The Game Changer

Chapter Six

IAN

“All right, men, remember this drill!” Coach Harris shouts from near the goal line. “We’re getting a tip-in early, right?” He points at Sanchez. “Good feet! Pull that puck around and let’s look for a fall.”

Practice might be over, but Coach has apparently not let up on his insistence of after-practice skill drills immediately after our usual session. He has us all lined up at the neutral zone, ready to skate in one after the other for some rapid-fire shooting.

For the first time being out with the rest of the team, I’m fairly pleased with how well I’ve meshed. I expected there to be some pushback or even some good-natured hazing of the “old guy” returning, but most of the players who I didn’t already know have been all right. Not that we’ve had a lot of time to shoot the shit with the way Coach is working us.

I move into a ready position when Olsson takes his shot, my muscles sore but my adrenaline high as I keep my eye on the goal line. I let my skates glide over the ice like muscle memory; at this stage in my life, being on skates is second nature. I keep my fingers tight on my stick, waiting for the lineup and bursting the short distance to the dropped puck before swiping at it hard. It skids over the ice at rapid speed, clinking against the inside corner of the goal post but sliding into the net just the same.

“That’s a good shot, Eighteen,” Coach calls before turning his attention to Kennedy. “Twenty-Four! Open up! I want to see that transition backward and forward.”

Jankowski nudges me when I fall back in line, offering me a friendly grin. “Doing pretty good, Old Man.”

I chuckle, shrugging. Jankowski is only a few years younger than me—we actually played together before I left for Calgary—so I know he’s just giving me shit.

“Knees are being good today, thank fuck,” I laugh.

Rankin snickers. “Do they even make walkers with blades on them?”

“Fuck off, Rankin,” Vasilevski groans. “I saw your baby ass fall on the ice last week.”

“Dude, I was just fucking around,” Rankin grumbles.

I laugh despite it all. I missed this. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t like my team back in Calgary—they were a great group of guys, after all—but this feels like home.

“All right, guys, let’s huddle up!” Coach hollers. “Over here.”

The entire team works across the ice to crowd around where Coach is standing, and he nods good-naturedly, looking among us. “That’s good work today. Like always, we’re having some details, doing everything full speed—I’m looking at you, Kennedy—finishing plays, falling toward the net…There were a lot of good handles out there.” He slaps Olsson lightly on the chest, grinning at all of us. “Way to work, guys. I’ll expect everyone back Monday for the first official day of training camp, yeah? I have a good feeling about this season. You boys be good till then.”

We break, and people skate off toward the locker rooms, but I coast over to the sideline where Jack is currently hanging over the railing where he’s been shouting encouragement for all of practice. His sling is a pale purple today, and even though he’s still out of play, he’s got his practice jersey on in full support.

“Looking good out there, Old Man,” he teases. “How are the knees?”

“You do realize you’re only two months younger than me, right?”

His cheek dimples with his smile, so similar to Lila’s it’s uncanny.

Not that I’m thinking about Lila. Not that I’ve been actively forcing myself not to think of her all week.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “But I’m young in spirit. By at least a decade. Your spirit was probably a passenger on the Titanic.”

“Dick,” I mutter.

Jack just laughs again. “I told you it was going to be great. Everyone was cool, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I tell him. “Rankin likes to bust my balls, but he’s harmless.”

“Rankin is practically a rookie still,” Jack snorts. “He’s just battling little-man syndrome.”

“He’s six four,” I point out.

“His spirit is little,” Jack amends.

“All right, Miss Cleo,” I laugh. “I’ll be sure to come to you when I need my fortune told.”

“Mr. Chase?”

We both turn to see a man not much older than either of us standing next to what I assume is his teenage son. It’s not uncommon for people to come sit in on practice sessions; the facility is open to the public, after all.

I return the smile he’s wearing, noticing that his son looks like he’s ready to shit himself. “Hey, man, how are you?”

“Good, good,” the guy says cheerfully. “You looked good out there. We’re stoked you’re back home.” He clasps the boy on the shoulder. “My son was too nervous to come over and say hi; he’s a huge fan. He’s watched every single game you’ve played, even when you were in Calgary.” He laughs then. “Put some strain on our household. We’re die-hard Druids fans, you see.”

I nod, smirking. “It’s a good choice.”

“Well,” the dad says as he gives his son a little shove. “Go on then.”

“H-hey,” the kid stammers. “It’s awesome you’re back in Boston. You’re the best left wing they’ve ever had.”

He can’t be more than fifteen, so I don’t know if he’s the expert on the history of the Druids roster, but with the way his eyes are filled with admiration, I don’t think it’s my place to question the compliment.

