6. Callum
6
CALLUM
“ B alfour, where were those moves last night?”
“Fuck off, Austin. If you’d trim that lettuce attached to your face, you’d get your stick on the puck,” Roe snaps back in my defense.
“You don’t have to take my licks, Roe. As I remember it, we brought home a win last night. He’s just butt hurt. I’m not at the top of my game, but I still play better than him.”
I take a drink of water. We won last night, and while I can’t say I’m back to where I once was, I’m better than I have been. Last night, I felt more like myself, and it showed. It’s likely because there was a chance Eloise could have been watching from the box. Regardless, we brought home a win. Austin isn’t anyone’s cup of tea; he’s rough around the edges and, in my book, an overall prick. I’ve tried to figure him out, but he’s made it clear I’m the last person he wants to talk to. While we all want wins, the guy making the plays does matter. Records and ranks all play into endorsement deals and trades, and you had better believe he wants them. For those reasons, as captain, I have a target on my back. Austin is ready to step in and take my spot. He doesn’t seem to comprehend that he can have it if he wants. He just has to play better. I’m not holding him back; the only person doing that is himself, but I digress.
“Balfour’s right. A win is a win, and you guys brought one home last night. However, we still need to win eight if we want a seat at the table this playoff season, and to help us get there, Greenlight PR is coming to assist the team with their image and likability in the community,” Coach Beck says, straddling the ice and the bench.
As the guys murmur Greenlight, I ask what everyone is undoubtedly thinking. “How the hell is a PR company going to help us right now? If anything, this is a distraction when we should be focused on the game.”
Before he can answer, whistling and shoulder slapping steal my attention, and I turn to see what the commotion is all about, only to find a tall brunette skating onto the ice from the other side. She glides effortlessly across the rink, her silhouette familiar as she takes long strides, gaining momentum before leaping into a waltz jump. The second I see that jump, I get a sour taste in my mouth. It’s obvious what’s going on here. Whoever this PR woman is, she’s clearly trying to show off her skating skills and liken a sense of commonality to get in our good graces, and I don’t like it. Don’t be someone you’re not just to try to score brownie points. If you’re good at what you do, do that. She was hired for PR, not her ability to skate. I watch as she does a couple more spins, captivating the guys, and my annoyance builds. This performance is cutting into the time I spend with Eloise before I leave tonight.
Right before I lose my cool, she skates up closer, and the heat that was beginning to boil over is doused. I lean onto my knees as though someone just punched me in the stomach because that’s what this feels like. There’s no way the new publicist our owner hired is the same woman I used to hurt Eloise.
“Boys, meet your new boss, Blair Wyndham. If she commands it for the next eight weeks, do it.”
“Hello, boys,” she says, her voice slightly too sultry given the circumstances. “Can someone tell me the first thing they think of when they hear the word PR?”
Roe says, “Reputation.”
The guy next to him chimes in, “Crisis.”
She places her hands on her hips as her eyes connect with each guy on the bench. Then, with a smile, she says, “Let’s clear one thing up. I’m not here to clean up a crisis. I’m not even here to prevent one.”
Her brown eyes finally find mine. Frankly, I’m surprised they didn’t search for me the second she approached the bench. I’m sure that the fact I play for the Kings influenced her decision to accept the job. Blair and I may have never been anything, but it’s not because she didn’t want to be, and the look she’s giving me now reeks of payback.
“I’m here to generate media coverage, build personal brands, and facilitate relationships.”
I swear, her eyes narrow on mine before she slowly glides down the ice to the far end of the bench.
“Some of you will require more work than others?—”
“How do we sign up for more work?” one of the guy’s jests.
Blair Wyndham is not hard to look at by a long shot. Her mother was a model, and her looks didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to Blair, but she’s not my type. Eloise Grey is my only type, but even if she never existed, it never would have been Blair. Blair Wyndham is conniving. She always has ulterior motives, which is why this announcement is hard to swallow. I can’t help but feel like this move is happening to punish me. I’m off the bench and moving toward the locker room, unable to stomach another second of her voice. Sure, I’m the captain and supposed to lead by example, but right now, I don’t care if they stripped that title away. Half the team doesn’t think I deserve it anyway. So fuck it. Coach Beck calls out my name, and I don’t flinch. I need to get away.
