Chapter 31
Zaila
The next morning dawned bright and clear.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down my structured, boiled wool jacket.
It was the last item my mother and I had bought together, and the lovely, bold green complemented my black midi dress and pumps.
The woman staring back at me looked polished, professional… and overwhelmed.
Managing these events hadn’t bothered me before, so I didn’t understand where this anxiety had come from or why my mind refused to focus on the most basic of tasks. I bit my lip to keep it from quivering.
“You look beautiful,” Gunnar said, appearing behind me. His hands settled on my shoulders, warm and reassuring.
I met his eyes in the reflection. “Gunnar, I... I’m not sure how to act today. Around the team, the donors and media... Should we, I don’t know, keep things professional?”
Hurt flicked across his face before he schooled his features into a neutral expression. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. I won’t pressure you.” He gave me a brief squeeze before he pulled back—much too quickly.
“I just…don’t know when you plan to tell people about us, so…” I wished he’d wrap his arms around me, hold me tight, and refuse to let me go to this meeting.
“It’s on my agenda,” he said, his tone cooler than I wanted. “I plan to deal with it this week.”
“Plan to deal”…like a business transaction. Dread settled, low and noxious, in my belly as we headed to Gunnar’s car. The ride to the arena was quiet as the tension between us rose.
Gunnar squeezed my hand. “Ready?”
No. I wanted him to take me home. I longed to bury my face in his chest. I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice, and after a moment we stepped out into the arena, and all eyes turned toward us.
“Gunnar!” A statuesque blonde in sky-high heels rushed up to air-kiss his cheeks. “We’ve missed you! And who’s this little doll?”
I gritted my teeth even as I wilted under her scrutiny. Gunnar’s hand found the small of my back again, steadying me. Yet he removed it too quickly, and the feeling of falling returned.
“This is Zaila Monroe,” he said, his voice calm and professional—just like I’d asked for. So why did the distance make me feel so bad? “She’s been instrumental in organizing today’s event.”
The collected group’s smiles were polite, but I could see the questions in their eyes. Someone ushered us inside for the press conference before anyone could ask.
The next few hours passed in a blur of flashing cameras, microphones, and answers scripted by the PR department.
Gunnar was in his element, charming the reporters with his trademark wit and self-deprecating humor.
I stood to the side, clipboard clutched in my white, numb fingers, the perfect picture of an efficient assistant.
I hated every minute.
Sure, I was proud of Gunnar’s calm command of the room, but I longed to be by his side, acknowledged as more than just staff. Yet I’d placed myself in this role. I felt an ever-growing sense of isolation as I realized how impossible it felt to fit into Gunnar’s world.
As the press conference drew to a close, a reporter approached me. “So, Zaila, right? How long have you been working with Gunnar?”
I plastered on a smile. “Oh, just a few months. I’m still learning the ropes.”
She nodded, her eyes sharp. “Must be exciting, working with him. He’s quite the catch, you know.”
Before I could formulate a response, Gunnar appeared at my side. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse us. Zaila and I have some last-minute details to go over before the challenge.”
He guided me away, and as soon as we were out of earshot, he leaned in close. “You okay? You looked like you needed rescuing.”
I laughed, but it turned into a sigh. “My hero. Thanks for the save.”
Gunnar’s eyes searched my face. “Z, if this is too much—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I’m fine. Really. Just adjusting. Everything…everything is harder.” My voice broke.
“Yeah, I get that. If you need to step back—”
“Don’t give me that out,” I whispered. “I… I’ll take it, and then I’ll loathe myself for taking it.”
He nodded, but I could see concern in his eyes.
“Time for you to suit up,” I said, managing a smile.
Gunnar closed his eyes and sighed before turned toward the locker room for final preparations. As he went, I felt adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
I headed for the ice and found the arena buzzing.
Fans had turned out in droves. So many, in fact, that we’d sold out the event.
I chuckled at the homemade Gunnar the Goalie signs I saw around the seats.
I strapped on my headset, and as Gunnar waddled onto the ice in full goalie gear, the crowd erupted in cheers and laughter.