“I really appreciate that, man,” I tell him. I point to the jersey he’s wearing—my jersey. “I could sign that for you, if you want?”

His entire face lights up. “Shit, really?”

“Blake,” the dad scolds, lightly smacking his son on the back of the head. “Language.”

I chuckle as I take the marker the dad has already dug out of his pocket, gesturing for the kid to turn around and kneel down so I can sign my name and a little message on the white fabric where my number is. I cap the marker and hand it back to the kid’s dad after, feeling a swelling warmth in my chest at the obvious excitement the kid is experiencing from something so simple.

“Thanks, Mr. Chase,” he gushes. “Thank you so much!”

“Ian, please,” I tell him.

The kid, Blake, looks like he might throw up a pile of emoji hearts at any second, he’s so happy. “Right. Ian. Wow. Okay. Thanks, Ian.”

“Really cool of you, Ian,” the dad says. “We’re all really glad you’re home. I bet your old man is thrilled to have you back on the team, yeah?”

I do my best not to let any emotions show on my face, forcing a tight grin instead. “Yeah, he and my mom are stoked.”

Jack asks him a question I barely hear with the blood rushing in my ears, and they chat for a second about his recovery time, telling him he can’t wait to see him play again, and they both give us a pleasant goodbye as they stride further down the other side of the railing.

“You good?”

I nod, shaking off my irritation. “Yeah, it’s not his fault my dad is a prick.”

“Still. Sucks that you have to pretend he’s not a tool.”

I wish that I could say that after all these years, I still don’t feel the weight of his expectations, that I still don’t hear his voice in my head whenever I make even the slightest mistake, but it would be a lie. Bradley Chase is many things, but easily forgettable is not one of them. He’d never allow that to happen.

“Gotta keep the legacy alive,” I mutter bitterly.

It’s the only thing he’s ever cared about, after all.

“But hey, see?” Jack says with a wide smile. “I told you people were excited you were back.”

“Most people,” I mutter.

Jack waves me off with his good hand. “Fuck those dicks on social media. They just want something to gossip about. They’ll get bored.”

“Not a minute too soon.”

Jack must notice my creeping melancholy at the mention of all the people still clamoring about my supposed villainy online, giving my shoulder a light shove with his good hand.

“You notice he didn’t ask me to sign his jersey?” he pouts, changing the subject.

I smirk back at him. “Probably didn’t want to lower the value of it.”

“Now who’s a dick?”

“I learn from the best.”

Jack scowls at his sling. “I can’t wait to get this fucking thing off.”

“It’ll fly by,” I tell him. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about attempting figure skating while under the influence.”

“You sound like Dee,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

The mention of Lila makes me pause; I haven’t spoken to her since she texted me the night after we filmed the episode earlier in the week, even though I’ve wanted to. I keep trying to think of something to say to her, something that doesn’t feel weird, but everything I type into our message thread feels weird, and I can’t even pinpoint why. I keep telling myself it’s because we’ve both grown up so much. So much time passing between two friends is bound to make reconnecting a little awkward.

“How is Lila?” I ask casually.

Jack cocks an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just see her?”

“Well, yeah, while we were filming. Didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her after.”

“So you could just text her,” he says. “If you wanna know how she’s doing.”

I tap my hockey stick idly against the lower railing, averting my eyes. “Oh, well…I don’t want to bother her. I know how busy she probably is.”

“Why are you being weird?”

I tense up. “I’m not being weird.”

“You’re second-guessing texting Dee to see how she’s doing. That’s weird.”

“We just haven’t really spoken in a long time, okay? It’s strange seeing each other again after so long.”

“It’s just Dee,” Jack huffs. “You’ve seen her in her underwear.”

“Yeah, when I was twelve,” I splutter. “She was seven!”

“Eh. Whatever. You still grew up together. Don’t be a weirdo.”

I would love to continue to argue that I’m not being weird—but that wouldn’t be entirely true. A decade ago, I wouldn’t think twice about texting Lila to check in on her. Hell, I did it at least once a day. Why is it strange to consider now?

My mind inadvertently goes back to that moment during filming—as it has unfortunately done several times in the last few days—of her small hand in mine as she stood impossibly close, watching me lick some batter I can’t even remember the taste of from her spoon. Why the fuck did I do that? I’ve been mulling it over again and again, and I can’t come up with a good reason why I played into it. I don’t even want to consider the tremor of satisfaction that had run through me with the slight widening of her eyes, the small hitch in her breath.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?

A ping in Jack’s pocket distracts me from spiraling into my thoughts too deeply, and I turn my head to watch him attempting to wrestle it from his pocket one-handedly, finally managing to grip it with his palm and slide it unlocked.

