Chapter 25
Three hours after our pedicures, I’m still confused. It makes no sense that Chase would say yes to Sailor’s PR stunt. “I just don’t understand it,” I tell Darcy for the tenth time. “There’s no reason for Chase to say yes.”
“Here’s a wild theory,” she says without even a glance in my direction. “What if he said yes because he wanted to?”
“Wanted to do what?”
“Skate with you! I mean, he obviously enjoyed it the first time.”
“That was completely different,” I argue. “It was his summer job. He was nineteen, with no other responsibilities. Also, he didn’t hate me then. He was trying to get into my pants.”
Darcy says nothing.
“I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been manipulated. What if Sailor is playing both of us against each other? Like maybe that text he showed us was Chase’s reply to a different question, like ‘Want to meet up at the bar later?’”
“Look,” Darcy says sharply. She puts a hand on my arm but still doesn’t look in my direction.
She’s too busy watching the Legends whip past us on the ice.
“I say this with love, but would you shut up about this for maybe ten minutes? The game is tied in the third period, and I’m not built for this kind of anxiety. ”
“Oh, fine. You need me to delay my nervous breakdown until after the third period?”
“Or possibly overtime,” she says with a shrug. “If only these guys would SHOOT THE PUCK!” she shouts as Weber skates past. “Then maybe I could listen to your conspiracy theories.”
It’s a fair point. We’ve spent the past two hours on the edge of our seats. The game against Toronto has been tense and brutal. The crowd is as loud as thunder, cheering wildly for the enemy every time they have the puck. Which, sadly, has been more than half the time.
The Legends are holding their own, though. The 2–2 score is a result of a couple of scrappy goals—one from Tremaine and one from Larkin right in front of the net.
Naturally I’ve spent most of my time watching Chase, with my heart in my mouth. Is it just me, or is he skating better than he did in his last game?
As he flies past me again, I swear his stride is more confident. I’ve seen explosive acceleration and tight cornering. On one play, he blew past a Toronto defenseman to retrieve a dump-in, then pivoted seamlessly to protect the puck and make a crisp pass to Tremaine.
Yet he can’t seem to catch a break in front of the goal. Toronto’s best D-man has an irritating way of blocking the goal when Chase gets the puck. Every. Time.
Honestly, I want to dive over the boards and punch the guy, but I’m pretty sure my nemesis in PR would frown on that.
As the clock winds down, the speed of play amps up. With only five minutes left, I can see the frustration on Chase’s face, especially when one of the Toronto players trips him and doesn’t get called for it. I can sense his glower from the other side of the rink.
Although he’s hot when he glowers, my feelings about this moment are more mixed than they should be.
“I hate hockey!” Darcy shrieks as a defender ruins another one of Tremaine’s passes.
“You’re a liar. Although it’s possible you’re only in it for the eye candy. If Tremaine played professional golf, I think you’d be standing on a course somewhere in a visor and khakis.”
She gives me a sharp look. “Shut up. Just because you once had a hot hockey boyfriend doesn’t mean you know things.”
“No, I get it. We’d both be better off if we liked quiet, nerdy men.”
“Sing it, sister.”
Two seconds later we both leap out of our seats as Tremaine steals the puck and skates toward the goal.
“Come on, baby!” Darcy shrieks as Toronto’s defense closes in. “You got this!”
I hold my breath as Tremaine outwits a D-man and pivots toward freedom. But that obnoxious winger is all over him, so Eric needs to pass the puck. He fakes a shot to his D-man but then sends the puck to Chase instead.
It happens so fast I almost miss it. A quick flick of Chase’s wrist, and the puck shoots into the upper corner of the net. The lamp lights behind Toronto’s bewildered goalie.
Suddenly, Darcy and I are jumping up and down and screaming. We hug each other amid the glares of the Toronto fans around us.
“Strap in,” I say breathlessly. “It’s not over yet. We still have a few long minutes to go.”
“I know.” Darcy reaches over and grabs my arm. “But I have a good feeling about this.”
After a media break, our boys line up for the face-off. Chase wins it and skates cleanly away with the puck.
“He’s back,” Darcy whispers. “You fixed him.”
“Maybe.”
“Whoa!” She turns to me sharply. “Don’t you dare be modest! You have to wear your achievements loudly and make sure everybody knows how amazing you are.”