“All right, folks,” I announced, my voice echoing through the arena, thanks to my mic. “It’s time to see if our fearless leader can stop a puck as well as he can run a hockey team!”
The players lined up, each taking a turn firing shots at Gunnar. To everyone’s surprise, Gunnar made nearly as many saves as the team’s regular goalie, earning him heartfelt roars and high-pitched whistles of appreciation.
I couldn’t stop smiling, and now on familiar turf, I felt more at ease.
My hot man had the juice, and I was all over him showing off.
I turned to the camera, offering a mischievous grin for the sake of social media.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.
Thanks to your votes, the player taking the last shot on Gunnar the Goalie is—drum roll, please. .. Luka ‘The Sniper’ Stol!”
The crowd went wild as Luka, the team’s star forward, skated to center ice. I braced myself, trying to look confident despite a flash of worry. Please don’t break any of his bones, Stolly. Or any teeth. Or anything...
Luka wound up, his stick a blur as he unleashed a blistering slap shot.
Time seemed to slow as the puck hurtled towards the net.
Gunnar threw himself to the left, and by some miracle, his glove shot out at the last second, snagging the puck mid-air.
The arena exploded in cheers as Gunnar lay sprawled on the ice, the puck clutched in his glove.
I rushed onto the ice, my device still broadcasting. “I can’t believe it, folks! Gunnar the Goalie has done the impossible!”
As the players helped Gunnar to his feet, I felt a surge of pride. The way this event had brought the team and the fans together, this was what I’d wanted to achieve—okay, and maybe a bit of personal glory.
But even as I cheered, a part of me felt separate. Paloma and Vivian greeted me, bringing me into their group, just as they always did, but I remained detached. Nothing made sense, and if I stopped to think for even a moment, all I wanted was to leave.
That scared me more than anything else, because from the moment I’d learned about this position, I’d been so excited—not just to experience the sport live, but to live out a dream I’d shared with my father. Now it seemed lost, just as I was lost.
As the final buzzer sounded, marking the end of the challenge, the arena erupted in applause.
Gunnar raised his stick in salute, his face flushed with exertion and joy.
He lifted his head to where I stood near the ice, and our eyes met.
He smiled, raising his hand to his lips, but his teammates mobbed him, and he was swept up in a sea of congratulations.
I was left wondering what he’d been about to do. A part of me didn’t care.
“Come on,” Vivian said, smiling. “Let’s get down to the locker room so you can congratulate your man.”
I smiled and nodded, though all I wanted was to disappear. I caught a brief glimpse of Paloma’s frown and Ida Jane’s concerned expression before Vivian whisked me away.
Gunnar pulled me into his arms the moment he walked out of the locker room, and I melted against him.
He smelled fresh and clean, and his eyes danced with excitement.
“That was even more fun than I’d hoped it would be,” he said as he nuzzled his nose into my hair. “Thank you for setting it up, Zaila.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling.
He studied me for a long moment—long enough that I dropped my gaze. “Are you tired? Want to head home?”
I did, more than anything, but I didn’t want to dim his joy. Gunnar rarely shared his emotions with the Wildcatters, and I wanted them to learn what a fantastic man he was.
“Of course not. We have a party to go to,” I said, forcing a smile. I was pretty sure I failed, though, because Gunnar’s expression dimmed.
“Let’s go,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Hey, Z,” Jeff called, waving as he and Jay walked by. I stiffened, not at all interested in talking to the self-centered man who’d gone out of his way to ruin his standing in the community and my pleasure in my job.
Gunnar wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me away. “He seems friendly.”
“I suppose.” I said. “I know it’s my job to work with him, but I just…I don’t—”
“I’ll talk to Jay tomorrow,” Gunnar said. “I’ve been meaning to do that.”
I stopped walking and faced him. “Don’t. Please don’t get involved, because that undermines my position with the team. While I don’t care for Jeff personally, I can deal with him. And I need to. Myself.”
