Chapter 19
Present Day
Guess who’s suddenly popular among the players, and also really confused about it?
This girl.
It starts as soon as I arrive at LaGuardia for a flight on the team jet. The Legends are playing in Toronto tomorrow, and I’m taking my first scouting trip with two veterans of the sport.
But nobody is talking about hockey as I follow Darcy and the team into the private gate area.
“Sit here, ladies,” says the young O’Connell.
He points at a couple of seats, then sits across from us.
“Me and the boys have some questions about that video. But first I gotta rewatch that part where Merritt does that twirly thing.”
Darcy and I exchange a look. Then I glance around the waiting area and see all the hockey players hunched in twos and threes over various phones and tablets. They’re all watching our ten-year-old “Wicked Game” video, and I hear the song in surround sound.
Thanks to a journalist who’s way too good at her job, video evidence of my teenage heartbreak is making the rounds on the internet. And every player is laughing.
Chase must be burning mad. The whole world is chuckling over a video of his nineteen-year-old self doing toe loops and camel spins to a pop song.
Well, some of them are chuckling. Rookie Lukas Weber is actually rolling on the carpet, clutching his sides.
I don’t think I really understood what viral meant until this morning. Everyone I’ve ever known from skating camp has forwarded the link to me in the last twenty-four hours. Hey Zoe! Did you know this guy became a professional hockey player? He’s still hot! And so on.
“Yeah, this’ll never get old,” Eric Tremaine snickers. He leans over to peer at O’Connell’s phone. “Is Merry wearing sparkles?”
“No,” I say quickly. “The fabric is just a little… shiny.”
“It’s sparkly,” O’Connell says. “Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Zoe.”
Fine. The costume I borrowed for Chase was totally sparkly. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
“He looks like that dude in Dirty Dancing,” O’Connell says gleefully. “Did you know Merritt could move like that? I’m a little turned on, I won’t lie.”
They both howl, and I bury my face in my hand. The only saving grace is that Chase isn’t here with us at the airport. He got special permission to join the team on a later flight, after his chiropractic appointment.
But surely his phone is blowing up, too. I can only imagine how many people forwarded him the link. OMG is this really you???
The greediest part of me wonders if he watched it, and what he thought when he saw it. Did he smile, even a little? Or did he use his phone for slap shot practice instead?
Probably that second thing.
As for me, I couldn’t even make it through the first thirty seconds of the video. It’s too hard to confront my young, desperately in love self.
“Where was this taken?” Tremaine asks, leaning over to see Weber’s phone. “Tell me everything. Was Merritt really your skating partner? Like, for competitions?”
“No!” I yelp. “We were both coaching at this summer program in Massachusetts. For, like, just a few weeks. And the, uh, coaches were supposed to perform for parents’ weekend.”
“Uh-huh,” O’Connell says with a grin. “So you and Merry had a summer fling?”
“Nobody said that,” I argue, my face flushing. “We’re just skating together. It’s called a performance.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, his dancing eyes flipping up to mine. “Except what’s with that spin thing? Where he’s clutching you against his too-tight pants?”
And now I want to die. Preferably soon.
“Maybe Merry can stare into my eyes like that the next time we skate together,” Tremaine says. “I feel cheated.”
The surrounding rows erupt with laugher. “Play that part again where he’s reaching for her. Like he might die before he gets there.”
“Bro, that’s you every morning trying to get your first cup of coffee.”
More hoots and howls.
“Darcy,” I hiss. “Stop laughing.”
“I can’t!” she says, wiping her eyes. “And you deserve this, anyway.” She drops her gaze to her own phone, where I see my own stupid lovesick face. She’s watching the damn thing, too. “Can’t believe you were holding out on me like this.”
“I wasn’t. I had no idea this video had been posted to some dark corner of the internet.” If I knew, I probably would have watched it on repeat like a dreamy fangirl. “I can’t imagine how the reporter ever found it. Journalists are dangerous people.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Darcy lets out a little sigh. “The two of you look like you’re seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off.”
That came later.
O’Connell looks up and winks at me. He’s a young man with angular features and dark hair.
The suit he’s wearing probably has to be specially tailored for his huge frame.
“Listen, Coach Zoe. I have to tell you this video thing is incredibly unfair. You made Chase look like a sexy beast, and now he’s going to get all the female attention. ”
I blink. “Um, sorry? I don’t see how I can help you with that.”
“But you can! What if we evened things out? You can make a reenactment video with me, where I get to be the sexy beast. I won’t drop you, promise.
Look at these guns.” He rises from his chair and does a pantomime of lifting me over his head and then turning in a circle. “We could be so hot together, amirite?”
Darcy snorts.
“Nope,” I say firmly. “I’m retired from making videos. Go fish.”
He sighs. Then he rolls his dark brown eyes. “Fair enough. But I had to ask. I have other options, I guess.” He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles. “Weber! Over here, please.”
The rookie gallops over. He’s cute in a fresh-faced way, with a spray of freckles on the bridge of his nose. “What’s up, O’Connell?”
“You and I are making a sexy video to ‘Wicked Game.’ Can’t have Merritt getting all the views, right?”
The rookie jams his hands into his pockets and thinks this through. “Yeah, I see your point. You got some moves?”
“Of course. All hockey players got moves.”
Alexei raises his hand from a nearby bench. “Not all hockey players.”
“Cool, cool,” he says. “Then you’re our cameraman. And, Darcy? I need you to play ‘Wicked Game’ on your phone, loud enough that we can hear it.”
“All righty,” she says, leaping to her feet.
Oh God, what now? I watch warily as O’Connell arranges his troops on the airport carpeting with surprising authority. Then Darcy starts the music, and I hear the familiar ethereal guitar riff—the one that always threatens to rip out my beating heart.
