are...research materials."
"You set his glove save against Boston to 'Can't Help Falling in Love’."
"It was a really good save!"
His eyes narrow. "Oh my God. Something happened with him, didn't it?"
"Nothing happened!" My voice goes embarrassingly high. "Why would you think something happened?"
"Because you're wearing his practice jersey."
I look down in horror, realizing I grabbed the wrong hoodie in my morning haze. The number 35 stares back at me accusingly.
"This is...team merchandise."
"That has 'DANIELS' written across the back."
"It was on sale."
"Why does it have chocolate sauce on the front of it? Is that what it is? Chocolate sauce?"
I slap a hand over the damning evidence, face burning. "Don't you have work to do?"
"And miss this? Not a chance." He rolls his chair fully into my cubicle. "Spill. What happened? Did he finally ask you out? Did you make a move? Did you…"
My phone buzzes, saving me from further interrogation.
Evan: Missing something?
Followed by a picture of my press badge, which must have fallen out of my pocket last night when we were...busy.
The memory hits me full force.
"Just Natalia?" I'd asked, heart pounding as Evan stood close enough that I could feel his warmth.
The way he'd looked at me then, like I was something precious and dangerous all at once...
"No," he'd said, voice rough in a way that made my knees weak. "Not just Natalia."
And then his hands were in my hair, and his lips were on mine and…
“Helloooo, Sophie! Again!" Brad waves a hand in front of my face. "You're doing that dreamy sigh thing."
"I do not sigh dreamily!"
"You just wrote 'Mrs. Sophie Daniels' in your notebook."
I slam my notebook shut. "I absolutely did not!"
"No, but you just confirmed something definitely happened." He grins triumphantly. "Come on, Bennett. I've watched this slow-burn romance develop for too long now. Give me something!"
I quickly type back to Evan.
Me: Can I stop by and get it after work?
His response is immediate.
Evan: Or you could come to morning practice. Ryland's working on a new shot you might want to cover for the feature.
"And now you're blushing," Brad observes. "Definitely Ice Man."
I throw a stress ball at his head. "Don't you have literally anywhere else to be?"
"Sophie?" Lexi's voice makes me jump. "Got a minute?"
Brad mouths "busted" as I follow our boss to her office, trying not to look as guilty as I feel. Which is ridiculous. I haven't done anything wrong.
Not really, right? Kissing your story subject’s uncle probably falls into some ethical gray area, but...
"How's the feature coming along?"
Lexi's question snaps me back to reality.
Yup. On it. Work.
Don’t fuck this up.
"Good! Great, actually. I've got some great material about Ryland's training regime, his relationship with the team..."
"And with Evan?"
Something in her tone makes me pause. "What about Evan?"
"Come on, Sophie." She leans forward, that familiar gleam in her eye. "Former NHL bad boy becomes devoted single dad and mentor to his teenage nephew? That's gold."
My stomach twists. "The feature is supposed to be about Ryland."
"It is about Ryland. But it's also about family. About redemption. About second chances..." She trails off meaningfully. "Unless there's a reason you don't want to explore that angle?"
Images from last night flash through my mind: Evan teaching Natalia proper goalie stance, helping Ryland perfect his shot, looking at me across his kitchen counter like he wants to...
"I just..." I swallow hard. "I promised him I'd respect certain boundaries."
"And we will, but Sophie, this could be huge for your career. The kind of story that gets noticed, that opens doors." She studies me carefully. "The kind of story that comes with a promotion and a raise."
A raise.
God, how long has it been since I sent money home to help with Allison's college fund? Since I contributed to Dad's medical bills?
My phone buzzes again and I glance at it.
Evan: Natalia asked if you're coming to practice. Says she needs your opinion on her new pads.
Something warm blooms in my chest, immediately followed by guilt.
"I'll think about it," I tell Lexi, standing up. "But I won't exploit their trust. That's not negotiable."
She nods, but I can tell this isn't the end of the conversation.
Back at my desk, I find a cup of decent coffee—the kind from the shop down the street, not the office sludge—waiting for me.
"Thanks for the coffee," I say, taking another grateful sip. "I needed this."
"Clearly." Brad settles into his chair. "So, what are you so wound up about?"
I fidget with my cup. "Hypothetically, if you were covering a story about someone, and you had feelings for...someone related to that someone..."
"Your eloquence astounds me."
“Quit it. I'm serious."
"Okay." He sobers. "You're worried about crossing lines with the Daniels story."
"Yes. No. Maybe?" I groan. "Lexi wants me to dig deeper into the family angle. The whole 'former NHL bad boy becomes devoted single dad' thing."
"And you don't want to because...?"
"Because it's not my story to tell! Because Evan trusts me. Because..." I lower my voice to almost a whisper. "Because last night he kissed me in his kitchen and it was perfect and now everything's complicated."
"Aha!” Brad's triumphant shout draws looks from nearby cubicles. "I knew it!”
“Jesus. Could you be any louder?"
"Shit. Sometimes my mouth has volume issues. Sorry about that.” He wheels closer, dropping his voice. "But seriously, you kissed?"
