5. Violet
Chapter 5
Violet
T he deck at the back of the house has always been one of my favorite spots during the summer. The shade from the large trees that divide us from our neighbors offer the right amount of shade on a hot day, and there is almost always a cool breeze in the afternoon. I stretch my legs out on the sun lounger, the feeling of weekend possibility floating around me.
I close my eyes and turn my face toward the sun, basking in it like a lizard on a rock. Connecticut is so different from London this time of the year, and while my jet lag has eased, my sadness over leaving Bea and the life I had there is only marginally better.
A shadow passes over my eyelids, so I crack them open gingerly before shielding them with my hand. Dad stands with his hands in his pockets, a small frown at the corner of his mouth, and a pinched brow. I don’t like that look on my father’s face, even if it’s something I’ve seen before.
Growing up, I was afraid it meant I had done something wrong. It’s taken a long time to figure out the look on his face is more a worry he’s not being a good dad than I’m being a bad daughter, so I brace myself for whatever he has to say.
“Hey, Dad.” I smile at him, and the crease between his black eyebrows relaxes. “Everything okay?”
He tips his head in silent question to the open space near my legs on the lounge. I bunch up to make room for him.
“Training camp starts Monday. I won’t be home much.”
“It won’t be the first time we’ve been through it.”
I never knew my mother. It never bothered me much. At least not until I was in school and the other kids started asking questions. That made me start asking questions.
My dad met the woman who became my mother when he was eighteen. As a young kid and a rising star in the NHL, he made some choices that, to this day, he’s not proud of. He chased a woman who didn’t want him, just what he could give her. It took the better part of a season for Palmer and Tempe to make him see sense, but by then, she had dropped the bomb that I was on the way. Dad told her the relationship was over, but he would support me when I came along. Realizing that even a child wouldn’t guarantee her the future she wanted, she signed away her parental rights when I was born and took off after the next best offer. It’s been the two of us ever since—with considerable support from Palmer and Tempe. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dad hums. I push at his leg with my foot.
“What’s wrong?”
Dad and I have always managed to talk about things. Even with his schedule taking him away from home so much growing up, we would spend hours on the phone or video calls. He would listen to me complain about how Madison Lee’s comments about not having a mom in fourth grade made me cry. He threatened to have David Horton expelled when he got a little handsy at the Homecoming dance freshman year, even though the kid was just high off painkillers from wisdom tooth surgery and thought I was his girlfriend.
“What are you doing, kid?”
“Enjoying the nice weather? Giving myself ten minutes before I need to put dinner in the oven?” I offer hesitantly. I know he’s not asking about right now . He knows it, too, if the slight eyebrow raise he gives me is any indication. I shrug my shoulders. “I know what you’re really asking, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. It feels like my whole life imploded this year.”
Dad puts a gentle hand on my knee, giving it a light squeeze in silent support.
The truth is, I don’t really know what to do with myself. I know coming home was the right decision, even if I still miss parts of my life in London. But it’s been two weeks, and I admit I’m beginning to feel restless. It’s an unwelcome feeling. I know I’m lacking direction. I’m just unsure where to start.
“Your boxes will be here in a couple of days,” he says. I know the tone of voice he’s using. Dad is getting ready to tell me a hard truth. He’s always led into these conversations with gentleness before dropping the heavy bomb. It made things easier when I was little, but now I sigh and pinch my lips. Dad scoffs, pulling his hand back to clasp them between his spread knees. “You have until Friday to unpack them or store them. I cleaned out the single garage for your stuff if you need it.”
“And?”
“And, if you haven’t figured out what your plan is by then, I pulled some strings with a friend, and there’s a job in the social media department in the front office waiting for you.” Dad stands up, walking toward the house.
I follow.
“You know Bea was the marketing major, right? She has all the public relations expertise. I just took an elective in the metric impact trends have on business to hang out with her.” I keep pace with my dad into the kitchen, as he begins pulling out the items I prepared earlier for dinner. “I know statistics, not social media.”
Dad begins assembling a salad in a large bowl while I uncover the tray of lasagna that will go in the oven. He leans over to punch a few buttons to preheat as I grate a final layer of parmesan on top, trying not to think about how crazy his idea is.
“You know analytics , Vi.” Dad leans against the counter. “You know the game. This makes sense, even if you’re trying to come up with a dozen reasons right now why it doesn’t.”
I re-cover the tray with foil, opening the oven door despite it not being preheated yet. It’s hot enough, and it gives me a reason to pull a face when my back is turned.
“I talked to Ava about it. You remember Ava? She oversees Communications and Public Relations?” Dad asks but continues before I’ve fully finished an affirmative grunt. “I don’t think you’d be responsible for coming up with the content ideas. I think that’s Ethan’s job. Anyway, you would just be helping with posting and analyzing the feedback. Plus, you know how to interpret the team data better than anyone else up there. They could use the help understanding the difference between power play goals and shots on goal.”
“They really don’t know the difference?” I stand up, turning to offer him a smirk. “There are fewer people on the ice. Do they even watch the games?”
“See? They’ll be completely helpless without you.”
