11. Casey
Chapter 11
Casey
T he door slammed open, and Whitney strode into my office, looking like a general charging into battle.
I barely had time to look up from the practice schedules scattered across my desk before she dropped a thick folder in front of me with an audible thud. “What’s all this?”
“Good morning, Casey,” she said briskly, not bothering to wait for an invitation to sit. She plopped herself into the chair across from me, her energy buzzing like she’d just downed three espressos. Knowing Whitney, she had.
“Morning, Whit,” I said, pushing aside the coffee I’d been nursing. “What’s got you so fired up?”
“This,” she said, flipping open the folder. “The interview with Gemma? It’s a hit. No, scratch that—it’s a home run. The press is eating it up.”
“Good,” I said cautiously, not quite ready to match her enthusiasm. I wasn’t sure if I ever could. She was younger than me and naturally intense. Everything Whitney did was done to the fullest. I admired that about her, but I also wondered whether she ever slept.
I scratched my head. “What kind of numbers are we talking about?”
“Big ones,” she said, her grin widening. “Website traffic is up nearly forty percent since the piece went live. Social media engagement? Through the roof. We’re even seeing a bump in ticket sales and merch. That woman is a miracle worker.”
“That’s great news.” The Fire had been slogging through a rough patch with the press for the past year, and any positive attention was a win.
“It’s not just great—it’s game-changing,” Whitney said, leaning forward, her elbows on my desk. “For the first time in a long time, people are excited about this team. They’re talking about us in a good way. We’re not a joke. They’re taking us seriously again. And it’s all thanks to that interview.”
I nodded, letting her words sink in. The piece had been good—Gemma had done a fantastic job capturing the heart of what we were trying to build here. But Whitney’s energy suggested there was more to this conversation than just a pat on the back.
“What else?” I asked, crossing my arms.
Whitney’s grin turned sharper like she’d been waiting for me to ask. “We need more.”
“More?”
“More Gemma,” she said bluntly. “She’s got a knack for this kind of storytelling, and the fans love it. I want her to have full access to the team.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I frowned, my arms tightening across my chest. “What exactly does ‘full access’ mean?”
“It means she spends time with the players,” Whitney explained. “Individual interviews, behind-the-scenes features, personal profiles. Anything that keeps fans engaged and invested. They need to see us as a draw to Atlanta, something to be proud of. They need more.”
I tried to keep my face neutral, but the thought of Gemma hanging around the locker room or chatting with the guys during downtime made my stomach twist.
I trusted her—of course, I did—but the idea of someone like Simon or Leo turning on the charm around her? It bugged me more than it should have. And they weren’t the only ones to worry about.
No one else knew about what was going on between me and Gemma, and dating her was playing with fire. It was so against the rules that I could lose my job over it. But how could I stop now?
The players would never hit on a woman who was involved. That was not the concern. My guys were completely ignorant of what was happening, which meant they’d have no reason not to hit on her.
And that was a problem.
They were all younger than me.
Simon and Leo were charmers, but they weren’t the only ones. The team was full of them. Handsome, younger men who made more money than me. Who had a bigger spotlight on them than me. I didn’t hold any of that against them. But in our circumstances, I didn’t like the thought of Gemma spending one-on-one time with any of them.
Especially Patrick. He was the unofficial team dad, one of the few guys they turned to (aside from myself) when it came to knowing how the world worked. At thirty-eight, he was ancient in the world of hockey. But Gemma had shown a predilection for older men by dating me. What would happen when she met another me, but younger, more handsome, and richer?
No. There was no way in hell I was going to let any one of my players within five feet of her.
“You really think this is a good idea?”
“I wouldn’t have brought it to you otherwise.”
I knew that. Mostly, I was just stalling. We both knew I’d give in to this. It was for the betterment of the team, no matter how I felt about Gemma. I sighed. “For how long?”
“As long as it takes,” Whitney said. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But if we’re serious about rebuilding this team’s reputation, we need to strike while the iron’s hot. Gemma can help us do that. The woman knows how to craft a story with heart and humanity, two things the press has been willfully ignoring about us for too long. We need her.”
She wasn’t wrong. We were still working to claw our way back into the good graces of the fans. But I still didn’t like Gemma hanging around the team like this.
Then again, what I wanted didn’t matter.
“I’ll talk to the guys,” I said finally, forcing a nod. “We’ll make it work.”
Whitney grinned, standing and gathering the folder. “Knew I could count on you, Casey. I always can.”
She swept out of the office as quickly as she’d entered. I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair as I stared at the practice schedules in front of me. But the numbers and letters blurred together, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of them.
This was for the team, I reminded myself. For the fans. That was all that mattered. I shook it off and started again.
I hadn’t even had time to clear my head when there was a soft knock at the door. This time, the interruption was less forceful but no less disruptive. I looked up to see Matthew Edwards, the team’s seventy-nine-year-old owner, peeking his head inside with a mischievous grin.
