Chapter Two
IAN
Former Druids player Ian Chase was rumored to have attended the wedding ceremony of his ex-wife, now Mei Garcia, last week, fueling speculation about whether or not Chase is trying to win Mei back. People will remember the disastrous divorce between Chase and Garcia, ending what the media dubbed Boston’s “fairy-tale romance” between an NHL legacy player’s son and an up-and-coming artist. Mei Garcia, contemporary artist seen at galleries like Canvas and Interior Mosaic, offered no comment on Chase’s attendance. Six years ago, photos of Chase and a mystery woman circulated social media when the couple were freshly separated, sparking rumors that the hockey star and his wife ended things because of unsavory—
I shove my laptop away, grinding my teeth. Six years. Six fucking years of this shit trailing after me, finding me no matter how far I run. I’ve long learned the lesson firsthand that anything on the internet stays there forever.
“I told you not to look,” Mei says gently from the other end of the phone that I’m gripping too tightly against my ear.
“Yeah, well,” I huff. “I’ve never been very smart.”
“Shut up,” she chides. “We both know they don’t know the whole story. You should have let me make a statement.”
“No.” I scrub a hand down my face, my stubble scratching against my palm. It’s gotten too long in the last few weeks. “You’re on your honeymoon. You shouldn’t be worried about my bullshit. Besides, they didn’t believe you when you defended me last time, so why would this time be any different?”
“I just don’t understand why they’re dragging things back out,” she says. “It’s been years. Don’t they have better things to talk about?”
“Who knows,” I muse. “Maybe it’s because I’m coming back home. Maybe it’s because you got remarried. People love bringing up old shit. I probably shouldn’t have come to the wedding.”
“Oh, fuck that,” she scoffs. “There was no way you were missing my wedding.”
“Yeah, well, now they’re turning your big day into a circus.” I raise a hand to flag down the flight attendant, needing a drink if I’m going to keep from coming out of my skin while we wait for them to clear the plane to leave the tarmac. Because a delay is just what I needed today. “How is Bella, by the way? Still a dick?”
“I heard that, you asshole,” Bella’s voice chimes. “You’re on speaker.”
“Oh no, now you’ll think we can’t be friends,” I chuckle.
“You wish your friends were as cool as me,” she tosses back.
It’s true, if I’m being honest. Isabella Garcia is cool as hell. As far as people hooking up with your ex-wife, I really couldn’t have asked for better. Even if I do enjoy giving her shit. Thankfully, she gives as good as she gets.
“How is Fiji?”
“Hot,” Mei complains. “I’m going to look like a tomato when I get home.”
“Mi pobre esposa,” Bella coos. “She’s so delicate.”
“Not everyone can be blessed with an eternal tan,” she grumbles.
Bella gives an exaggerated sigh. “It is a gift.”
I can practically hear Mei rolling her eyes. “Anyway,” she says, addressing me again. “How long are you going to be stuck on the tarmac?”
“Pilot says another half hour, at least. Runway has ice they need to clear.”
“Wow, I bet you won’t miss that.”
“I don’t know. The snow has kind of grown on me.”
“But being back in Boston will be great, right? We barely got to see each other at the wedding with everything going on. You’ll have to come by the new house for dinner when we get back.”
“Sure, that will be great,” I tell her honestly.
“Don’t worry too much about those people online,” she tells me. “They’re just bored and need something to gossip about. It will die down.”
“We thought that last time, and I ended up in fucking Calgary.”
“You didn’t have to take the trade.”
I don’t argue with her, even knowing that isn’t entirely true. I grit my teeth, reciting the same approved reasonings I’ve given anytime my trade is mentioned.
“Every time the Druids played a game, the press would rather talk about my damned love life than how many goals we scored. It wasn’t fair to the team.”
“Your parents own the team! They could have done more. They should have.”
Again, I keep my mouth shut. It’s true; my grandfather owned the team first, passing ownership to my mother when he died, and subsequently to my father. It’s a legacy that has always hung heavy over my head growing up—being raised by a hockey great and the owner of an NHL team, meaning that every step I’ve taken in pursuit of the sport has been monitored, watched. Meaning that I had all the more eyes on me to fuck everything up.
“They did all they could,” I mutter, not knowing what else to say.