My chest pulls a little tight as I lean on the island separating my dad and me. I can’t help the frown I feel turning down the corners of my mouth. I’ve spent the better part of the year trying to distance myself from hockey.
As a kid, hockey was everything in my house. Dad’s job ensured it was an essential part of our lives, but my love for the game grew on its own. I knew I wasn’t ever going to join my dad on the ice; I’m the least athletic person I know. But I found another way to spend time with Dad when he was working: numbers. I started keeping track of his stats and slowly added his teammates’ information in a little green notebook I decorated with hockey stickers. After road games, Dad would call, and we’d talk about his performance or what the numbers could mean.
When Obie started playing, I expanded my recordkeeping to include him and other members of the pee-wee league. I loved every second of it. When Dad got injured, I had already decided to focus on working my way onto the staff of a professional team in some capacity. Going to London to secure my master’s and gain more work experience was supposed to be the beginning of a long career. Then all of that changed.
“Vi?” My dad looks at me with a riot of emotions clouding his face. His eyes—a unique shade of blue, so light they almost appear gray—are wide with concern. His lips are flattened in irritation. “Don’t let him take this, too.”
My breath catches in my throat, a weird kind of hiccupping sob. Dad rounds the corner of the island quickly, pulling me against him in a tight hug. It’s the kind of hug that makes me think he could really put me back together if he just held me long enough. I wrap my arms around his waist, breathing in the familiar scent of family and home, exhaling the remainder of my grief.
“I know that bastard twisted you up.” Dad’s voice is laced with anger, but he works to hold it steady in my ear. “He made you believe all kinds of promises he never intended to keep. Preyed on your love for others, your passion for the game, your kind and joyful spirit. But he doesn’t get to own those things about you, now, kid. He didn’t take ownership of them when you decided to share your heart with him. They belong to you.”
I’m crying against his chest. It hurts and heals to listen to him. Dad’s fingers hold the back of my head before he kisses the crown. He’s right. I feel it deep inside. The fire I thought had died shows signs of glowing embers. Sparks begging for fuel.
My directionless grieving and heartbreak suddenly snap apart, the remains being tossed into the fire I want to see burn bright again.
“This will be your desk.”
Ethan Savoy—head of social media—gestures toward his left. He’s in his early thirties, with dark brown hair and brown eyes behind thick, square frames. He wears tan chinos and a checkered shirt. He looks like a Pinterest result page for “hipster office attire,” but it works for him. He’s been nice and welcoming as he shows me around the offices, explaining my role and his expectations. My new coworkers give him obligatory nods, and I receive a few bright smiles before they all return to their tasks. He has clear enthusiasm for what he does, sometimes rambling on about how he’s been so close to having content go viral or his interactions with the players.
Three sides of the space are enclosed by the usual wall material cubicles are made of, but the fourth is tinted glass. The modest desk against it overlooks the practice rink inside The Midnight complex. The Midnight logo is featured at center ice: black script with a crescent moon shaping the curve of the “d.” There’s no official mascot for the team—a strategic decision to keep the bold, mysterious aesthetic intimidating and easy to market.
“Wow,” I say, tracing a finger along the edge of the desk.
“It’s a cool view, right?” Ethan asks behind me. I agreed with my dad when he said it was time to reclaim what I let Olivier take from me. Hockey was mine long before I shared it with him. But trying to embrace this part of my life again and staring at it every day at work are going to be two different things.
“Can I move the desk?” I turn around, unsurprised to see a confused look on Ethan’s face. They probably don’t get many people wanting to turn down the opportunity to watch professional athletes practice while they work.
“Well.” He rubs at the back of his neck uncertainly. “I’ll have to ask maintenance, maybe. I think it’s attached to the cubicle structure, and those are bolted to the floor.”
I do a quick visual inspection of my square. Ethan’s right. The desk isn’t going anywhere.
“That’s okay.” I offer up a half-amused smile. “I just didn’t want to put myself in a position to be distracted.”
“The team isn’t here all the time,” Ethan offers before laughing. “But you do know you’re working in the social media department for a hockey team, right? You’re going to have to interact with them from time to time. Some people think of it as a job perk to get to know the players. Between you and me, they might not come off as the friendliest group, but if you work long enough at this, they’ll start to get used to you. I’ve been here nearly five years, and most of them know my name now.”
“I was under the impression I would be doing more behind-the-scenes work, not directly working with the players,” I counter.
“Most of the time, yeah.” Ethan leans against the entrance to the cubicle. He takes his glasses off and removes a pocket square from his shirt to clean them. “However, we all share the work, Violet: content creation—including the ideas, filming, uploading. Analytics and performance. Follow-ups with focus groups. All of it falls under our department. I give my team a long lead; I like to let you explore and play to find what works for you, but I’m always keeping an eye on things.” Putting the glasses back on, his voice pitches a little, a firmer edge creeping in. “I don’t usually get too worked up about interoffice politics, but Ava hired you without involving me in the process. I’m not mad about it; I’ve seen your resume, I know what you bring to the table. But this is my department. My team, if you will. I’ve worked hard to cultivate the right personalities and skill sets to give The Midnight their social reputation and platform. Part of that is our dynamic with the players. We work to get to know them and strive to have them know us. That trust is built on our relationships with them. All of us . Everyone in the department films content and travels with the team from time to time. You included.”
