16. February 18, Friday
Chapter sixteen
Zoey
Zoey decided the thing about pulling off the perfect event, was that you had to stand in the middle of it and hope no one noticed you were faking being a competent adult.
The ballroom of the downtown Springfield hotel glittered around her—crystal chandeliers, white-draped tables, Cyclones banners hung with the kind of precise symmetry that would’ve given Kayla an organizational orgasm.
At the front, the stage had been transformed into Hockey Chic: branded backdrop, plexiglass podium, auction items arranged like sacred relics.
Jerseys. Signed sticks. A weekend in Montreal with box seats. A donated lake house getaway.
It was all hers.
Her event. Her pitch deck. Her donor emails. Her color-coded spreadsheet of who would overbid if sufficiently flattered.
She clutched her black-and-gold beaded clutch like it contained a smoke bomb instead of four spare pens and three lists.
Her emerald dress flared when she moved, the neckline just daring enough to remind her she still possessed boobs and not just emotional baggage.
Gold earrings brushed her jaw. Her hair was pinned into a messy twist that had taken forty-five minutes and one near breakdown.
She should have been basking.
Instead, Nina Fontaine slid into her peripheral vision like a beautifully tailored omen.
“Keep an eye on the bartender, he has a heavy hand with the players’ drinks,” Nina instructed, voice low. Her sequined navy sheath dress shimmered as she turned, Cyclones blue down to the molecule. “The last thing the team needs right now is more drama.”
Zoey smiled. “Good evening to you, too.”
Nina’s smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. “You did a great job with the donors. The response has been…surprisingly strong for a first-time event.”
Surprisingly.
Like Zoey had been expected to light the place on fire and run, naked in circles in a panic.
“Rich people love a tax write-off for a good cause,” Zoey said lightly. “I just herded them in the right direction.”
“Don’t minimize yourself,” Nina chastised, pleasant but still sharp. “Women don’t need more of that. You have a certain…earnestness. People respond to it. They think you care more about the kids than the branding.”
“I do,” Zoey protested, genuinely confused. “Care more about the kids.”
Nina blinked, lips twitching. “Of course. It’s actually nice seeing you get back to the individual powerhouse you used to be before…well, anyways. Just remember, every story that leaves this room tonight reflects on the organization. Including yours.”
There it was. The shiv, wrapped in velvet.
“Noted,” Zoey said. “I’ll avoid starting any fights near the dessert table.”
“Good.” Nina’s distracted gaze drifted past her shoulder, scanning the room with predatory efficiency. “Optics are fragile right now. Between the losing streak, the trade rumors, and a few unexpected press photos…”
Her eyes returned to Zoey’s face. Lingered.
Zoey’s stomach dipped. “Photos.”
“I make it my business to know what can hurt this team,” Nina said, tone softening into something almost sisterly. “You’ve been out of the spotlight for a while. You’re not used to how fast a harmless situation can get spun into something worse.”
Right. Harmless. Like grabbing a late-night dinner after meeting at a bar. Laughing too long at a familiar voice. Letting a friendly moment linger.
She should have remembered that eyes were everywhere.
“Nothing’s happened,” Zoey said, carefully.
“Good.” Nina smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her dress. “The guys need focus, not distractions. Especially Sergechev.”
Hearing his last name out loud did something unwelcome to Zoey’s lungs.
“He already carries a lot as captain,” Nina continued. “We’re grabbing drinks next week to talk messaging for the playoff push. Leadership features. Legacy angles.”
Drinks.
Zoey kept her expression neutral through sheer force of will. “Makes sense.”
“You two seem to have picked up right where you left off,” Nina added, head tilting.
Zoey caught herself before she overexplained. “We work well together.”
“That’s all that matters,” Nina said sweetly. Her hand landed on Zoey’s forearm, a light squeeze with steel behind it. “Let’s keep tonight about the kids and the donors. Not personal narratives.”
Then she glided away, efficient and unbothered, leaving Zoey standing at the side of the ballroom with a tight, fizzing pressure under her ribs.
Drama to divide them. Drinks with Ilya. Personal narratives.
Logically, none of it should have stung. Ilya was allowed to have drinks with his PR lead. To exist in rooms where Zoey wasn’t. To be charming and quietly witty and sneakily sexy.
Her brain helpfully supplied an image of Nina’s hand on his arm in the hallway last week—casual, proprietary, unburdened by history.
Heat pricked behind Zoey’s eyes.
Nope. Absolutely not crying at the Cyclones charity auction.
She straightened her spine. If Nina thought she was some reckless feelings-drunk liability in heels, Zoey would prove her wrong.
