Chapter 3
Present Day
I’m frozen in place, two paces inside the players’ lounge, with Chase glaring at me through the crowd. His eyes are still very blue, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them look cold before.
Then he finally returns his gaze to his teammate, and the spell is broken.
I remember to draw a breath. And in my peripheral vision, I notice Darcy waving frantically at me through the glass.
Hell. I’m so confused right now. Why is he still so mad? It’s been almost ten years without a word from him. I thought he’d forgotten me completely.
I’m the one who should be mad.
On shaky knees I force myself to maneuver around a clot of hockey players and approach him. “Excuse me, Chase?” My voice comes out thin and nervous.
He goes absolutely still.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, clearing my throat. “But you’re wanted in the GM’s office. Darcy asked me to tell you.”
For a split second, I think he might ignore me completely.
But then he turns, his blue eyes so frigid they almost look like someone else’s.
A chill climbs up my spine, as if I’m watching a horror movie where aliens have replaced the Chase I once knew with a moody robot.
“Really?” he asks abruptly. “That’s what you came here to say to me? ”
“I… well…” I gulp. “Sorry.”
“Dude,” says Eric Tremaine, the team captain. He puts a hand on Chase’s shoulder. “Are you seriously giving our new coach a hard time? What is wrong with you lately?”
Chase clenches his jaw, and he jerks out of Tremaine’s grasp. He lifts his gaze toward the office, where Darcy is frantically beckoning to him. Then he gives me one more withering glance.
“Sorry,” I stammer again. And I don’t know what I’m apologizing for, exactly. For the intrusion. For the trouble I once caused him. For my very existence.
He turns away, though, without any reaction. He slips through the crowded room toward the GM’s office, and my gaze instinctively follows him.
“Hey, Coach Carson. My apologies,” the captain says. “I’m Eric Tremaine.”
I turn, gathering myself to shake his hand. I can’t afford to make a poor impression on the team captain. “Nice to meet you.”
Tremaine is a big, broad guy with a jaw so square that it could be used to teach geometry.
It’s softened, though, by a sweep of ash-blond hair across his forehead, and kind gray eyes.
If he weren’t towering over me in top-of-the-line athletic wear, I think I could picture him standing in a dairy barn in Iowa or maybe Ontario.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “Merry isn’t usually such an asshole. I’ll speak to him.”
“Forget it,” I insist. “But I’ve been wanting to introduce myself to you. I look forward to our first training session later this week.”
“Can’t wait,” he says cheerfully. “Anything I can do to help?”
Tremaine has the kind of golden retriever energy that makes a good team captain.
And maybe I can use his help. “You know what would be fun?” I say casually.
“Why don’t you bring a couple of other senior players with you?
It would help get me up to speed faster before I start my one-on-one sessions. ”
“That could be arranged,” he says, looking thoughtful. “Sure. I like this plan.”
As do I, since most of the emails and voicemails I’ve sent to his teammates have gone unanswered. But he doesn’t have to know that.
“Excellent,” I say, stealing a glance toward Darcy’s desk in the office suite. Chase is standing beside her, phone pressed to his ear. His face is red, like he’s angry at the world. “Have a great game against Chicago, and we’ll catch up when you get back.”
“Now where the heck is our bus?” Tremaine asks, his eyes darting to his watch. “If you’ll excuse me?”
I wave him off and ease toward the exit, still watching the drama in the next room. Chase hangs up Darcy’s phone and scrubs a hand over his face. Then he barks something at Darcy, who’s gone white.
Then her gaze cuts straight to mine.
“All right, guys! Bus is finally here!” somebody yells. “Let’s move!”
The players all perk up. They grab their hand luggage, toss their paper cups into the trash, and head for the door.
But I’m faster. I slide out of the lounge, heading Chase off before he can join the river of hockey players heading toward the escalators.
He sees me coming and scowls, which makes my pulse accelerate, and not in a good way. “I have a plane to catch,” he says with a grunt as I stop in front of him.
“I realize that,” I say quickly. “But you haven’t returned my email.”
His scowl deepens. It’s weird that anyone would look hot scowling, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he does. “Not everyone has time for email.” He lifts his blue eyes to mine again, and I forget to breathe. “What the hell are you doing here, Zoe?”