“Understood,” I reply. I offer a tight smile to my new boss. Ethan seems nice, but I get the sense that success is really important to him.
“You do like hockey, right?” Ethan asks.
“For my whole life.”
“All right.” He smiles, my answer bleeding some of the uncertainty from his face. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Security should have your permanent credentials ready by the end of the day, so be sure to check in with them. You won’t be able to get into the building tomorrow without them. Otherwise, there’s a packet on the desk with everything you should need to get started, and I’m at extension 2012 if you need anything else.”
I walk back to the entrance of the space, thanking Ethan once more. As I turn back toward my desk, the shiny black nameplate in the upper left corner of my cubicle catches my eye.
Violet Cameron, Social Media Strategist I
“Violet. What a pleasure to meet you. Your dad talks about you all the time.” Ava Michaels rises from her sleek black office chair, hand extended. The bright red fingernail polish catches in the light as she clasps my own offered hand. It’s a firm but brief shake before she steps back, leaning on the edge of the glass desk behind her. “I’m so pleased you agreed to come work with us.”
She gestures to a plush dove-gray chair next to me before rounding back around to her chair. Ava is a statuesque beauty. Easily brushing the six-foot mark in her three-inch, red bottom stilettos with voluminous blonde waves and green eyes. She is the most professional and stylish woman I’ve ever met. With her authoritative aura, she would be intimidating on her worst day and likely terrifying on her best. It makes me like her immediately.
“Thank you for the offer.” I smile, settling down into the comfortable cushion. “Before we go much further, though, I do have a request.”
“Oh?” Ava leans forward on her elbows, brow arching.
“I would prefer my relationship with Coach Andrews not be public information.” Ava pinches off a smile as though she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “The organization has changed a lot since he played here, and I spent a large part of the last decade away from New Haven, so there are even fewer people here I know. I’ve spent my father’s coaching tenure at school, so to the best of my knowledge, no one knows our relationship. I’m sure it will come out eventually, but I’d like to try and let the work I do build my reputation first.”
Ava’s smile breaks free before she taps her finger twice on the desktop.
“That shouldn’t be much of a problem. Cal is a private person. It’s common knowledge he has a daughter, but no one bothers to ask questions they know they won’t get answers to. He doesn’t offer up information easily, especially about people he loves. Cal protected your identity throughout his career as a player. That didn’t change once he came off the ice. Your last name is Cameron, right?”
“Yes.” I nod, a warmth spreading in my chest at Ava’s description of my father. “He used his mother’s maiden name for my legal name. Just another layer of protection he could give me growing up.”
“Then it’s rather easy: you don’t mention Cal’s your father. Everyone here will get to know you and your work without the shadow of the boss.” Ava bobs her chin definitively.
“Isn’t Todd Montgomery the owner?” I ask.
“Owning something doesn’t mean you’re in charge, Violet.” Ava smirks. “The first mistake any man can make when it comes to something he professes to love: thinking they control it.”
I blink blindly for a moment at Ava’s statement. I know she’s talking about sports, business, million-dollar investments, and dealings, but her words hit hard against the protective shell I buried my broken heart in. A tiny fissure ruptures, but instead of the advice stinging, it seeps inside the space. A tiny amount of balm on a wound I let fester for too long. Yep, I think I’m going to like Ava.
“All right, as the Director of Communications and Public Relations, which oversees the Social Media Department, it is my job to go through all of the finer points from HR for new hires,” Ava’s voice draws me back to the moment. She lifts a piece of paper before placing a delicate pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses on the tip of her nose. She scans while reading. “The NHL has a code of conduct for its players—I’m sure you’re familiar with it, so I think we can skip that. Your duties are determined by your direct supervisor—that’s Ethan Savoy in this case—but wages are regulated by industry standards and me.” She flashes a quick smile and resumes reading. She huffs a breath and grimaces. “All other aspects of conduct, procedure, and policy can be found in your onboarding paperwork, but I’m supposed to say this specifically: conduct between employees is expected to remain professional at all times. HR enforces a no fraternization policy in the front office.”
Ava lifts her gaze to me. I feel the expectation of a reaction, but she won’t get one from me.
“I’m not looking to date while I’m here,” I offer.
“It feels like an archaic stipulation, but there’s precedence for needing it, I suppose.” Ava rolls her eyes, the expression out of place for such a sophisticated woman. It gives me a clear idea of how she feels about things and makes me laugh. She leans forward a little conspiratorially. “Professionally speaking, I should tell you that’s the right attitude to have. As a woman, I would just tell you don’t let a good opportunity go to waste. My office is always open if you need to talk it through.”
A not-so-small part of me wishes this woman was going to be overseeing my work. She’s a straight shooter, and I like that. But my heart has had a strict “closed for repairs” sign on it, and I don’t think anyone around here is going to change that.