She wasn’t the president of their Building Better Business and Community Club in college just because she could convince the Pope to consider Judaism.
She was the freaking bomb at this shit. So, if Nina wanted to be wowed, Zoey would give her wow.
She would nail this night so hard, donors would be throwing their own children’s inheritances at her face.
“Zo-zo!”
The shout came from a direction that felt like chaos.
Zoey turned just in time to brace as Babs barreled toward her, a compact force of nature in a burgundy dress that meant business. Ashley, Bab’s social worker bestie, followed, laughing, walking all too easily in her super slim stilettos.
“Look at you,” Babs said, grabbing Zoey’s hands and holding her out at arm’s length. “All fancy. I knew you cleaned up nice, but damn.”
Relief hit Zoey so fast it nearly made her lightheaded.
Thank God. Standing next to Nina could make the Victoria Secret models feel like they were bums. So, it was nice to know that Zoey didn’t look out of place.
“You’re one to talk. You look like you’re about to monopolize our Glam Cam.”
“If I had that kind of money, the group home would have a working toilet in the upstairs second bathroom,” Babs replied. “But I appreciate the compliment anyways.”
Ashley rolled her eyes at Babs and reminded her in a voice that betrayed that it was not the first time, “Ty said someone was coming by tomorrow.”
“Well, tomorrow isn’t today. And teenage boys…Well, I don’t need to elaborate.” Babs sniffed primly.
“How are the kids?” Zoey asked. “I’ve been swamped this week.”
“Xavier bet Marcus five bucks that you’d trip onstage, and Madison asked me to take a picture of the best hairstyles,” Babs said. “So. The usual.”
“Those teens will be the death of me,” Ashley added. “And I swear, if one more kid blows glitter in my hair, I might go back home to Dariqat.”
Zoey laughed, tension loosening its grip.
Her friends were here. The kids were fine. The night was successful.
Babs’s expression shifted. She glanced around, then tugged Zoey closer, partially shielding them behind a towering floral arrangement. “Okay. News.”
Zoey’s heart slammed. “About…?”
Ashley reached into her clutch and pulled out a small compact to check her makeup. “The home physical standards check.”
Time stuttered.
“You passed,” Ashley said, eyes bright. “They approved your place. You’re cleared to move forward.”
She sucked in a harsh breath. “I…what?”
“You passed,” Babs repeated, grinning like she’d personally wrestled the state into submission. “Background checks cleared for you and Kayla. Smoke detectors had working batteries. No loaded guns left on the bedside table. The place passed.”
Her vision blurred.
“You’re eligible to enroll starting with the March MAPP class,” Ashley added.
Zoey made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a sob. “I thought it went okay,” she said hoarsely. “But I also thought that about my marriage, so my instincts are…questionable.”
“They were impressed,” Ashley said simply.
Babs wrapped her in a fierce hug that smelled like vanilla and champagne. “You didn’t give up. That matters.”
Emotion surged hot and tidal. Zoey clung back, throat thick. “Thank you,” she managed. “For everything. For not laughing when I said I wanted to do this alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Babs insisted gruffly.
“And you’ve kinda inherited me,” Ashley added, looping an arm around them both. “Which is fantastic for you because I’m a catch.”
“Group hug?” a cheerful voice cut in.
Ty appeared like a golden retriever in a suit, all bright grin and genuine cheer. He kissed Ashley’s temple, then squeezed Zoey’s shoulder. “This event is great. You look incredible. And the sponsors are feral.”
“Seven ninety-nine at Target,” Zoey said weakly, swiping at her eyes.
“Great, we’ll start bidding at two grand. It’s about time this town had a Bachelorette Auction.” Ty glanced more closely at her watery eyes and grew concerned. “What’s up?”
“She passed,” Babs announced.
Ty’s grin went nuclear. “Holy shit.” He pulled Zoey into a bear hug that made her squeak. “That’s amazing.”
“Careful,” Zoey laughed shakily. “This eyeliner was expensive.”
“I regret nothing.” He set her down, eyes warm. “I’m so happy for you.” He looked towards the other women guiltily. “Which makes this even more awkward…” He winced a little, “Can I steal them away? I know you guys are celebrating, but I was just talking to a potential donor and–– ”
“Oh, my God! Say no more!” Zoey started pushing him away, uncaring about the accuracy of the direction. “Why did you waste time with all the hugging crap! Money is my love language! Go get money for the kids!”
Ty squeezed her shoulder once more before herding them away, Babs already pestering him for background information.
The space around Zoey emptied, leaving her somewhat alone in the outskirts of the glittering ballroom with life-altering news in her head and nowhere to put the feeling blooming in her chest.