Chapter 40
The next sound I hear is the pounding of feet, and I stiffen. But then Bernie comes running into the corridor and gasps. “Oh shit. Zoe! Is that… blood?” He’s staring at the word scrawled in red on the walls of my locker.
WHORE. And writing it just once was apparently not enough. My bully has written it multiple times.
“N-no,” I say, as my heart rate tries to settle back into its normal range. “It’s not blood. It’s that.” Treating the area like a crime scene, I point at the little red tube that’s lying on the floor of my locker without touching it. “Fenty Gloss Bomb in MVP red.”
He clutches his chest. “That shriek you made? I thought someone was dead for sure.”
“That stuff is twenty-five bucks a tube! You’d scream, too.” I look up and squint around the corridor. “Weren’t they going to put…”
“Shh,” he says, finger to his lips. “That’s a secret. But it happens tomorrow.”
“Fuck.”
“We’ll get him,” Bernie growls. “I want to take the first punch myself. Can I make a suggestion, though?”
“What?”
Bernie leans his hip against a door frame and strokes his mustache with two fingers. “Don’t tell Merritt about this until after tonight’s game.”
My hackles go up immediately. “Why?”
He rolls his eyes. “Just trust me on this. We need his focus tonight.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and starts shooting pics of my bully’s artwork. “These are for Mr. Sharp, okay?”
I sigh. “Sure. Thanks. I’ll let him know this happened.”
“Chin up, Zoe. We don’t let the assholes win.”
“I like your style, Bernie.”
When he smiles at me, his mustache twitches.
Darcy and I watch the Legends dominate Montreal from row G, while we drink soda and devour a plate of nachos. Meanwhile, I fill my notebook with ideas for my players.
On the one hand, I’m excited to see the team playing so much better than they were in January. Their win-loss record is greatly improved, and they’ve climbed up to second in their division.
But it hurts me to admit that Montreal needs Chase, too. Their offensive plays could use more flash and creativity—which is his specialty.
During the first intermission, I google their coaching staff. They already have a full-time skating coach, unfortunately.
I also field angry texts from my mother. And as I read them, I think of what Chase said this morning. Tolerating assholes isn’t working for me anymore.
Mom: I can’t believe you fired Bruce. It’s short sighted! Nobody else will want you now!
Zoe: Do you realize how mean that sounds? I won’t regret firing Bruce. Not even for a minute. You can keep taking his calls if you want to, but I’m done.
Mom: It’s like you’ve lost your mind since you went to New York. It’s HIM, isn’t it? He has control of you again. You acted like an idiot the minute he showed up in your life. I never should have hired him.
I make a sound of rage just as Darcy plops back down in her seat, a beer in each hand. “I got you this, even though you said you didn’t want it.”
“They cost ten bucks!” I yelp.
She sets it into the cupholder beside me. “But I get paid a real salary, and you look like you need it anyway. Why are you clenching your phone like it personally offends you?”
Because sometimes it does. I look down at the screen again and see that my mother is still typing something that is unlikely to be an apology.
Maybe it’s time to swing back.
“All right,” I announce to nobody in particular. “This ends now.”
Zoe: Stop it Mom.
Zoe: Just stop.
Zoe: I don’t need to listen to you question every choice I ever made.
Zoe: Chase is twice the man that Bruce ever was. Maybe I should have listened to you about Bruce. But please consider that I married him partly to get out of your house.
God, it feels good to admit that.
Zoe: You and I are going to take a break now. I don’t want to hear your critique of my life, just like you probably wouldn’t like to hear my critique of yours.
Zoe: This week I fired my agent because he wasn’t working for me anymore. And now I need to fire my coach, too.
“Hey,” Darcy says, touching my sleeve. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I stash my phone. “Yes, I really am.” I pick up my beer and touch the glass to hers. “Thank you. I appreciate you more than you know.”
“Oh, I do know,” she says. “Now maybe Chase can score a goal, and we can appreciate him, too.”
He doesn’t get a goal, but he skates like wildfire and bags three assists. And the Legends win 5–3.
“Maybe he couldn’t score today, because he already scored,” Darcy suggests at the buzzer.
“You shut up.”
She snickers. “Heading over to his place now?”
“No.” I close my notebook. “The man needs a full night of sleep, and they’re leaving in the morning for Carolina.”
“You’re going to tell him about the locker thing, right? Otherwise he’ll just hear about it from one of the other gossips. Sharp was steaming after you told him.”
“Good point. I’ll get that over with.”
