Thrown for a Loop

Chapter 1

January

Nerves of steel.” That’s how an NBC commentator once described me during my Olympic-medal performance. And Sports Illustrated captioned my photo with “Grace under pressure.”

If they could see me now, they’d file a retraction. My palms are sweaty as I cross the gleaming marble atrium of the New York Legends hockey team headquarters.

In theory, this is a dream come true. In reality, I just moved to the most expensive city on the East Coast for a part-time job offered to me only after the previous two candidates fell through. But I’ve always been impulsive.

So here I stand, my heart rabbity inside my chest. “Good afternoon,” I greet the security guard, an older white man with a handlebar mustache. “My name is—”

“Zoe Carson!” chirps a female voice. I glance past the security turnstiles to see a young woman scampering down the escalator in my direction.

She’s a smartly dressed redhead with a quick smile.

“I have your employee ID.” She practically skids to a stop on the other side of the turnstile.

Then she waves a card over the sensor. The light turns green and the gates slide open for me. “You’re in!”

“Wow, thanks,” I say, nodding a silent thank-you to the guard and then walking through to the other side of the security barrier.

“You’re welcome!” She beams. At least one person is happy to see me. “I’m Darcy Kendrick, Nolan Sharp’s assistant.”

I’m sorry is the first response that pops into my head. Sharp is my new boss, the same man who’s responsible for half the anxiety that’s sloshing through my bloodstream.

The other half, though, belongs to a certain hockey star who’s probably somewhere in the building.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, offering a hand to Darcy.

She gives it a quick pump, then hands over my ID.

“Here you go. I put a lanyard and some swag in your locker. But first, let’s check out the main rink, and you can see the guys in action.

” Darcy waves her ID in front of another scanner and opens a door to reveal a gleaming rink with bleacher seating.

I follow her inside like a puppy—if puppies were full of dread.

“We need you, Zoe,” Darcy says. “Our stats are shakier than they should be at mid-season. And the last skating coach bailed on us.”

“Why was that?” I hear myself ask.

“He moved to Sweden for better job security.” She shrugs. “I can’t imagine that his new team is better than this one, but I’m very biased. This team can win. We’re just in a slump.”

We walk right down to the plexiglass, where hockey players in blue and red practice jerseys whiz past. I turn a critical eye to their skating.

One of the defensemen sends a shower of ice chips flying as he accelerates after his teammate.

His stride is powerful, but I notice a shallowness in his crossovers that could cost him precious seconds in a game.

That’s why I’m here. The Legends are fifth place in their division, which isn’t great. But it’s only January. There’s still time to climb the ranks and secure a bid for the playoffs. If these men trust my coaching, I can make a difference.

The whistle blows. Another player suddenly skates close to the glass, and my heart leaps into my throat. When he lifts his gaze to the spot where we’re standing, I stop breathing.

But the skater isn’t anyone I’ve met, although he lifts a hand in a friendly wave, which Darcy returns.

“Now let’s get you upstairs,” she says, herding me out of the rink and onto one of the escalators that climb through the glittering atrium. As we rise, she points out two more practice rinks and other world-class facilities.

This job could be a godsend. So why do I feel so sweaty? Oh, right. The memory of a pair of ethereal blue eyes crosses my mind like a shadow, and my stomach tilts again.

That second coffee was definitely a mistake.

As we step onto the final escalator, I spy a cluster of men on the fourth floor, in the players’ lounge. Tall bodies. Broad shoulders.

Oh God. I’ve spent the whole day wondering what Chase Merritt will say when we finally come face-to-face. The team gave me every player’s contact information as soon as I took this job so that I could reach out to each of them and set up our first coaching session.

I spent hours writing and rewriting my first email to Chase. The first few drafts had begun Maybe you don’t remember me… But then I’d deleted that in favor of a breezier greeting.

At least I hope it was breezier. Writing a business email to the man who once broke your heart isn’t easy.

I still haven’t gotten a reply, in spite of checking my email approximately eleventy billion times. And now I’m so tense I could burst.

When we reach the fourth floor, Darcy turns toward the left, away from the glassed-in players’ lounge.

“This is the C-suite,” she announces, leading me through an open archway into a grand office suite bedecked with plush carpets and a giant Legends logo on the paneled wall.

“Beyond the bigwigs’ offices are the rest of the coaching staff, and corporate employees—including your cubicle. ”

“Nice.”