“Oh, hey, you have a new alert on Google,” he says.

I groan. “I told you to turn off my Google alert.”

“But how would I keep tabs on all the hot goss? We gotta stay on top of that shit.”

He squints as he scrolls with his thumb, his expression twisting into one of confusion the more he reads. He glances up at me with that same pinched face, looking at me like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Is there something we need to talk about?”

Now it’s my turn to look confused. “What?”

“Is there something going on between you and Dee?”

I rear back, at a loss for words. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this.”

He turns his phone so I can read, met with an article that has a glaring caption above a picture of Lila holding that damned spoon up to my mouth, my eyes boring into hers with an intensity I hadn’t even realized I’d had and hers meeting mine with an equal amount of interest. We look…Well. The headline isn’t as out of left field as I would like. Not with a picture like that right underneath it.

IS SOMETHING COOKING BETWEEN BBTV’S DARLING AND RETURNING DRUIDS HEARTbrEAKER?

The article continues on to speculate about something romantic between us, entirely based on this one photo that has…admittedly a lot of tension. It touches on Lila’s career and our shared history and even my complicated past—and it feels raw seeing our lives intertwined in this weird way. I don’t like it. I don’t like knowing that my bullshit might taint Lila in some way.

“Jack, I…I don’t know what this is, but—”

“Chase!”

I rip my head to my right, seeing Leilani sticking her head out of the entrance to the inner workings of the arena. She’s got her phone pressed to one ear, gesturing at me wildly to come to her.

I turn back to Jack, who is still looking at me like I’ve grown a second head, and I raise my hands in what I hope is a placating gesture.

“Listen, Jack, I don’t know what’s going on, but that’s bullshit. It was just a weird out-of-context thing. I promise, okay?”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Chase!”

“I’m coming!” I call back to Leilani. I shoot Jack a serious look. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

I rush to the exit from the ice in a blur, pausing only for a brief moment to shuck off my skates as I practically jog to the inner doors and pace toward the coach’s office past the locker rooms.

Leilani is already there when I push inside, pacing from one end of the office to the other while speaking rapidly into her cell phone. Coach is scratching at his graying beard as he scrolls through something on his computer screen, giving me a stiff nod and gesturing for me to sit.

I sink into the chair and give Leilani a wary glance, watching as she ends her call and shoots me a look. “Is there something going on with you and Delilah Baker?”

What the fuck? Is everyone going to think we’ve got something going on now?

“No,” I tell her firmly. “We’re friends. We have been for a long time. That picture is just an out-of-context screenshot from her show. It doesn’t mean nearly as much as people are trying to make it.”

Leilani narrows her eyes as if trying to figure out whether or not I’m lying, finally huffing out a breath through her nostrils and shaking her head. “Delilah’s PR team are saying the same thing. This article is just the first of many. You guys have already got a ship hashtag going on.”

“A ship hashtag?”

She nods. “DelIan. It’s not the worst one I’ve ever heard, but regardless, the internet is all abuzz about the possibility of hockey’s ‘bad boy’ being in a relationship with his childhood friend. I mean, they call her the ‘darling of baking.’ What a shit show.”

“I’m not hockey’s ‘bad boy,’?” I snort. “For fuck’s sake, there was a guy on Nevada’s team that had an underground gambling ring last year. I don’t think old relationship drama qualifies me to hold the title.”

“Whatever, I didn’t give you the moniker, Ian, I’m just here to deal with any possible blowback.”

“Okay, so, we just make a statement that Delilah and I are friends,” I say. “Easy.”

“We all know that the internet doesn’t always care about the truth,” Coach says gently.

My mouth presses into a thin line, knowing he’s right. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

“I might,” Leilani answers, “but I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

“What?”

She taps something into her phone, turning it around and handing it to me to show me an open social page. There are a flood of comments under the aforementioned “ship tag,” and I feel my brows shooting up as I read through some of them.

@gingerbreadgirlboss: I am LIVING for this couple? Childhood friends to lovers?? Hello??? Someone call Shondaland right now. I need the movie. #DelIan

@sopuckinghornyrightnow: dude but like they are really hot together #DelIan

@justhereforthepuns: why do hockey players work at bakeries during off season? they’re great at icing the cake. #DelIan

@bakemeacake: okay but I want someone to look at me the way Ian looks at Delilah my boy is smitten #DelIan

I frown back at Leilani. “What am I looking at?”

“Well,” she starts. “For the most part…the internet kind of loves this.”

“But it’s not true,” I counter, handing her phone back to her.

“Right, and I know that, but…” She bites at her lower lip, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean…they’re finally not talking about you and your ex.”