"Among other things," I mutter, then quickly add at his raised eyebrows, "Nothing like that! Just...there may have been some chocolate sauce involved."
"Kinky."
"From ice cream! We had ice cream with Natalia after her game and…" I stop, realizing I'm just digging myself deeper.
"So let me get this straight." Brad starts counting on his fingers. "You went to his kid's game, had ice cream, and then made out in his kitchen?"
"When you say it like that..."
"Like what? Like you're basically dating?"
"We're not dating. We just...spent time together. And maybe kissed. And maybe I can't stop thinking about it."
My phone buzzes again.
Evan: Sorry but she’s bugging me again. Says she needs her good luck charm.
"You're smiling at your phone again," Brad observes.
"Am not."
"You know what I think?"
"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"I think you're looking at this all wrong." He spins in his chair thoughtfully. "You're seeing it as a choice between your integrity and your feelings. But maybe it's simpler than that."
I look up from my phone. "How?"
"What's the real story here? Not what Lexi wants, not what might get clicks. What's the story that matters?"
I think about last night. About Natalia's excited chatter over ice cream. About the way Evan looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching. About all the little moments I've witnessed between him and Ryland...
"Uncle Evan?" Ryland had asked during a late practice last week. "How did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That you wanted to be a goalie. That this was your path."
Evan had been quiet for a moment, adjusting his pads. "I didn't, at first. Just knew I wanted to protect something. Give people something to count on."
"Is that why you're helping me? To give me something to count on?"
The look Evan gave his nephew then—proud and protective and so full of love—had made my heart ache.
"You've always had that, kid. Whether you made the team or not."
"Sophie?" Brad's voice brings me back. "Where'd you go?"
"Just thinking about...about what matters."
"And?"
My phone buzzes with a text from my sister.
Allison: Guess who got an A on their physics test??? Those tutoring sessions you paid for are WORKING! ????
Followed by one from my dad.
Dad: Good news from the doctor today, sweetheart. That new arthritis treatment you helped with is making a difference. Love you.
The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders. A promotion would mean being able to help more, to worry less about money, to...
But at what cost?
"It's not just about the story anymore, is it?" Brad asks softly.
"Was it ever?"
He hands me another stress ball. "Tell me about him. Not the Ice Man. Not the story. Just... him."
I squeeze the ball, thinking. "He makes Natalia chocolate chip pancakes for dinner when she's had a bad day.”
"And?"
"He thanks the janitors at the arena for all their hard work. I also saw him slip the old guy that’s been there forever a hundred-dollar bill."
"What else?"
"He...he looks at me sometimes like..." I trail off, remembering last night. "Like I matter. Not as a reporter or a story, but just...me."
"And Lexi wants you to exploit that."
"She wants me to tell the bigger story. One that could help my career, help my family..."
"At the cost of his trust."
"Yeah." I slump in my chair. "Hence the ethical dilemma."
Brad is quiet for a moment, then: "You know what makes you a good journalist?"
"My stunning vocabulary?"
"You care. About the truth, yeah, but more than that—you care about the people behind the stories."
"That's what makes this so hard."
"No, that's what makes this your opportunity." He leans forward. "So tell their story. The real one. Not some manufactured drama about redemption, but the truth about a family that loves each other. About second chances that come from support, not scandal."
I stare at him. "When did you get so wise?"
"I moonlight as a therapist."
"You do not."
"No, but I've been watching you pine over this guy for months. I'm invested now."
My phone buzzes again.
Evan: No pressure about the badge. But practice wouldn't be the same without you. Neither would a lot of things.
"Well?" Brad prompts. "What are you going to do?"
I take a deep breath and pull out my notebook, flipping to a fresh page. At the top, I write:
"Some people say Evan Daniels is made of ice. They call him cold, unapproachable, impossible to know. But they've never seen him teach his daughter to butterfly slide across their kitchen floor in sock feet. Never watched him stay late after practice to help his nephew perfect a shot. Never witnessed the quiet moments where being the Ice Man means having a foundation strong enough to hold everyone else up..."
I pause, then add:
"This isn't a story about redemption. It's a story about love—the kind that shows up every day, that teaches hockey moves, and makes chocolate chip pancakes, and believes in people until they believe in themselves. The kind that turns a team into a family, a house into a home, and maybe, just maybe, turns ice into something warm enough to melt even the most carefully guarded hearts..."
"Now that," Brad says, reading over my shoulder, "is a story worth telling."
I grab my phone and reply to Evan’s last three texts.
Me: Wouldn't miss it for the world. Any of it.
Because maybe that's the real story here. Not the one Lexi wants, or even the one I'm supposed to be writing.
But the story of how a grumpy goalie and his hockey-obsessed family somehow became the best part of my day.
How they became my story.
In every sense of the word.
Now I just have to figure out how to tell it without losing everything in the process.
Maybe I already know how this story ends.
And maybe it's better than any story I could have planned.
No pressure, right?
Just my heart, my career, and a family I'm starting to wish could be mine too.
But hey, I've always liked a challenge.
Especially one that tastes like caramel sauce and possibility.