26. Chord
twenty-six
Chord
63 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
My San Francisco Fury teammates are due to arrive at Silver Leaf at ten a.m., but Coach Campbell pulls up to the house half an hour early. I greet him on the porch with an outstretched hand.
“Wasn’t sure we were going to make this happen,” he says with a wry look.
I might have to go along with this whole training-and-bonding-at-my-place plan, but I don’t have to like it. And this close to retirement, I’ve earned the right to not have to pretend. It’s taken three weeks to set this up, and the delays have all been mine, but I don’t rise to Coach’s bait.
Instead, I shake his hand and hold the front door open. “You’re the coach, right?”
He huffs out a dry laugh. “Good to know you don’t need another reminder.”
I lead him through the house to the kitchen and gesture toward the stools tucked under the island. “Coffee?”
“Please.” Coach pulls out a chair and takes a seat, then braids his fingers and sets them on the marble top. It’s his serious pose, and I remember it from our early Tampa days. “Look, Chord. I know we got off to a rocky start at the meeting earlier this month, but I meant what I said about bonding with the team before the season starts. You’re a good captain, and you’ve got the potential to be great, if…”
He punctuates the sentence with a meaningful look. We both know what went wrong last season and if it were anyone else, I’d change the subject right about now. But this is Bobby Campbell. I wouldn’t say he raised me—my mom and dad did that—but I was only a teenager when I was drafted to Tampa, and eighteen was too young for me to be out in the world without a solid, dependable presence in my life. Campbell was that person and the fact he’s sitting in my kitchen now conjures a forgotten, dormant drive to make him proud.
I blink away the picture of my father on the empty chair beside Coach—two giants of my early career who believed I could do anything. I’m not sure if sixteen years of experience and screw-ups make me remember those early days with more fondness than they deserve, but whatever this feeling is in my chest, it makes it easier to talk.
I slide a mug of coffee in his direction. “Do you know what it feels like to find out the woman you’ve been dating for a year has been cheating on you with the guy traded to your team to replace you?”
Coach shakes his head and wraps his hands around the steaming cup. “You don’t know he was there to replace you.”
I raise one brow. “I’m pretty but I’m not stupid, Coach. Spencer Cook’s stats mirror my own at his age. He’s an asshole but he’s a strong player, and he’s got a solid seven years left in him—at least. He’s going to spend that winning games.”
Coach grimaces but nods.
“Emma was screwing him for months before I got word of it, and at least three of my boys knew about it. I was their captain, and they didn’t say a fucking word.”
He raises his eyes before lifting his chin, blinking at the heat in my voice before dropping his shoulders with a sigh.
“I’m sorry Calgary let you go. I’m sorry things ended the way they did. But you had four good years at Tampa before you were traded, and the first half of your contract with Calgary was stellar. Then you got hard and, yeah, you got hurt, but I’d hate to see pain and rage be the only things you bring with you to the Fury.”
I set down my coffee and release a heavy breath. “If you’re asking me to forget it ever happened, you’re asking too much.”
“I’m not asking you to forget. I know that fire is going to be the fuel we need to carry us to the championship. I know anger will serve us on the ice. I’m just asking you to apply it the right way and at the right times. I’m proud of the team we’ve put together this year, but it won’t work if you’re not putting your captaincy above your personal problems.”
“Meaning?”
“These aren’t the boys who screwed you over, Chord, and they deserve your trust until proved otherwise. It may seem like I’m asking a lot for you to give them a chance, but the truth is we’re not going to win shit if you’re not leading them the way you should.”
“And what way is that?”
Coach shrugs one shoulder and lifts his cup. “From the heart.”
“Chord, I— Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t know you weren’t alone.”
Coach and I turn toward the sound of Violet’s voice. She hovers between the kitchen and the hallway, clutching her tablet to her chest and obviously unsure if she should interrupt. Her neck is a little flushed, and it reminds me of how she looked last night in her bed.
She let me touch her again, and she came a lot quicker this time, then we snuggled after, and I slept like a freaking baby.