“But six years? Why didn’t you come back sooner?”
Another question I don’t know how to answer. I know that I could tell Mei everything, that she’d never repeat it to another soul—but I can’t bring myself to. It doesn’t feel like her burden to bear. Not after everything she’s already shouldering. Besides, deep down, I think a big part of the reason as to why I didn’t fight harder to come home for so long was what I knew was waiting for me. What secrets I left behind that were easier kept from a distance.
“I don’t know,” I answer her, not entirely lying. “But I’m thirty-three. I’ve only got a couple years left in me. I don’t want to retire in Calgary. I want to finish back home. So I guess my reasons aren’t important now.”
“Of course your reasons are important,” she says softly.
There are seconds of silence that stretch between us, and I know exactly what’s going through her head before she gives it a voice.
“You could just tell the truth, you know,” she tries gently.
I clench my jaw. “We both know that’s not an option.”
“It is though,” she presses. “You don’t owe it to anyone to bear everything on your own. What if you spoke to Abigail, and—”
“Mei,” I interrupt, a little more harshly than I intended.
Another beat of silence before, “I’m sorry.”
I let my head thunk back against the headrest, closing my eyes.
“Don’t be,” I sigh. “It’s not on you.”
“It’s not on you either,” she urges. “This is your life. Not mine, not your father’s, and certainly not Ab—”
“I know,” I interject quietly, not wanting to hear her name again. All it does is dredge up old problems. Ones I still don’t have solutions for, even after all this time. “I know that. I’ll think about it, okay?”
I won’t though. There’s too much at stake. Too many people to disappoint. I think she knows it, too, but she thankfully doesn’t push me on it anymore.
“Well…regardless. I’m happy you’re coming home. We’ve missed you.”
“No, we haven’t!” Bella calls from further away.
I smile despite everything. “I miss you guys too.”
“Is Jack going to pick you up from the airport?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “He’ll be there when I land.”
“Go out for dinner! Don’t stay at home moping about the internet.”
“We’ll see,” I mutter back.
“Babe!” Bella shouts. “Beach! You promised you’d let me put sunscreen on your ass, and I’m collecting.”
“Wow,” I groan. “That’s not what you want to hear about your ex.”
Mei giggles, and to be honest, I love hearing her happy. “Call me when you’re settled, yeah?”
“I will,” I promise. “Have fun over there.”
I tuck my phone back inside my pocket after we hang up, sinking deeper into my chair. I’ve just resolved myself to a nap when a throat clearing from the next row up catches my attention, and when I crack open one eye, I notice a guy not much older than me eyeing me with excitement.
“Hey, sorry. You’re Ian Chase, aren’t you?”
I give him a thin smile. “Yeah, man. I am.”
“So sorry, but could I get your autograph? Big fan.”
“Sure, of course.” I take the napkin and pen he hands me, scribbling my name. “You a Wolverines fan?”
“Nah, Druids, actually. I’m super stoked about you going back.”
“Ah, well. I’ve missed playing at home, for sure.”
“And I never bought all that bullshit they say about you online,” he says earnestly as I hand the napkin back. “You never seemed like the cheating type to me.”
It’s a little harder to hold my smile, but I manage somehow. “Right. Yeah.”
“Anyway, good luck next season, yeah?”
“Sure. Thanks, man.”
I close my eyes again to discourage any further conversation, irritation simmering in my skin.
Six years. Six fucking years, and absolutely nothing has changed. I’m still defined by rumors and speculation, my entire life a show for others to pick apart. And I’m flying right back into the heart of it all, certainly in store for more of the same, maybe even worse. All for the sake of finishing my career on my terms.
Home sweet home, I think irritably.
“Man, it’s so cool to be back here with you,” Jack says beside me, practically bouncing with excitement.
He’s been the same ball of energy that he’s always been in the twelve hours since he picked me up from the airport last night—the only difference now being the garishly pink sling his arm is wrapped in. Even if he hasn’t shut up for a single minute that he’s been awake since picking me up, it’s still incredibly good to be with him again. Jack is just as much my family as the one I share blood with. Hell, all the Bakers are.
“I have to admit,” I say, “there was a time I didn’t think I’d ever be here again.”
