Chapter 57
Ben
Ben tried to control his frustration as he stripped out of his hockey gear.
He fought the urge to throw his gloves down onto the bench in front of him.
He succeeded, but still dropped them with more gusto than was his norm.
Thankfully, he had himself mostly in check by the time he got his shoulder pads, elbow pads, and shin guards off and laid down for the equipment manager to collect and clean before the next game.
Over the years, Ben had grown accustomed to having laser-like focus while at the rink. No matter what was happening in his personal life, the minute he skated onto the ice, everything else faded into the periphery. Not so tonight.
Despite his best efforts, he’d been unable to banish the sense of foreboding he’d gotten during his conversation with Cassidy earlier in the day.
It hadn’t helped that Melody hadn’t returned a single one of his texts.
There had been hours between the end of practice and the start of the game, but there had been nothing from her. Radio silence.
He had a few missed calls and messages, including a few from his agent, but he couldn’t bring himself to check them. He wasn’t in the right headspace to discuss endorsement deals.
Something was wrong with Melody. He could feel it. He just didn’t know what.
Ben let out a self-deprecating groan as he reviewed the game tape in his mind’s eye. He hadn’t played badly per se, but he hadn’t played well, either. He’d overshot and missed a few passes that he never would have under normal circumstances.
Every player had off days, but what a day to have let the quality of his game slide.
Everyone would now be wondering—and rightly so—whether his coaches had made a mistake by moving him up to the first line.
Judging by today’s game alone, it had been a very poor decision.
Ben cringed, imagining what the media would have to say on the matter.
A team was made up of more than one player, but his substandard play was enough to leave him feeling at least partly responsible for their 2–1 loss to the Devils.
He was confident enough in his own abilities to say that, had he been on his game, they would have probably won.
Instead, he’d choked and taken his team down with him.
“Logan, get your ass in here,” Coach Dodds bellowed from his office doorway.
Ben shared a commiserating look with Richie—who knew firsthand how unpleasant it was to face Dodds’ displeasure—before making his way over to the office.
He didn’t waste time by throwing on any extra clothing since nudity—or partial nudity, in his case—was just part of the life of a professional athlete.
Ben might not be eager to hear what his coach had to say, but he didn’t drag his feet. No one wanted to be on the bad side of a tyrant like Dodds, but Ben knew he had some explaining to do after his poor performance tonight. There was no reason to delay the inevitable.
“Nice of you to join us, Logan,” Dodds sneered when Ben walked through the doorway and into his office.
Ben felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. He knew he hadn’t played his best, but he didn’t think he’d played so poorly that he warranted such venom. It also hadn’t taken him nearly as long to cross the locker room as Dodds’ tone implied.
Ben glanced at Coach McGuire. He was further thrown by the cool look in the assistant coach’s usually friendly eyes.
“Would you care to tell us what the ever-loving hell is going on with you?” Dodds seethed.
Ben hesitated briefly before answering. Surely, he hadn’t played so badly that both of his coaches were subjecting him to such a freeze-out.
“Well,” Ben began with some reticence, “I have a lot going on in my personal life. I regret to say that it seems to have affected my game tonight.”
“He has things going on in his personal life,” Dodds scoffed. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Ben’s eyes darted back over to Coach McGuire. The older man’s countenance had grown decidedly stormier. What the hell was going on here?
Before he could ask, Coach Dodds’ iPad chimed with an incoming call.
Dodds walked over to the touchscreen and answered the call after a single ring. “Ms. Gower,” he greeted without preamble. “As requested, I’m here with both Logan and Coach McGuire.”
It became immediately apparent to Ben that Shawna was in full-on professional PR manager mode.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that we have a full-blown PR nightmare brewing,” she said succinctly before adding, “ESPN just picked up the story.”
Ben blinked. ESPN? “What’s going on?” Ben asked of no one in particular.
His question fell on deaf ears, Shawna and Dodds continuing to talk over him. Words like “trade,” “scandal,” and “fraud” registered in one ear before flying out the other.
Ben moved so that he was standing directly in front of the iPad where he and Shawna could see each other clearly. “No. Seriously. What is going on?” he asked with more force.
Shawna blinked at him, her momentum broken.
“Based on your question, is it correct to say you’re unaware of the current media shitstorm surrounding you and Cynthia Hargraves?” she asked with curious regard. It was a pleasant change from the infuriated looks his coaches had been sending his way.
Either way, Ben knew his face reflected his confusion. He racked his brain. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Cynthia Hargraves,” Ben said cautiously.
“You’ve definitely met her,” Coach McGuire said in a way that suggested he was trying to keep his temper in check and not fly off the handle. “The true question is how well you know her.”
Here, Coach McGuire handed Ben a second iPad. Ben’s eyes widened more than he imagined they would if propped open with toothpicks.