“Got a minute, Casey?” he asked, his cane tapping lightly on the floor.
“Of course,” I said, standing as he entered.
Matthew was, without a doubt, the most eccentric person I’d ever worked for. With his tailored suits, perpetually twinkling eyes, and a seemingly endless supply of bizarre anecdotes, he was equal parts entertaining and exhausting. But he loved the Fire, and he’d poured a fortune into the team over the years, so his quirks were just part of the package.
He waved a hand at me as he settled into the chair across from my desk. “Sit, sit. No need to stand on my account.”
I lowered myself back into my seat, bracing for whatever tangent he was about to launch into. There was always a tangent or ten when he visited. I gulped down some coffee so I might have a chance to keep up with him. “What can I do for you, Matthew?”
He leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. “How’s the team shaping up this year?”
“Solid. We’ve got a good mix of veterans and younger guys. I think we’ll surprise some people.”
“Good, good,” he said, nodding. “But I’ve been thinking…”
The way he trailed off made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Whenever Matthew started a sentence like that, it meant trouble. He could be thinking of telling concessions to change out their plastic cups for metal beer steins or talk about how we need pyrotechnics to burst each time a goal was scored.
I liked that he was creative, but he usually needed that creativity reined in.
“Thinking about what?” I asked cautiously.
“You,” he said, pointing his cane at me. “You’ve done a hell of a job with this team, Casey. Turned them around, made them contenders. But…”
There was always a but.
“But?” I prompted.
“You’ve gotten too comfortable,” he said bluntly. “Too predictable. And predictable doesn’t win championships, does it?”
I stiffened in my seat. “Predictable?”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t get me wrong—you’re a damn fine coach. One of the best. That’s why I’ve kept you on this long. But hockey isn’t just about systems and strategies. It’s about passion. Fire. Hence the name. And right now, I’m not seeing enough of that from this team—or from you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “Now, I know what you’re going to say. You’re steady, reliable, consistent. And those are good things. But you can’t lean on them forever. The Fire needs to evolve. And so do you. Or else.”
The sting of his words settled in my chest, and I forced myself to nod. This wasn’t personal. It was business. If I needed to evolve, whatever that meant, I could do that. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to shake things up. Try new plays, new strategies. Remind the fans why they love this team. Bring some excitement back to the ice.”
“All right. I’ll work on it.”
“Good man,” Matthew said, clapping his hands together. “Now, on to more important matters.”
I raised an eyebrow, bracing myself. “More important than the Fire?”
“The Penguins,” he said.
I blinked, certain I’d misheard. I did just hear him say penguins, didn’t I? “Come again?”
“The Penguins,” he repeated, his grin widening. “I’ve been thinking about rebranding the team. The Atlanta Penguins has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
I stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was serious. I smiled to let him know I thought he was funny. Half the time, all he wanted in the world was someone else to be in on all his jokes. “You’re funny today, huh?”
“Not at all,” he said cheerfully. “Penguins are charismatic, resilient, and universally beloved. We will buy the name from Pittsburgh, paint penguins all over the city, add a penguin exhibit to the aquarium?—”
“Matthew,” I interrupted, struggling to keep my voice calm. “Atlanta is known for its heat and passion. That’s why we’re the Fire. Penguins have nothing to do with Atlanta.”
“They will if I say they do,” he said with a wink. “I can sell anything to anyone, Casey. And I’ve got the money to back it up.”
I rubbed my temples, trying to process the absurdity of the conversation. “Atlanta won’t accept Penguins in exchange for Fire. We are all about heat and passion here?—”
“Precisely.” He smiled, and his eyes narrowed on me. “So, show me some of that heat and passion on the ice this year, and I’ll drop the Penguin idea. Otherwise, you’re out. Deal?”
So not only the team’s name, but my job was on the line as well. Fan-fucking-tastic. But I had no other choice than to accept his terms. He was the boss, and even though I was under contract, Matthew would happily buy it out if he wanted a new coach to come on.
I gave him the only answer I had to give. “Deal.”
He stood up with a grunt. “Stop living at the arena, Casey. Get out there and find your fire.”
With that, he was gone, leaving me alone with a head full of questions with no answers. When I thought of my fire, Gemma’s perfect face came to mind. Maybe that was my answer.
As absurd as Matthew’s penguin pitch had been, his words about passion lingered long after he’d left. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as I let my thoughts spiral. Had I really gotten too comfortable? Had I let my methods—and my love for the game—stagnate?
My thoughts drifted, unbidden, again to Gemma. There was something about her that reminded me why I’d fallen in love with hockey in the first place—something about her warmth, her curiosity, her way of seeing the world that made me feel alive again. Maybe Matthew wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe it was time to stop playing it safe and start rediscovering the fire.
Maybe she could help me. There was only one way to find out.