Until now, I guess. Because O’Connell grabs Weber in a tango hold and stares into his eyes, while Alexei circles them with his phone.
I shrink back behind a potted bamboo plant, determined to keep my face off the internet for as long as I live.
But I can’t help peering between the branches.
O’Connell’s tango is much better than really seems fair.
And as the music swells, he dips Weber, who manages to throw an arm back with more dramatic flair than you’d expect from a muscle-bound twenty-three-year-old.
There’s wild applause from the rest of the team. O’Connell straightens up, and I’m thinking that’s the end of it.
But I thought wrong. “Captain! You’re up next.” He claps his hands. “Let’s go, Tremaine.”
Tremaine frowns, and I’m counting on him to end this madness. Then he sighs and steps forward. “The shit I do for you guys. Where do you want me?”
O’Connell wants him on one leg in an arabesque, along with several other of his teammates. They line up like a giant caterpillar of hockey players. “Now swing your arm to the music! And… go!”
Slowly, they swing their arms in unison, with the same tick-tock motion I choreographed almost ten years ago.
It’s over. I should just hand in my resignation. I’ll never live this down, and neither will Chase.
“Kickline!” O’Connell calls. “You’ve seen the Rockettes. Show me some hustle, boys! And…kick. Kick. Now sway, like this! And now we do the wave!”
My eyes dart toward the Jetway door, which is still not open. Darcy restarts the song, and O’Connell is calling for a Dirty Dancing lift. “Who’s flexible enough to try the jump?”
“None of you, dumbasses,” Coach Fairweather grumbles. “But I’m sure you’ll try it anyway. Anyone who gets injured making this video is getting fined.”
Now I have a new headline to worry about. Hockey team imitates skating coach and lands in ER.
“Line up!” O’Connell shouts. “Three in a row! The guy in the middle is the flyer.”
Alexei positions himself a few yards away while the first trio saunters toward him—O’Connell, Weber, and Tremaine. Then O’Connell and Tremaine grasp Weber’s arms and hoist him into the air, where he does a surprisingly competent split—complete with his head thrown back and his back arched.
“Sexy beast!” Alexei shouts as the next trio takes its turn.
I crouch a little farther behind the plant and wonder if anyone would notice if I just made a break for the exit. Like I was never here.
“Legends!” an airport employee calls over the PA system. “Your flight is boarding. Show your QR codes as you board, please.”
“About time,” Coach Fairweather murmurs as he heads for the door.
O’Connell darts after him. “I want to see you strut down that aisle, boys!” he calls. “Darcy, bring the tunes! And get over here, Alexei!”
I don’t emerge from my hiding place until after the players are all onboard. I’m literally the last to walk down the Jetway. The plane is luxurious, with leather business-class seats in every row and sleek wooden paneling. If I weren’t so mortified, I might actually enjoy this flight.
Darcy waves me toward the empty seat beside her and across from Weber and O’Connell, and I drop down next to her.
“Please fasten your seat belts, and set your devices to airplane mode for takeoff,” the flight attendant says.
“Hallelujah,” I grumble. I can still hear “Wicked Game” emanating from half a dozen different phones.
Darcy pulls out a magazine. “Guys, give it a break. You’re embarrassing Zoe.”
“No I’m not,” the rookie insists. “Coach Zoe looks hot in this video. All of TikTok thinks so. And Merritt looks like a stud, not an asshole.”
“Right,” O’Connell agrees. “He won’t have to worry about the two-asshole rule anymore.”
The rookie frowns. “Is that thing real or not?”
O’Connell shrugs. “Everyone says so. Hey, Darcy—you work for Sharp. You’d know. Is the two-asshole rule true?”
Darcy drops her magazine into her lap and turns to pin him with a stare. “Listen carefully. Let’s say I knew the rule was true. Am I going to tell you? No. Because the rule only applies to players, not assistants. So I’d get fired. And if I don’t know if it’s true, I’m also not telling you.”
“Why not?” he asks, frowning.
“Because I need you all to fear me.” And with that, she picks up her magazine again and turns the page.
“Damn,” the rookie whispers. “I want to be Darcy when I grow up.”
“Not a bad goal,” I agree.
Eventually the jet pushes back. I pull out my notebook and try to redirect my thoughts back to where they need to be—on my actual job.
I’ve printed out stats for most of the junior players I’ll be seeing today.
Scouting is new for me, and I need to do everything right if I have a prayer of getting a full-time contract next year.
At this point, it’s not looking great, though. I need to be known for my coaching ability, not for popping up in scandalous social media videos.
“Do you think I need eyelash extensions?” Darcy asks suddenly, looking up from her magazine.
“I think need is a strong word when it comes to eyelash extensions.”
“You only say that,” she says, “because you’re not a redhead.”
“Is there going to be time on this trip to get that pedicure we talked about?” I ask. “Does the hotel have a spa?”
She turns to me with a squeal. “You’re a genius. I’m on it. I’ll find us a place.”
“Awesome.” At least I have something fun to look forward to on this trip.
I’m not looking forward to bumping into Chase Merritt. And I’m not looking forward to seeing whatever nonsense O’Connell does with his send-up video. I can hear him and Weber chatting across the aisle. “It’s gonna be sick,” Weber promises.
I check the time and realize that Chase is at the chiropractor right now. Which means he may be cursing my name already. Either I’m right about his alignment or I just caused him a pointless doctor visit and some frivolous X-rays.
Leaning back in my seat, I try to think about something other than Chase Merritt. But I can still hear the strains of “Wicked Game” playing somewhere nearby, reminding me of the second-best night of my life. Whether I want to remember it or not.