“Sort this out soon, m’kay?” she says, grabbing her jacket. “The suspense is killing me, and I hate cliff-hangers.”
“So sorry to inconvenience you. How about I get us a rideshare home? My treat.”
“I’ll take it.”
When I get home to my apartment, there’s an envelope under my door. It’s my second rent check, returned with a note. Bill already paid. There’s also a photo of a canceled check, drawn on a strange account: The estate of C. J. Merritt.
I text Chase a picture of the canceled check. What the hell?
He replies a bit later, when I’m already lying on my living room mattress.
Ah. I’m glad they credited the right account.
You paid my rent???? Without asking?
Okay I should have asked. But I thought you’d say no. And I didn’t pay it. A dead person did.
How thoughtful of him. But Chase!!! Not cool.
I got that money from a relative that I despise. I never asked for it. The check had been sitting on my kitchen counter for a week. Then you told Darcy you couldn’t pay your rent, so I thought it was the perfect solution. I didn’t think they’d show you who it was from though. Oops.
This explanation only partly soothes my ire, though, and I call him.
He answers immediately. “How am I supposed to sleep here? My bed smells like you.”
“You’ll manage. And you’re not off the hook yet. Chase, there are a lot of people in my life trying to manage my choices. Please don’t be one of them.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Zoe, I apologize for not asking. That wasn’t cool, and I won’t do it again. I just thought my dead relative’s paltry estate might ease the way while I watch you take over the world.”
“Good save,” I whisper, and he laughs. “How did your secret lunch go?”
“Pretty great. My buddy said nice things about his team’s management. It’s a viable option for me.”
“That’s great news,” I lie.
“Hmm,” he says. “Are you eager to send me to Canada?”
I hesitate, wondering how honest I should be. When I picture him packing up his apartment and moving to Montreal, I want to cry. I couldn’t even get a work permit there. Not easily.
“Zoe. Just level with me. I know this is all brand-new. You and me. Well, old, but really new. But we wasted a lot of time already. So the idea of moving to Canada is suddenly less attractive than it was a couple weeks ago. Tell me I’m not overreacting.”
My heart leaps. With a full twist. “You’re not overreacting. I hate the idea. But Montreal isn’t our only obstacle. Nolan Sharp has made no indication that he’s willing to sign me again. In fact, the last guy quit in frustration. So if I can’t keep a job with the Legends, then…”
The sentence just hangs there, where neither of us is willing to finish it. But in truth it might not matter where Chase goes, if I can’t get a job in New York.
“Right.” He lets out a breath. “You deserve a good job, too, with a team who appreciates you. Just like I do. Wherever that takes you.”
Silence descends once again as this sinks in for both of us. Until this morning, I was gung ho about sending out another round of emails this spring to try to leverage my Legends experience with another team. I got this far, damn it. I can’t stop now.
But the pull I feel toward Chase is as strong as ever.
“We’re worrying about this way too soon,” he says suddenly. “I can’t even negotiate with Montreal until July. Sharp will push me to sign with him sooner, but Bess can stall.”
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“So let’s not stress about it. Not yet, anyway.”
“You’re right.” I clear my throat. “There’s one other tiny unrelated thing I need to tell you. Not a big deal, and I don’t want you to stress about this, either.”
“Uh-oh,” he grumbles. “Why do I think this could be bad?”
“It’s not, so don’t yell,” I say primly. Then I tell him about the lipstick art in my locker.
He does yell. But he takes the phone away from his mouth first, so I only hear the distant echo of a very loud “MOTHERFUCKER!”
When I return to the rink two days later, there are two things waiting for me.
One is a new smoke detector right above my locker, with a suspiciously shiny black dot at the center of it. I see it right when I walk in.
The other is Chase, who’s kneeling in front of my locker with a bottle of Windex as Aiden passes him a series of paper towels.
“You guys really didn’t have to do that,” I insist.
“Sure we did,” Aiden growls. “What a shit show.”
“All clean,” Chase says, stepping back. “Did you reprogram your combination yet?”
“No, but I’ll get on that,” I promise. “Let’s skate. We’ve got ice time.”
“Is it time to sparkle?” Aiden sets down the paper towels and makes jazz hands.
“Sure, bud,” Chase says easily. “Gonna sparkle like a goddamn disco ball.”
Aiden snorts. “Can I watch?”
“No,” we both say in unison.
Chase gets his figure skates from Bernie, and we head downstairs to the big rink. Since the team has the night off, I was able to book this bigger space.