That makes it three nights in a row. A fucking hat trick.
“Violet!” Coach gets to his feet and offers her his hand. “Nice to see you again.”
Violet spares me a quick glance as she hurries in to shake Coach’s hand. Pretty color tints her cheeks, and I’d bet half of this season’s salary that she’s thinking about last night, too.
“It’s good to see you too, Coach,” she says, “but I can come back later if you two need more time to talk?”
“No need for that.” Coach nods at the tablet in her hands. “Is that the schedule for today?”
“It is. Yes.”
She offers him the device, and he takes it, casting an eye over the screen. “Pool. Track. Gym. Rehab.” He hands it back with an approving nod. “The assistant coach and I have divided the team into first, second, third, and fourth lines, and you’ll rotate through stations. Chord, you’ll spend most of the day with Hayden Shore, Theo Reed, Jake Wilde, Max Breaker, and Weston Payne.”
I know them all by name, I’ve looked at their stats, and I’ve studied their form. All good players, but I’ve got no idea if they’re good guys.
I grunt, which earns me a sharp look, so I smooth my features. “Fine.”
“I was just coming in to let Chord know that the physiotherapists are all set up in the pool house,” Violet adds, “and the restaurant is on track to deliver the special menu for lunch, so we’re good to start as soon as everyone arrives.”
Coach claps his hands, then rubs his palms together. “Fantastic. Thanks, Violet.” He looks at me but tips his head Violet’s way. “This woman is worth her weight in gold, you know. She’s done all the work to get everything set up for today. Made my life a hell of a lot easier.”
Violet drops her eyes, uncomfortable with the attention and the praise, and I fight the urge to lift her chin and remind her to keep her eyes up. But she must feel the press of my gaze because she raises her head and subtly rolls back her shoulders.
“You’re welcome, Coach,” she says.
He replies with a firm nod. “Now, I wouldn’t mind a quick look around the place before the team arrives. Chord?”
It takes effort to tear my eyes away from Violet, but I manage it—just. “Let’s do it.”
I transfer our empty coffee cups to the sink, round the counter, and slide open the back door. At my gesture, Coach walks through, but I pause before following him so I can get a moment alone with Violet.
Thanks to the pictures all over social media, our involvement is hardly a secret. It’s not defined either, I remind myself with a hint of regret as I recall our conversation on the front porch, but it’s not something we need to hide. That said, today is a workday for both of us, and I don’t want to do anything that might put Violet’s professional reputation at risk.
“I won’t see you much today,” I tell her, skimming my fingertips down her arm and then loosely twining my fingers in hers.
She bites her lip to stop a smile. “But I’ll see plenty of you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mm-hm. Coach has asked me to hang around in case anyone needs anything.”
I frown. “That’s not your job, and you don’t have to do that. I’ll talk to him.”
She chuckles lightly. “It’s hardly work to spend the day watching a team of professional ice hockey players get all hot and sweaty. I’ll just… hover. Nobody will even know I’m there.”
“Hm.”
I like the sparkle of mischief in her chestnut eyes. There’s a lightness in her expression that wasn’t there before, and I assume it’s because her dad is on the property, eliminating the worry she’s kept to herself all these weeks. Of course, there’s an equal chance that Violet’s relaxed mood is the direct result of my magic fingers. I cast a quick look outside to check on Coach—he’s already halfway to the pool house—then give Violet a quick pinch on the ass.
“You better be looking at one of those hockey players and one only,” I warn, and her grin grows wider.
It’s a joke—mostly—but after the conversation I just had with Coach, it makes me think about my ex, Emma, and how it felt to have my girlfriend cheat on me.
We’d been dating for a year when I found out about her and Cook. It was a blow to my ego, but I wasn’t surprised. We might have had feelings for each other early on, but over time, our relationship became one of convenience, not depth. Emma was a social climber: in it for the money, the cars, the travel, the notoriety of dating the NHL’s most controversial player. I was done with sleeping around and too focused on hockey to care that Emma was like most other women I’d dated in the past.