“Fine.” I laugh. “I promise to strut like a rooster to management. But when I said maybe, it’s because so much of sports is mental. If you suddenly believe that you’re fixable, then it unblocks your heart.”
“Zoe,” Darcy says, watching Toronto trying and failing to get the puck back. “Just take the win.”
“I’m not very good at that,” I admit.
She glances over and smiles at me. “I know, precious. Neither am I. But we can work on it. Just as soon as the Legends close out this win.”
Three minutes later, they do. And nobody is more ready to celebrate than me.
Taking Darcy’s advice, I use my Legends ID to gain access to the players’ level of the arena, and I seek out our terrible boss. When I find Nolan Sharp in one of the underground corridors, he’s sweating through his work shirt and chatting up reporters.
I lurk just out of sight until the conversation ends, and then I catch Sharp before he can be dragged into another. I offer him a handshake. “Congratulations on the win tonight.”
“Yeah,” he says, checking his watch even as he shakes my hand. “We needed that.”
“I left my scouting reports in your inbox, by the way. I sorted them by position, but feel free to let me know if you have a different preference.” This document was fifty pages of hard work, and I want to make sure it didn’t go to spam.
“Yeah, I got it,” he says, giving me a one-shouldered shrug, as if using both of them would demonstrate too much enthusiasm. “They’re kinda long, Miss Carson. Maybe you can use more brevity next time.”
My heart slumps. “Sure. I’ll try that.” This conversation sure isn’t going the way I’d hoped.
And now he’s checking his watch again. So I talk faster.
“Anyway—Darcy and I made a lot of enemies in row H, but the victory was worth every dirty look. I was proud to be part of the organization tonight,” I try.
“And it was gratifying to see Chase having such a good night.”
“I bet it was.” He chuckles. “You got lucky on that one, didn’t you?”
“Lucky?” The word flies out of me. “How do you figure?”
“Lots of fortunate synergies. You have history with Chase. You knew how he used to skate, and you followed a hunch.” I get another half shrug. “It’s cool. Even a fluky win is still a win.”
“Sir, it was not a fluke. I hadn’t seen Chase Merritt skate in ten years, but your people have.
I’m not the only person in this organization who could have spotted the difference.
But I’m the one who did. And if fortunate synergies are the same thing as watching a thousand hours of game tape this month and getting players to show up for sessions with me, then sure. ”
He gives me a sharp look, but at least I have more of his attention than I had a moment ago. “Good job on Merritt,” he barks. “But how’s it going with the other twenty-two players? You got their attention yet?”
I try not to let my smile sag. But how does he know? “It’s coming along, sir. More progress every day.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says dryly. Then he walks quickly away.
Feeling defeated, I watch him go. That man will never be a member of the Zoe Carson fan club. But I can’t stop trying. Even if he doesn’t hire me again next year, I’ll need a solid reference.
Darcy appears beside me. “What did the boss have to say?”
“Bossy things. Like how lucky I was to get a bead on Chase’s misalignment.”
She makes a choking sound.
“Exactly. Now I have to find Chase and ask him why he said yes to Sailor.”
She points at a door. “They’re still in the dressing room,” she says. “But you don’t want to go in there unless you have a really good poker face.”
“Because of all the nakedness?”
“Yup.” She nods solemnly. “I find it hard to discuss a man’s travel receipts after you know exactly what his penis looks like.”
“You are full of wisdom. I’ll just lurk by the exit. They all have to come out to get to the bus, right?”
“Right,” she agrees, pointing down the corridor. “That’s the door you’re looking for. I’d join you, but I’ve been ordered to wait here with his majesty’s dinner.” She holds up a paper bag.
“Gotcha. Wish me luck.”
I maneuver toward the exit, but the hallway is crowded with sports media and staff members. It’s so chaotic that I actually collide with one of our hockey players when we both try to fill the same opening. As my nose bounces off his necktie, I make a noise like oof.
Then I step back and look up to find Jean-Luc Moreau, the worst skater on the team and the only player who’s failed to show up for two scheduled sessions with me.
“Merde alors, excusez-moi,” he grumbles.
“Is this the only way we’re going to meet, Mr. Moreau? I’ve seen your name on my calendar twice in the past week, but somehow you never turn up on the rink.”
His cold gray eyes study me, and a chill runs down my spine. “Eh,” he grunts. “Was not a good time.”
Several angry responses fill my brain. But I don’t let them out. Recriminations won’t win him over. “Maybe the third time is a charm?” I say instead.