She leads me toward her own desk, offering to hang up my winter jacket. “Look, Zoe,” she says. “I’m going to level with you. I’m very excited to have you in the front office. You have no idea.”

This snaps me out of my nervous reverie, and I focus on her pixie-like face. She’s smiling a little maniacally, and I can’t help but think Here we go again.

This still happens sometimes—the whole skating groupie thing. For some people, it doesn’t matter that I gave a disappointing performance at the Olympics. That I let my team down with a silver instead of a gold. Or that I bailed on my entire skating career four years later—right before the games.

Some people are just so fired up about figure skating that they want to talk about it, even if that’s not my scene anymore. Not even a little. So I paste on a polite smile and wait.

“Not to make this awkward,” she says, fitting my coat onto a hanger. “But it will be so great to have another woman on staff! Plus I saw your address on your HR file—my place is two streets over.”

I blink. “Howdy, neighbor.”

She laughs nervously as she puts the hanger on a coatrack. “I mean—this job can be such a sausage fest. And I could really use a work friend. Sorry if I made it super awkward. You’re probably wondering how fast you can install a doorbell camera and change your phone number.”

“Not at all,” I say, still catching up. “I totally get it. We should have a drink together.”

Her eyes light up again. “Yes to drinks. Or pedicures! Or both at the same time. Is that a thing? It should be a thing. And the team is leaving for their game at five if you’re free this evening.”

“Tonight works fine.” I’m basically friendless in New York. “But you’ll have to pick the spot.”

She clasps her hands together. “Yay! I’m hyped. Now let’s say hello to Mr. Sharp, okay? He’ll want to welcome you himself.” She frowns. “At least in his own special way.”

Yikes. “Let’s do it.”

I follow her toward his office, setting my shoulders back and lifting my chin. It’s the classic power stance that I was taught at age six. Straighten your spine, Zoe! If you don’t hold your body in a confident way, the panel of judges won’t believe in you.

That’s the kind of winning energy I need right now. Every interaction I’ve had with Sharp so far was more like a wrestling match with a porcupine than a friendly conversation.

Luckily, tolerating difficult people is my superpower. I’ll just have to dazzle Sharp with my work ethic and deep knowledge of the sport.

Darcy marches up to his door, and I watch her take a slow breath before she knocks.

“What?” a voice croaks from inside. “There’s no one I want to see right now—unless they brought me a double macchiato.”

Darcy opens the door, revealing the jowly grump seated behind his big boat of a desk. “Sir, if you have any more caffeine, they’ll use you to power the team jet. And the new skating coach is here. I brought her in so you could say hello.”

“Ah, the ice dancer,” he says, failing to look up from his phone. “She starts today?”

Darcy briefly closes her eyes, as if in pain, and her pale eyelashes flutter. “Yessir. Coach Carson is here to say hello, and then maybe you can show her around.”

He scrolls a little further, ignoring us for a long, awkward beat.

And then finally he puts the phone face down on the desk.

He looks up, eyes sunk into his leathery face, and gives me an assessing glance.

“Zoe Carson,” he says, his eyes narrowing.

“Twenty-eight years old, former figure skater, new hockey fan.”

“Not so new,” I insist before I can think better of arguing with my new boss on my first day. “I grew up at hockey rinks, where they only gave the figure skaters ice time when it was convenient.”

“So this is a grudge match?” he asks, bushy eyebrows rising.

I whip out my best ice-princess smile. “I’m here to help hockey players skate faster. Call it whatever you wish.”

He rises from his desk and holds out his hand, but it’s grudging. “Welcome. You’re a real trailblazer, Carson. Let’s hope the trail doesn’t lead us off a cliff.”

Almost too annoyed to respond, I give him a firm handshake. “Thank you,” I manage.

“The challenge will be for someone like you to command the players’ respect and attention,” he says.

“Yessir.” You sexist ass. “I have a plan for that. Once they spend some time with me and hear what I have to offer, they’ll want to work with me again. And you’ll be ready to hand me a new contract for next year.”

His expression is entirely dubious. “We’ll see, Ms. Carson. You’ve got the rest of the season to impress me. I’ll be looking forward to your scouting reports as well. I think that’s where you’ll shine.”

“Count on it, sir,” I say stiffly.

Then he picks up his desk phone and pokes a button. “Aiden! Get over here. You’re touring the new girl around. And, Darcy? I want updated stats.”