The second I enter the locker room, I chuck my helmet onto the floor in front of my locker and throw myself on the bench before racking my hand through my hair. “What the hell did I do wrong in this life?” I pull the strands. “What do I need to atone for?”
I pull a taxing breath through my nostrils as I fight the urge not to walk out and be utterly careless by throwing away my career. Instead, I reach for my duffle bag and pull out my playbook. Time to go back to the day I chose wrong. The day I chose Blair.
Playbook:
Crosscheck
There’s no way she’s here today. I must still be hallucinating from partying too hard over the weekend because there’s no fucking way my girl is sitting across the lunchroom with my best friend looking more than just friends. I asked around for her at the party. I knew she was there. I had a few guys from school bring her for me since I had to ride the bus home with the team. However, when I got home, I never found her. Rumor has it that I didn’t see her because she left the party with Arlo.
Eloise looks up from the lunch table, and her sky-blue eyes connect with mine and shoot ice through my veins. Those are my eyes to get lost in, not his. I’m out of my seat, stalking across the cafeteria, when he leans in, only spurring my fury. I can’t believe he’d throw away years of friendship to steal my girl. Everybody wants Eloise Grey, and keeping her hasn’t been easy. I’ve always only been hanging on by a thread. She’s been mine since we were sixteen. When she’s mine, she’s all mine, and the world falls away, but when we return to reality, a wall goes up. Her eyes give her away every time. Inside, she’s with me, but her actions tell you we’re not that serious, like right now when she’s sitting too close to the guy I’ve called my best friend since middle school.
He whispers in her ear, and I still don’t stop. All I can think about is punching him in the face, but when I see his arm subtly shift to her lap, I stop cold in my tracks. Eloise is no stranger to testing my limits, but if anything, it’s always been in the name of fun. She liked the consequences. She liked knowing how easily she could affect me, but this now is different. Holding his hand is a hard limit.
I stood there momentarily, stunned and crushed for seconds that felt like they stretched into eternity before a hand wrapped around my forearm.
“Hey, Cal. I wanted to see if you were okay after Saturday. We were having a good time, and then you had to use the restroom, and I never found you after that,” Blair drones on.
She’s the last person I care to see. The only person I want right now is currently ripping my heart out. I had every intention of promising her forever, and she pulled this. My eyes held Eloise’s, looking for anything that said I had it wrong, that said I wasn’t watching her throw us away, and when I saw nothing, my arm wrapped around Blair Wyndham’s shoulder, and I turned on my heel as bile rose in my throat. I was foolish to think my first love would never end. Love is foolish. I guess that’s why I never told her I loved her.
I slam my book shut. This isn’t happening. Blair can’t be here. Not here, not now, not ever. I used her to hurt Eloise. It doesn’t matter that nothing ever happened between us. I’m not a fucking idiot. I know how her presence will make Eloise feel. The same way I felt when I caught her in the kitchen with Arlo. Jealousy, hurt, doubt, all things I never want her to feel. “Damn it.”
The guys start filtering into the locker room, and I head straight for the coach’s office. He’s just walked in when I enter behind him. “I’m not working with that woman. It’s nowhere in my contract.”
“The PR company she works for was hired by the owner to help with the team’s image,” he says, not even bothering to look at me. “Something you clearly need help with. What the hell was that out there, Balfour? You can’t just walk out of team meetings. Especially that one. Mr. Bronson mandated it.” He tosses his clipboard on his desk.
I deserve worse than what he’s giving me now, but the truth is Coach Beck has been like a father to me. He’s been in my corner since he scouted me in my first year of college, going above and beyond the scope of a typical coach, helping me work out a contract that benefited me and not the organization, and assisting me in settling in Toronto. I was nineteen, drafted to play for the Kings, clueless and green as hell. He showed me the ropes, and the more time we spent together, the more I learned about him and the son he lost. It was when he was helping me get into my current place downtown that I met his wife and learned I resembled the son he’d lost in an ATV accident three years before. He doesn’t take it easy on me by any means, but I get away with more than most, and he’s the last person who deserves my disrespect.
