Chapter 22 #2
I try to crumple the note and toss it in the trash, but Darcy is too quick. She’s across the room and snatching it out of my hand.
Her eyes widen as she reads it. “Oh my God, Zoe! Who would write this?”
I sink onto the bed, my mind racing. “I don’t know. Some coward. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”
“Not make a big deal?” she squeaks, her face reddening and her eyes fiery. Honestly I’m a little worried that her head is about to blow off. “Someone threatened you.”
“No, they insulted me. It’s different.”
She takes a deep breath and squints at me. “You don’t look angry enough, Zoe. Did this happen before?”
I hesitate.
“Seriously?” she squeaks.
“It’s just bully talk. Not that I wouldn’t want to catch him in the act. Do you know who had access to my bag?”
Darcy’s shoulders droop. “Well, everyone. We got off the bus, and the hotel had two rooms ready for us—one where they served lunch, and the adjacent room was for luggage. Anyone who could show a Legends pass could get in there. I claimed yours and brought it up here.”
“Ah, well.” I take a deep breath and try to unclench. “Then there’s nothing to be done.”
“Like hell! You have to report this,” she insists.
I shake my head vehemently. “No way. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head again. “Complaining sends the wrong signal. I’m supposed to be fitting in with the team. This just makes me look unliked and vulnerable.”
“It’s a hostile work environment, though,” Darcy argues. “That’s the definition of sexual harassment.”
“Yeah, I realize that. Except it’s also the definition of a corporate headache. They won’t catch the guy. And you know what happens when authorities tell bullies not to pick on the new kid.”
Darcy winces. “Yeah, I know what it’s like to be the new kid in this scenario.”
“See? It would just make things worse. I can handle bullies. What I can’t handle is sudden unemployment.”
“Sharp can’t fire you for being bullied by a dickwad,” Darcy argues.
“No, but he could fire me for any number of other fuckups I’ve been part of. Like the bar brawl video. And my undisclosed relationship with his player.”
“Your alleged relationship.” She winks. “Which I know nothing about.”
“That’s the one.”
I go to take the note back from her, but she holds it out of my reach. “Not so fast. Even if you’re not going to report it, at least we’re going to document it.” She spreads the note out on the expensive hotel duvet and takes a photo with her phone.
“Please don’t share that?” I beg. “Unless it’s with the police after they find my dead body. And if my jugular was severed by a skate blade, make sure they check the blade radius. Could be a clue.”
“Fine,” she mutters. “I’ll only share with the police. And whichever splashy true crime podcast wants an interview.” She puts her phone away. “This is some bullshit. They can’t scare you away. We still haven’t gotten pedicures.”
“I don’t scare that easy.”
Or do I? When I finally climb into bed, I feel a little shaky. Someone in this hotel hates me enough to unzip my luggage.
Darcy shuts off the light. But she’s thinking about it, too. “Any theories? Who hates you this much?”
“The list of suspects could be long,” I point out. “There are still ten players who haven’t made appointments with me. Steve Sailor isn’t my biggest fan. The GM isn’t a fan, either, but he doesn’t need tricks. He could just fire me.”
“True,” she whispers.
I stare at the ceiling, trying not to consider one player in particular. “Hey, Darcy?”
“Hmm?”
“What if it was Chase? He’s still mad at me, even if he won’t admit it.”
“No!” she yelps. “He didn’t do this. He bought you dinner! That’s the opposite of this.”
“Yeah. But maybe Bess told him to.”
“No. Nope! I can’t believe I’m defending Chase Merritt right now, because he’s hotter than is really fair, he’s kind of smug, and he never turns in his per diem forms on time. But he’s not petty. He’s not sneaky, either. If he doesn’t like something, he just tells you to your face.”
“Hmm. True.” Plus, it’s so hard to imagine the Chase I used to know leaving nasty notes for anyone. Pettiness was beneath him.
“Besides,” she says slowly. “He doesn’t hate you at all. You should have heard him earlier, telling the guys that you made him go to the chiropractor. The look on his face…”
My heart does a spin. “How did he look? Amused?”
“No, he looked proud. Like he wanted to brag about you.”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t,” Darcy insists. “He still thinks you’re cool, Zoe. And he doesn’t have time for games. He could have gotten you fired already. He had the chance.”
I mull this over, torn between hope and disbelief. As sleep starts to claim me, I push thoughts of Chase aside.
Or I try to, anyway. But somewhere in this hotel, Chase is lying in an identical bed, on these same silky sheets.
All these years, he made no effort to contact me.
But I can’t help wondering if he thought of me anyway sometimes.
At night, in bed, when his eyes grew heavy—did he ever think back to the one night we spent together?
I’ve thought about it a lot. Far more often than is healthy.
You’re not supposed to live your life looking in the rearview mirror. That’s something my mother always said when she was trying to motivate me to work harder on the next jump or the next competition. There’s no point in crying over the past.
Or is there? When I was eighteen, I had no idea how fleeting those perfect moments with Chase would be. Loving him had felt like unlocking the door to a new and wonderful existence. I thought it was the start to something beautiful.
But it was over before it began, and I don’t think anyone has ever loved me quite so well since.