“Nah,” Jack scoffs. “I always knew you’d be back. Boston is in your blood, man.”
He’s not wrong there.
“Well, I’m happy that someone’s glad to have me back.”
“Fuck off,” Jack snorts. “We’re all stoked. Coach especially. Fuck what Twitter says. That place isn’t real, anyway. You can’t put stock in something owned by Elon Musk.”
“I think Tesla investors would argue with you.”
“Shut up.”
“Also, I think they renamed it.”
“Yeah, but it’s stupid. I don’t know what that guy’s obsession with naming things with just letters is.”
He throws his good arm around my shoulders, an easy feat since we’re both relatively the same size at six foot four. He flashes me a wide grin, one that hasn’t changed in all the years since I’ve known him; Jack has always been the more approachable of the two of us—his shaggy, chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, and easy smile have always been a helluva lot more inviting than my perma-scowl that’s constantly hidden under the red scruff I can’t ever bother to shave completely off. Jack used to joke that I was entirely too gruff for a ginger. That we’re supposed to be “sunshine-ier,” and now that I’ve grown my hair out so long, he says I give off “Viking vibes.” Whatever the hell that means.
“So…meeting with Coach and Leilani, huh?”
“Leilani is the new PR agent?”
“Mhm. She’s cool. Tiny thing, but she’ll stick those pointy fucking heels up your ass if you mention it.”
“Good to know.”
My worry must show on my face, because Jack nudges me with his good shoulder.
“Dude, it’s going to be fine. They already signed you back, yeah? Everything else is just gravy.”
“Right,” I answer, nodding to myself as if this can wash away my nerves. “You’re right.”
“We’ll get through this first week, and then maybe we can grab dinner with Dee this weekend, huh? She’ll be excited to see you again.”
That gives me pause. “Lila?”
“Yeah. You’ve caught her show, right?”
I shake my head. “We don’t get the channel in Calgary. Not really big on TV, anyway.”
“Dude. You have the internet though. It’s a big deal! I can’t believe you haven’t given it a watch. I mean, I don’t watch it religiously, but I still DVR the episodes.”
“I know,” I say with a frown. “I need to remedy that now that I’m back.”
“Well, we can all catch up, regardless. She’s going to kick your ass when she finds out you haven’t seen her show.”
I grin at that, trying to imagine the tiny scrap of a girl I remember with her freckles and her constant coating of flour kicking my ass. “It’s been too long since I saw the kid. It’ll definitely be good to hang out.”
“Don’t let her catch you calling her ‘kid,’?” he says.
I can’t help but flash another smile. “Yeah. I better head back to Coach’s office. I’ll see you on the ice, yeah?”
“From the sidelines,” he grumbles.
“Ian!”
I freeze at the sound of my mother’s voice; I’d known she’d be here but still wasn’t prepared to see her. Not quite. I turn to catch sight of her coming down the hall, her expression bright and her more-silver-than-blond hair tied back in a twist. I try to focus on her, try to keep my smile pasted on my face for her benefit, but I can already see the larger figure looming just behind her, the presence of my father like storm clouds rolling in, impossible to ignore.
My mother’s tiny frame collides with mine, her thin arms wrapping around my middle and squeezing tight. I smile into her hair, which boasts the familiar scent of roses courtesy of her favorite shampoo, reveling in the comfort it brings. Even if only for a moment.
“Oh, I missed you,” Mom says. “You haven’t been to visit in far too long! You didn’t even come see us after Mei’s wedding.”
“He had a lot of other things to worry about, it would seem,” my father adds, forcing me to acknowledge him.
Bradley Chase and I look a lot alike; his dark red hair is almost identical to my own, save for streaks of silver at the temples, and his gray eyes are the same as mine, but with a hardness to them, a calculating gleam that has always put me on edge.
I nod my head. “Dad.”
“Good to see you, son,” my father says. “I wish it were in better circumstances.”
My mother smacks his chest. “None of that, Bradley. We said we weren’t going to mention it.”
“You said,” my father responds gruffly. “We have to think about the backlash to the team. I advised him not to go to that wedding, and it looks like I was right, as usual.”