So I temper my tone when I say, “Okay, well, she can help the team. Not me.”
“We both know that’s not how it works.”
I hate how everyone is making it out like we’re the worst team in the league just because we aren’t in the number one seat right now. Do I want to be number one? Hell yeah, but shit happens. Sometimes being number one is a curse. You have to play harder to keep it. Teams attack differently to take it.
“I’m fine with being the underdog, the dark horse they didn’t see coming. We’ll get there. We don’t need help.”
“I wouldn’t say I don’t agree with your thinking, but we still have to sell tickets and fill stadiums when the team…” His eyes meet mine in an unspoken understanding; he’s not putting this season’s shortfalls all on me. I’m doing that. “Isn’t doing it on skill alone.” He takes his seat and steeples his fingers. “The press kit Greenlight outlined is supposed to get us there.”
“I disagree. Having a camera following us around will not increase sales. This isn’t a reality TV show. This is hockey. I’m not doing it. I’ve always been private and plan to keep my personal life personal.”
“You’ll do it,” he says, tapping his forefingers together. “You’re a free agent at the end of the season, and if you expect to keep playing the sport you love, you need to soften your image, become relatable, and make people fall for you so you have something when your game is only mediocre.”
“Mediocre?” I question, running my thumb across my bottom lip in irritation. “Are you serious? Out of all the people I thought weren’t blaming our position on me, you were one of them.”
The word mediocre sucks, but it’s only the icing on the cake when it’s paired with the words “free agent” and “end of season.” Combined and coming from his mouth, they hit differently. It’s one thing to think about walking out and leaving all this behind on my own choice. It’s another to have the option taken away, and after Eloise’s revelations about her inheritance, I feel a little more pressure to keep what I have going. She’d never be a pauper by any means, but I also want to be the one to take care of my family.
“Now hold on.” He leans his elbows on his desk. “There’s no I in team. This doesn’t all fall on you. That’s not what I’m saying, but I will say I’m not here to shoot rainbows up your ass. You’re playing well, but we both know your backhanded fake shot hasn’t lived up to its legend, and you’ve missed a quarter of the shots you’ve taken at the net, which is average. You’re not average…” He picks up his stress ball. “Or you weren’t.”
I cross my arms and try to hear his words, not the ones my brain quickly wants to run away with, the ones that have felt like chains I’ll never break.
“And before you start scheming ways to get out of this or feed Blair lies. Don’t.” His tone has my eyes darting to his. He points his finger at me. “You’re uncomfortable, and that’s good. Comfort is your enemy. It doesn’t push you to improve. It allows you to stay complacent. If that girl out there made you uneasy, then that’s the exact demon you need to conquer. Whatever it is might be the one thing holding you back from reaching your full potential. Conquer the beast and set yourself free.” He tosses the stress ball at me, and I catch it. “Do you know her?”
I nod. “I do.”
“I see,” he says as he rubs his jaw. “Then, as I see it, you have all the more reason to cooperate. Blair accepted the job, which tells me she has a score to settle. Feeding her lies won’t resolve it. Only truth can do that.”
I don’t know what vibes he got that gave him the impression Blair has a score to settle with me, but he’s not wrong. I furrow my brow as the words I just read in my playbook resurface.
“We were having a good time, and then you had to use the restroom…” She knew damn well I didn’t leave to use the restroom. I was so caught up in my feelings for Eloise I didn’t hear them for what they were. A lie. I didn’t tell her I was going to the restroom, and we weren’t having a good time.
“If that’s all, I have somewhere I need to be,” I say with renewed vigor. He nods, and I head out of his office. You can’t score from the penalty box. If I want to win, I have to play this game, and because I know the stakes, I won’t lose. Game on, Blair Wyndham.