“But it’s not true,” I repeat more firmly.

“I know that. I know.” She reaches to rub the space between her eyes, sighing. “Listen, I was speaking to Delilah’s team, and we think we have an opportunity here.”

I narrow my eyes. “What kind of an opportunity?”

“I just mean…if the internet continues to think that something might be going on between the two of you, it’s a chance to kind of reshape your public opinion, given how popular the idea of it seems to be with the general public.”

I feel my mouth part in surprise as I process what she’s saying. “You want me to…lie?”

“Not lie,” she says quickly. “We don’t want you to make any official statements. Nothing like that.”

I can tell by the look on her face there’s more to it. “But…?”

“But…we might think it’s a good idea to…encourage the rumors.”

“Encourage the rumors,” I echo dumbly.

“Yes! You know…You’re friends, right? Just be friends. Exactly like you would otherwise. But just…be friends out in public. Be seen together. Keep people talking about something other than your past.”

I can feel myself actively gaping. Is she serious right now?

“That’s not much different than lying,” I counter weakly.

“It’s distinct enough to make sure we can’t be held liable for anything.” She cocks her hip, looking down at me where I’m sitting from the high vantage point her sharp heels give her. “You have to admit, it’s a simple but effective idea.”

I weigh her words in my head, letting them simmer as I try to see things from her point of view. On the one hand, the fact that the internet is talking about anything else but my history with Mei is fantastic, but on the other…

To exploit Lila like that? It feels…wrong.

“This isn’t fair to Lila,” I say finally.

Leilani shakes her head. “On the contrary, her team thinks it’s a great idea. Good for ratings and viewer boosts. This could be great for her show. The episode you did has only been out since last night, and it’s already the highest-viewed episode they’ve had since her first six months on air.”

Damn. I haven’t watched the episode yet; I haven’t been able to get myself to while still feeling awkward about that spoon incident, worried that if I saw it played back I might reexperience all the strange feelings I felt in the actual moment. I can’t pretend the idea of helping Lila doesn’t make my chest swell though.

“And Lila? What does she say about all this?”

“They’re calling her in to discuss it now, but they’re confident she’ll agree. Her show really needs the boost. There’s been talk of cuts.”

My pulse thuds angrily. “They want to cut her show?”

“It’s just talk,” Leilani corrects. “For now.”

I consider that, staring into my lap. “And you think this could help?”

“We think this could be great for both of you,” she stresses. “And you’re friends, right? It’s a no-brainer.”

Friends. It feels like a complicated word, even though it should be simple. Friends don’t think about each other the way I haven’t been able to make myself stop thinking about Lila since I saw her again. I can only imagine that any level of encouraging rumors about there being something between us can only make those feelings worse.

“For how long?”

“At least until training camp is over,” Coach cuts in, leaning onto his elbows, which are braced against his desk. “Once everyone starts to see you playing for us again, once they remember what you can do for Boston, they won’t give a shit about your love life.”

“That’s the idea,” Leilani adds confidently.

I cross my arms, staring at my socked feet that I hadn’t bothered to put regular shoes on while rushing back here to see what the fuck was going on. Again, I can’t pretend I’m not a little thrilled at the idea of the internet shifting its focus from my past, there’s no denying that. And to think that doing something like this could help Lila as well…It should be a no-brainer. Because we are friends. It would be easy and harmless if it weren’t for the weird awkwardness that seems to hang between us now. Mostly on my part, I think. And now I’m going to be gallivanting with her in public to perpetuate rumors that there might be something between us? That’s sure to make things even stranger.

Still. I’m not sure there’s another option here. Especially if Lila wants it. Especially if it could help her.

But the question is…Will she want to agree to this? I find the possible answer to that question is more important to me than it should be, for reasons I don’t quite understand.

“I’ll want to speak to Lila,” I tell Leilani. “After her team. I want to make sure she’s okay with it.”

“Of course,” Leilani answers. “She’s heading into the studio now. You could meet up with her after.”

I nod. To myself more than to her. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

“So…you’ll do it? If she agrees?”

Do I really have a choice here?

“Yeah,” I say, feeling a little insane. “As long as she agrees.”

Leilani has a gleam in her eye that feels predatory; this woman really loves what she does, I can tell. But my mind is far away, wondering what the hell Lila is going to think of all this. Will she think it’s crazy? Will she even think twice about it at all since we are friends first and foremost? Why do these thoughts make my head spin slightly?

Just be friends. Just like you would otherwise.

It sounds so simple. And it really should be. It is, I tell myself.

Fuck, I think with a groan. Jack is going to be a pain in the ass about this.