Sticking with one woman was supposed to be less of a distraction than hooking up with many, and it was probably true, but it didn’t equal love. When Emma finally admitted to having an affair, she was already halfway out the door.
Anyone would think I have trust issues after everything I’ve been through but with Violet in my arms, looking at me the way she is, I’m stunned by one revelation: I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust her.
Emma might have caused me a shitload of trouble but thank God she didn’t have the power to break my heart. I must have known even then to never let her close enough to try.
My last session for the day is cool down in the gym, and when I’m finished with the stretches prescribed by the physiotherapist, I find a foam roller and set myself up on a mat near the door. Beside me, left winger Hayden is on his back, wincing and sweating on his own roller as he pushes through a series of lat releases.
The energy between me and the guys today has been dry—not hostile, but not what anyone would call friendly—and Coach has given me enough side eye to start a fucking fire. But I’ve spent almost a year actively shutting people out, and I wasn’t exactly approachable for a long time before that. One day of team building and training isn’t going to make these boys family. But I am thinking about what Campbell said. I need to put the anger and the resentment where it’ll do the most good, and that’s on the ice. It doesn’t belong inside the team I’m supposed to lead to the Cup.
There’s just one big fucking problem. I’ve earned my reputation as a cold, distant asshole, and it’s not the kind of status I can erase in one afternoon.
I lower myself to the floor, arrange the foam roller under my pelvis, brace myself on my elbows, and rock in a thrusting motion that loosens my hip flexors. It hurts in a good way, and I lose myself in the steady rhythm of rolling back and forth.
“Oh, my.”
I suppress a smirk at Violet’s version of a curse, lifting my head just enough to take in her boots before running my eyes up her bare legs, over her denim cut-offs, and across her vintage Metallica tee. I know I’m supposed to be on my best behavior today, but I can’t fight my shit-eating grin when I see her wide eyes pasted to my rocking ass. I slow the movement down a little, pressing harder into the foam and clenching my glutes, and watch with amusement as her eyes follow the thrust of my hips, her pink tongue darting out to swipe her bottom lip.
“Hey, Wallflower.” I cock an eyebrow as her eyes dart from my ass to my face. “Do you need me?”
“Oh, I, uh…” Violet clears her throat as her cheeks brighten and she looks around the room, eyes bouncing from man to man before she finds a spot on the floor to stare at. “I’m here to let Coach know that the post-training food and drinks have arrived, and according to the schedule, it’s almost time to wrap up.”
I roll off the foam tube and jump up. “Great. Thanks.”
Beside me, Hayden groans as he climbs to his feet, rolling his shoulders as he tests the muscles in his back. “Jesus Christ, Davenport. When did you learn how to smile? Give a guy a little warning before you grin like that. It’s fucking unnatural.”
I scowl at him—hard—but Violet rolls her lips like she knows she’s the reason for my good mood, and it’s hard to keep the frown on my face.
“You’re a riot, Shore,” I mutter.
He gives me a wide smile. “Fuck, yeah, I am. Wait until you hear my knock-knock jokes.”
I roll my eyes but gesture toward Violet. “Hayden—this is Violet James. She’s with the Fury marketing team and my summer assistant. Violet—this is Hayden Shore. Left winger and funny man, apparently.”
Violet offers him a shy smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too, Violet. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a sweaty mess.”
“Oh, of course. No problem.”
Coach makes his way over from the side of the room. “Are we cooling down over here or having a tea party?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your session, Coach, but the post-training menu is on the dining table,” Violet replies. “I’ve let the other groups know it’s time to call it a day, and this is my last stop.”
Coach raises his palms and gives her a mea culpa face. “I take back the tea party comment, Violet. Thanks for letting us know and for all your assistance today. You’ve been a lifesaver.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Violet shoots me a short, warm look from underneath her thick lashes before she slips out the door, and I stare at the spot where she disappeared, wishing the house were empty so I could chase her down the hallway, pin her against the wall, and kiss her senseless.