Forbid me to go is more like it—I’m sure that’s why his eyes look harder than usual; I’m sure he wishes we were alone so he could tear into me. I’m grateful that with Jack and my mother around he will choose to hold off for appearance’s sake, but I know it’s coming. He’s already had a go at me via text when I wouldn’t answer his calls, but he’s always preferred to look me in the eye when he’s cutting me down.
“He can’t live his life worried about what the internet might think,” Jack chimes in, his voice lacking its usual cheerfulness. “It’s not his fault.”
Jack is the only person who knows the more sordid details of the complicated relationship between my father and me, something that I am almost positive my father suspects, but nothing he can prove, thankfully. I know if he could, he would have had Jack off the team years ago, if for no other reason than he’s never really liked the way Jack says whatever thought pops into his head, and it is only because of my mother’s much kinder heart that he hasn’t interfered.
“Whether or not he’s at fault is debatable,” my father snaps coldly. “Now we just have to deal with the consequences.”
“And you’re good at that,” I snort. “Aren’t you, Dad?”
My father narrows his eyes, and for a moment, I feel like a little boy again, being scolded for doing whatever I’d done that day to disappoint him. I have to remind myself that it doesn’t matter now, that it doesn’t affect my decisions. Well, any more than it has to.
“Please don’t fight,” my mother sighs. “Can we just be happy that we’re all back in the same city? We have people to handle this sort of thing. That Leilani we hired is a real shark. She’s got gumption, that one. I’m sure she’ll figure out a solution.”
“She’d better,” my father mutters.
“Christine,” Jack says, touching my mother’s shoulder with his good hand. “Have you seen the new practice jerseys yet? They just came in the other day. The stitching on them is fucking awesome.”
“Language,” my mother chides.
“Right,” Jack replies sheepishly. “The stitching is…cool? Anyway, come see while Ian deals with scary old Leilani.”
I give Jack an appreciative look, and he winks back at me as he loops his good arm through my mother’s and starts to lead her away. I notice my agent then, Molly, waving at me from the hall that leads further into the building, and I throw one back her way before she disappears, indicating I’ll be right behind her.
“We’ll catch up later!” my mother calls from over her shoulder. “We’ll have dinner soon, okay?”
“Sure,” I tell her, glancing at my father, who is still eyeing me sternly.
“We will talk later,” he says, his tone not allowing any argument. “Call me tonight. And you do whatever Leilani says to make this right, okay?”
“Okay,” I answer, my jaw clenching.
“Bradley!”
My father turns his head to my mother, who is gesturing that he follow her and Jack, shooting me one last look that promises a headache-inducing conversation later—but that is later me’s problem. I watch him follow after Jack and Mom, making a mental note to buy Jack dinner as thanks after we’re done here.
I take a deep breath to steady myself as I head toward the entry that leads to the locker room, making the same path that I remember even after all these years that leads to Coach Daniels’s office. I knock at it twice before letting myself in, Coach waving me inside as he finishes up a conversation with a petite woman with golden skin, long black hair, and a pantsuit that screams don’t fuck with me.
I notice Molly already seated on the other side of Coach’s desk, and she tips her chin at me, her hair that is only a few shades darker than mine pulled up tight in her signature bun and only just beginning to gray. She’s also a tiny thing, but like the PR agent, she has the “don’t fuck with me” vibe down pat. It’s why I’ve stuck with her all these years even from a distance.
“Ian,” she says in that throaty tone that comes from years of the menthols she’s partial to. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” I tell her. I haven’t seen her in person since last season. “Thanks for coming.”
She waves me off. “Of course.”
The PR agent turns her attention to me then. “Mr. Chase, glad to meet you.”
“Hey,” I greet, offering my hand. “You must be Leilani.”
“Leilani Kahale,” she says back with a nod as she shakes my hand. “It’s good to have you back, Ian.”
“Sure as hell is,” Coach says with a grin. His beard has gained a lot more gray in the years since I’ve been away—almost stark white against his ebony skin. I know from experience, though, that regardless of how he looks, he could probably kick my ass if he felt inclined to. He stands from his desk, coming around it to pull me in for a hug. “Good to have you back home, son,” he says, squeezing me.
He’s an inch taller than I am and just as wide. It’s like hugging a brick wall, fifty-seven or not.
“It’s good to be back,” I tell him, clapping him on the shoulder before pulling away. “I just wish I could have come back a little more quietly.”