“Maybe,” he says before sidestepping me and disappearing.
At least Sharp didn’t overhear that. God. I try again to navigate the corridor. Up ahead—because noting Chase Merritt is my superpower—I see a set of broad shoulders that I could recognize anywhere.
I hurry after him, but he’s got longer legs and a head start. I see the exterior door at the end of the hall open and shut after him.
Crap. I put on another burst of speed, dodging a security guard and then an equipment guy carrying about forty hockey sticks. When I finally reach the door, I push through it and dart outside. “Chase?”
Suddenly I’m blind. Or at least it feels that way, because a dozen camera flashes are all going off at once. There’s a crowd of fans out here, lined up to see the players. Security has erected a velvet rope—like the kind they use in clubs—to hold back the masses.
And Chase is escaping at a rapid clip toward the waiting transit vans. “Chaaaaaaase!” someone yells. It’s a woman’s voice, of course. “Will you sign my program?”
She gets a wave, but he doesn’t break his stride, so I take off after him. “Chase?”
He doesn’t hear me, and a security guard ushers him into one of the vans before the doors close behind him.
I arrive, panting, a moment later, and flash my Legends ID at the guard.
He shakes his head. “That one is full, ma’am. Next van, please.”
“But…”
“Next van, please.”
Defeated, I climb into the empty next van. I take a seat and then watch the crowd freak out again when three more players emerge from the building. They strut past the crowd, waving, and climb into the van after me.
One of them drops into the seat beside me and offers his hand. “Tony DeLuca. Nice to finally meet the most interesting person to hit the Legends in a long time.”
“Call me Zoe.” I shake his hand firmly, like I’ve learned to do with hockey players. “But if I’m so damned interesting, how come your name hasn’t turned up on my schedule yet?”
“Easy, Coach Zoe.” He smiles at me, and his big brown eyes are playful.
He’s a big guy, with a Roman nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once.
But he’s a study in contrasts, because there’s also warmth in his eyes.
“They tend to schedule the goalie coaching sessions opposite your ice time. My schedule just hasn’t lined up with yours yet. ”
“Oh.” Actually, I’d noticed that. “You’re right. I’ll retract my claws.” I lean back against the plush seat. Even the vans are nicer than I’m used to. “It’s just been a difficult start. I can’t seem to get out of my own way.”
“That’s most of us on a good day, yeah? Unless some of the guys are giving you trouble…”
“No, not really,” I lie, even as the words go home, bitch roll through my head. “I’m just impatient. And Sharp basically told me that I have to improve everyone’s game by next Tuesday.”
“Yeah, you slacker.” He gives me a gentle punch in the arm. “Get on that. I saw your master class is coming up. And I’ll sign up for a session soon. Scout’s honor.”
The crowd outside gives another shout, and three more players head for the van. “I thought we were in enemy territory,” I say. “This is madness.”
“Everyone likes a winner, Coach,” DeLuca says. “Hey—I heard you and my buddy Chase are doing a number at the jamboree! That’s gonna be wild.”
My chin whips in his direction. “You heard that already? Where?”
“I think it was ESPN,” he says gravely.
“What?”
DeLuca laughs. “Aw, Coach Carson, that was just a joke. I got an email in my inbox from the PR dude. We all have a production meeting in, like, two days. Mandatory. And he mentioned you two in it.”
“Oh.” I sag back against the seat. “Maybe this is his way of trying to make sure we don’t back out. I cannot for the life of me understand why Chase would agree to this.”
“I got some theories.” DeLuca chuckles. “That old video was very educational.”
“They’re wrong, I promise. Chase doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Hmm.” He grins. “Merry is one of my best friends, but he keeps a tight lock on what he’s thinking. And then there’s the whole contract negotiation thing.”
“What thing?”
“He’s up for renewal this spring. It’s easier for management to renew him early if he’s not a PR headache. Not to mention that his sponsors will love this.”
“Oh.” That makes sense. “So this is a financial decision.”
DeLuca’s mouth quirks into a smile. “That’s one theory. The only thing I know for sure is that shit just got interesting.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. “One more question—when Sailor makes a meeting mandatory, does everyone really show up?”
“Oh yeah. He stacks the deck, though, by ordering the best bagels in New York, with all the toppings.”
“Smart.” If I can’t get Jean-Luc Moreau into a coaching session soon, I might give that method a whirl.