On the bench, Chase reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Coming over later? I asked Marnie to marinate a couple of steaks. I’ll grill ’em on the patio.”
“Yeah, but…” I reach down and remove his hand from my knee. “Not in this building.”
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I thought about you a lot for the last forty-eight hours.”
“Same,” I whisper. “I’d love to come over.” Steaks grilled on the terrace? It takes me back to snacks on the rooftop. I wonder if he has the same thought. “If you can promise me you’ll be well-behaved in this building.”
“I’ll be good,” he says, rising from the bench. “Until you tell me I can be very bad.”
A zing of electricity runs through me. But Chase heads out onto the ice and starts warming up with some crossovers and spirals.
“Let’s see a spin!” I call.
“Yes, Coach! Whatever you say, Coach!” He moves his strong arms into a T position and executes a tight upright spin.
It looks ridiculously good on his powerful body. The fans are going to foam at the mouth if we pull this off in time.
I join him on the ice and we warm up separately. I ease into it, not wanting to strain anything. It takes me longer to activate my body these days than it did when I was eighteen.
“All righty,” Chase says, skating up to me after a while. “Cue ’er up, Coach. Let’s just rip the Band-Aid off and try again.”
“Nope,” I say, working some deep lunges on both legs. “We’re not tackling ‘Wicked Game’ today. I have another plan.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What? Aren’t we running out of time?”
“Not just yet,” I say. “Let’s work on something else first—help me choreograph the final bow with all the players. I chose some music. We can listen to it while we do some crossovers together.”
“Yeah?” He looks intrigued. “Hit me.”
I skate over to the wall and wake up my phone and my speaker. After hitting play, I skate back to him while the gentle opening of Sia’s “Unstoppable” pours through the speakers.
Chase tilts his head, nodding along at my choice. “I like it,” he says as the song picks up steam. “Power move.”
I nod. “It’s got those winning-team vibes. And the rhythm of the chorus is unmistakable. It basically punches you over the head.”
“Agreed.” His chuckle is warm, and I feel it settle low in my stomach. “Okay, Ice Princess. Show me what you’ve got,” he says, holding out his hand, palm up.
Warmth spreads through me as I slide my fingers into his. His grip is steady, reassuring. For a moment, I just let myself experience the strength in his hand, the glide of my skates on the ice, and the way the music vibrates through the arena.
We ease into a crossover. The strong beat of the chorus kicks in, and before I even realize it, Chase and I are gliding backward in perfect sync, strokes carving clean arcs into the ice.
This. This is what skating is supposed to feel like.
“Hey, check us out!” Chase cackles. “We’re back.”
“Don’t get cocky yet.” I squeeze his hand and nod toward the far end of the rink. “C’mon, camel spins?”
“Sure.”
“You call it,” I offer as we curve toward the straightaway.
“Nah. You’re the boss, Ice Princess. At least when we’re on the ice.”
“All right. Brace yourself.” As the music pounds on, I squeeze his hand.
On the next beat, we separate and push off into side-by-side spins.
I can’t watch him much, because I’m spinning myself.
But I know he’s hit that sweet spot of centrifugal force and balance when he lets out a whoop that echoes through the rink. And we’re in sync again.
Chase is laughing as he slows to a stop. “Not bad,” he says, his confidence undimmed.
“True,” I agree, catching his hand again. “This might work after all.”
We loop the rink again, nice and easy. I call for a change of direction, and we pass each other smoothly and catch hands again. Like we’ve been doing this for years.
Chase’s powerful stride takes us halfway around the rink again at exhilarating speed. “Arabesque sequence?” he suggests, his voice daring.
“Somebody’s ambitious.”
“This is our comeback tour. Call it.”
When I squeeze his hand, we separate and he glides off on one leg, the same way I do. His form is unpolished but full of raw energy.
When the song ends, we come to a stop, both of us smiling. “Okay, Coach. Now what?”
I gesture for him to follow me toward center ice. “So, what can I make those hockey players do? You know them better than I do. How about a kickline?”
Chase shakes his head emphatically. “Too risky. If one goes down, they’ll be like falling dominoes.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “Fair point.”
“You can stick to hockey skills, but it will still look cool if they stay on the beat,” he says. “Like—two lines that cross and recross. And timed hockey stops, where they spray ice toward the crowd.”
“Yes!” I can see it. “Okay. I’m going to start the song again.”
“From the chorus,” he agrees.
I do it, and we fall into an easy rhythm, skating laps around the rink, brainstorming ideas.
And somehow it’s easy again. Just the two of us.