Leilani frowns then, gesturing to one of the chairs across from Coach’s desk. “That would have been ideal, but we don’t count on wishes around here. We deal with what we’ve got.”
“I like the sound of that,” I say.
“So do I,” Molly agrees.
“The internet can be a madhouse,” Coach sighs. “I wish it was only about hockey, but people like a story. Everything has to be sensationalized nowadays.”
“I thought after so much time away, maybe things would have blown over, but I guess with my ex-wife getting remarried…”
Leilani nods. “It’s unfortunate, but not impossible to deal with. I’ve dealt with old scandals before, and usually the best approach is to give the people something better to talk about.”
I flinch at her calling everything that happened a scandal—but I guess to an outsider, that’s exactly what someone would peg it as.
I nod stiffly. “Sounds reasonable. I don’t suppose winning games would suffice?”
“We’ve got six weeks until the season starts,” Coach says.
“Right,” Leilani agrees. “The last thing we need is for people to spend our entire training camp spreading negativity in regards to the team, which is exactly what a smear campaign against you will be. I know everyone likes to say that all press is good press, but the truth is—giving potential attendees a bad perception of you, and, by association, the team, could hurt ticket sales.”
I nod. “So…if we can give them something positive to talk about…”
“It will hopefully boost the public’s perception of you, and again, by association, the team as a whole.”
“Okay,” I tell her. “I’m open to any ideas you might have. I want to make sure the focus stays on our game, not my past.”
Leilani’s smile is Cheshire cat–like, looking pleased by my answer. “That’s perfect, because as it turns out—we’ve already got a great start lined up for you.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow, looking between her and Coach, who chuckles at my perplexed expression. “What’s that?”
“We got a call from BBTV this week, and they were interested in a collaboration of sorts.”
“BBTV?”
“The food and home network based in Boston,” Leilani explains.
“I don’t understand,” I admit.
“You’ve got a good rapport with your teammate Jack Baker, right?”
I turn to look at Molly, but she just shrugs.
“Yeah?” My brow creases. “We grew up together. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Does that mean you know his sister, Delilah, fairly well, then?”
“I…” The mention of Lila throws me, mostly because it makes me feel oddly homesick. I spent the better part of middle and high school—even the beginning of college—having Lila Baker tail after me and Jack, and now after having not seen her for so many years, it’s odd to have her mentioned twice in one hour. “I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve spoken; we sort of grew apart when I got drafted. Then there was getting married, getting divorced, moving to Calgary…” I frown. “I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
“Well, you’ll have the perfect chance to catch up,” Leilani says brightly. “Because they want to have a player on her show, and we think you’re just the man for the job.”
“Me?” My nose wrinkles. “I don’t know shit about baking.”
Coach laughs. “That’s the whole point, son. It’ll be endearing.”
“Endearing,” I scoff. It seems ridiculous, but I suppose in my situation, I don’t really have room to be picky. “And Lila is okay with this?”
“It was her idea,” Leilani says.
That takes me by surprise. Lila wanted me on her show? I mean, I’m grateful that she’d be willing to help me out, but I can’t say that I’m not thrown by it. Given that we haven’t had a real conversation since I got drafted—it seems like a stretch.
But then again…Lila was always a fucking saint.
I turn to Molly, her expression cool and her lips wrinkling slightly with the way she has them pressed together. “Molly? What do you think?”
“It’s a good idea,” she admits. “If you’re still against making a public statement—”
“I am,” I interrupt firmly.
Molly nods. “This is a good alternative. Give the internet some cute shit to talk about. What’s cuter than a ginger giant in an apron?”
I have to force myself not to wince at the image. I’m going to look ridiculous. But…I guess it’s better than the alternative. Besides, what choice do I have?
“All right,” I tell them, seeing little other choice even if I were opposed. “I’m cool with it.”
“Great,” Coach says, slapping his hands together. “We’ll have other things lined up for you, but this is a great kickoff.”
I nod aimlessly, still feeling nerves flutter through me at the thought of being in front of a camera working with flour and sugar and God knows what else. Definitely not how I imagined reconnecting with Lila again.
I can’t help but smile. At least there’ll be one good thing to come from all this shit.
I’ve definitely missed the kid.