“You heard her,” Coach bellows as Theo, Jake, Breaker, and West drop to their mats in varied states of pain and exhaustion. “Wrap it up and hit the showers. I’ll see you all in the kitchen in fifteen minutes.”
Hayden waggles his brows at me as he makes his way to the bathroom attached to the gym, and I shake my head with reluctant amusement. Hayden’s another new trade for this season. He’s in his late twenties, so he’s old enough to know a thing or two, but still young enough to be having fun. A fantastic player waiting for the chance to prove himself.
Coach hangs back as the other boys follow Hayden. West approaches first, and he surprises me with a handshake as he passes. I return his firm grip and respectful nod, and I appreciate the acknowledgment that passes between us. West has been in the game for ten years as a solid and dependable defenseman, but he’s flown under the radar for most of his career. Recently divorced, if I remember right, but I’m probably wrong. I don’t listen to rumors.
Theo, Jake, and Breaker line up like fucking puppies once West clears the door, jostling each other and shaking my hand with about half the level of West’s maturity. Their young, objectively pretty faces should piss me off—guys at the start of their careers, their best years still to come—and a year ago, they probably would have. But their energy is less irritating and more inspiring right now, and fuck if I know why.
When it’s just Coach and I left in the gym, he stops me from walking out with a hand on my shoulder. His brows are drawn and his mouth is turned down, and my stomach tightens at the dissatisfaction painted on his face.
“I know, you need me to be better. Friendlier.” I shake my head with an uncomfortable grunt. “I’ll work on it for next time.”
His brows pull tighter. “If I’m honest, Chord, today went better than I thought it would. Not perfect, and we can talk about how to improve before the next session, but that’s not what I want to discuss.”
I rub my neck, working at a kink that probably needs a professional touch. “It’s not?”
“No.” Coach crosses his arms over his barrel chest. “I got a call from Courtney Reynolds this afternoon.”
I want to ask him why I should care, but I’m supposed to behave less like a prick, not more, so I settle for something more neutral. “Okay.”
“She says you declined to attend the San Francisco Fury Foundation gala later this month.”
I blink in surprise. “This is the first I’ve heard about a gala.”
“So, you didn’t RSVP no to the event?”
“No. I mean…” With sudden insight, I realize Violet must have declined on my behalf, just following my instructions to keep me out of the way of the press for the summer. I pinch a bead of sweat from my nose to hide my chagrin. “Actually, yeah. I probably did. I told Violet to decline all my invitations over the off-season. I don’t want to deal with cameras and questions before October.”
He gives me a flat look. “Not going to fly, Davenport, and you know it. Not for the biggest fundraiser on the Foundation’s calendar.”
“I know,” I grumble, already irritated at the thought of putting on a tux and smiling for the goddamn media packs.
“Good. It’s a red carpet affair. Black tie. Classy. We’ve asked the entire roster to do their best to be there. The coaching staff too. Everyone from HQ. There’s an impressive legacy guest list. It’s a big deal, made even bigger because you’re our new captain, and with our line-up, we’ve got a real shot of making it all the way.”
Coach tilts his head to one side like he’s sizing me up, and I stand a little straighter. “I know you don’t want to smile for cameras,” he says. “I know you don’t want to answer questions about Calgary. I know you just want to play but we need you front and center everywhere, not only in the arena, and take it from me: next year will be a lot easier if you make peace with this part of the job. Consider the gala just another way to start fresh, okay?”
I give him a short nod. I know he’s right, but I wish he wasn’t.
He claps me on the shoulder. “Good. And here’s a wild idea: why don’t you bring a date? The invitation includes a plus one and it’s got the potential to be a great night. Maybe walking into that room with someone by your side will make the whole concept a little more appealing, eh?”
My thoughts dart straight to Violet, and the idea of that beautiful woman on my arm for an entire night—showing her off, dancing with her, telling everyone she’s mine—really does change the way I think about things. It also gives me an idea, and suddenly dressing up and smiling for the cameras doesn’t sound like a bad idea after all.