“What the hell?” Ben cursed as he thumbed through the various articles open on the screen.
“Another Playboy Athlete in Chicago?”
“Hometown Hero or Deadbeat Dad?”
“Did Hockey Heartthrob Benjamin Logan Think He Was Moving to Chi-Town or Cheat-Town?”
“Are All Athletes Really Just Players?”
Ben felt like he’d just taken a sucker punch to the gut. Shit. Maybe his agent hadn’t been reaching out about an endorsement deal after all.
After scanning through a dozen or so articles, Ben lifted his head to find three assessing gazes directed his way.
“This is bullshit,” Ben said simply.
“It’s bullshit because it’s untrue, or it’s bullshit because the media shouldn’t be able to publish details about your personal life?” Shawna probed. She wasn’t pulling her punches.
Ben bristled at having his integrity questioned and pinned her with a look that suggested she should have known him better than to need to ask such a question.
And yet, he had to remind himself that she really didn’t know him all that well.
As much as it grated, just because she’d spent Thanksgiving with him and his family didn’t mean she knew the full depth of his character.
Or anything beyond the surface details, really.
As Ben maintained Shawna’s gaze, he could see why the woman was so good at her job. She looked completely unruffled as she picked apart his personal life.
“Bullshit because it isn’t true,” Ben stated clearly.
Ben turned to look at Coach McGuire, meeting his gaze with a look he hoped conveyed his sincerity.
Coach McGuire’s stormy regard faltered. Ben appreciated that.
“Then why don’t you seem more angry?” Shawna asked, clearly unwilling to let his initial defense stand for itself.
“I’ve been blindsided by this,” Ben answered without needing to think about it. “I think I’m currently feeling too shocked for any real anger to penetrate.”
Shawna tapped her pen against her lips, looking pensive. “This could work to our advantage,” she spoke, as though thinking out loud.
She looked Ben as straight in the eye as he thought anyone could through a computer screen. “Would you be willing to give a press conference, stating that Ms. Hargraves’ claims are unfounded? A direct denial from us could go a long way toward diffusing this whole situation.”
Shawna scribbled something on her notepad. “Is there any chance you can remember where this picture was taken?” Typing accompanied her scribbling. “It, more than anything, gives credence to her accusations. It’s what’s allowing her claim to be damning since she clearly knows you.”
“‘Knows me’ is relative,” Ben said offhandedly as a picture popped up on the screen.
Ben stepped closer and analyzed the image.
He didn’t want to sound conceited, but it had to be asked. “Do you know how many fan photos I pose for in an average month?” he inquired with as much humility as he could.
“A good point,” Shawna acknowledged as she made another note. “All the big media outlets might be circulating this photo like it’s some damning proof of your bad behavior, but it’s not like the photo shows you in a compromising position or anything.”
Seriously?
The coaches murmured their assent while Ben dedicated himself to studying the photo. It took a moment, but recognition finally dawned.
“Ridgecraft Public School,” Ben pronounced aloud, as he zoomed in on the photo.
“Look at the logo on her shirt.” Ben took a few side steps and showed the proof to Coach McGuire, whose good opinion he cared for more than Dodds’ on this matter.
“This photo must have been taken a few weeks ago when I delivered hockey equipment to their community league. Even if we had slept together—which we didn’t—I don’t think enough time could have passed for her to test positive. ”
“If that don’t beat all,” Dodds stated in an unexpected display of sympathy. “Bitten in the ass while trying to do a good deed.”
Dodds pulled a stick of chewing gum out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.
“And this is why I don’t think the league should encourage you boys to involve yourselves in community events.
Not only do we wind up looking bad when shit goes sideways, it takes time away from what really matters: the hockey. ”
And there he was again, the Jimmy Dodds they all knew and—really didn’t—love.
Shawna tittered through the screen but chose not to comment beyond that.
Coach McGuire cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions and not giving you the benefit of the doubt, Logan,” he apologized. Coach McGuire still looked leery, as though hesitant to let Ben off the hook so easily, but his remorse was evident.
“Me, too,” Ben answered, glad that Coach McGuire’s protective defense of Melody hadn’t damaged their relationship in a more serious way. Not only did they still have to work together, Ben hoped to count the man among his family one day.
“Well, then,” Shawna said, clapping her hands together and pulling Ben’s attention back to the more pressing matter at hand. “I’ll call a press conference.”
“Ben,” Shawna continued, addressing him directly, “do you want me or one of the members of our communications team to prep you?”
Ben shook his head. He recognized Shawna’s use of his given name as the olive branch and show of faith it was intended to be, but he didn’t comment on it, saying instead, “No. I’ve got this.”
At least, he sure as hell hoped he did, since he had a feeling both his career and his relationship with Melody hung on the outcome.