Gunnar pressed his lips into a tight, unyielding line. “Fine.”
I sighed. “Thanks. Now, about your party…”
“It’s not my party.”
I giggled. “Oh, you ridiculous man. Of course this is your party! Now, let’s get you to it.”
By the time we arrived at the upscale bistro Jay had rented for the occasion, the after-party was in full swing.
Music pounded, and laughter filled the air as people sipped a wide range of beverages.
The moment we strolled in, the players hailed Gunnar, and he disappeared towards the bar to hold court as the group hung on his every word. He waved me over, but I hesitated.
The reporter from earlier, a young woman named Melissa, sidled up to me.
Tim had confided that he didn’t like her, nor did Keelie, because she’d written a piece about how Cormac was past his prime.
But Melissa and Jeff seemed to get along well, and Jay called her first when he wanted to increase visibility for a story.
While there was no accounting for preferences, I was pretty sure Melissa’s camaraderie with the people who made me uncomfortable told me everything I needed to know.
“Quite a turnout, huh?” she said. “The Catters really know how to throw a party.”
I nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Wildcatters. The complete name matters because it’s an oil expression—”
“I don’t really care about that.” Melissa’s manicured hand found my arm. “Listen, honey. A word of advice? Don’t get too attached to the big boss man. Men like Gunnar... They’re not the settling-down type. Trust me, I’ve seen it before, ad nauseum.”
My stomach clenched because I was beginning to fear she was right.
The moment we’d stepped out of our bubble in Sweden, Gunnar had seemed to cool to the idea of announcing our relationship.
He hadn’t pushed back at all when I’d asked earlier if I should keep it professional between us.
I’d so hoped he’d tell me no, that he’d already sent out a press release.
But he hadn’t. And now I felt like a flag whipping in the wind, unsure where my emotions would flit next.
The instability made me long for my mother, and a wave of grief gripped my chest.
Nothing felt right. I made my way to a quiet corner with a glass of wine I had no intention of drinking.
Gunnar still held court, laughing and joking with Cormac and Stolly now.
I leaned against the wall, feeling like an imposter.
Was I just a little orphan girl playing dress-up in a world where I didn’t belong?
As the night wore on, the doubts I’d been pushing aside since we left Sweden grew louder. What were Gunnar and I doing? How could this possibly work? He was a team owner and also an athlete who still had enough talent to compete against his own first line. And I was...an intern with a crush.
I startled, hating that line of thought.
It wasn’t true—I knew that. I tried to remember how I’d felt in Sweden.
But I’d felt so alone since my parents died.
After losing my mother, I was…adrift. I wanted to clutch tightly to Gunnar, and I believed he did love me, yet I worried I was too clingy. Too needy.
I set down my untouched wine and slipped out onto the balcony. The night air was warm, heavy with the scent of jasmine. In the distance, the Houston skyline glittered, beautiful and indifferent.
“There you are.”
I turned to find Gunnar in the doorway, his tie loosened, hair slightly mussed. He looked so handsome, so out of my league.
“Splendid party,” I noted.
He came to stand beside me, his arm brushing mine. “It would be if you were inside enjoying it.”
I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I’m just taking a breather.”
Gunnar’s hand found mine, intertwining our fingers. “Z, talk to me. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
I took a deep breath, the words I’d been holding back all day threatening to spill out. But looking at him—this man I’d fallen for so completely—I couldn’t bring myself to voice my doubts.
I wasn’t strong enough to stand without him.
Not with my mother’s death still so fresh.
Anger and self-loathing twisted in my gut, and I struggled to breathe normally.
I’d become the very thing my father had worked tirelessly to prevent.
I was a woman who needed a man to help her through this world. I wasn’t strong enough to stand alone.
Not yet…
Soon. I would take the next necessary step soon, but not yet.
I forced a smile. “Just overwhelmed, I guess. It’s been a long day.”
Gunnar studied me, his blue eyes searching. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. But remember, Zaila, you can talk to me. About anything.”
As he pulled me into a hug, I buried my nose in his chest and breathed in his familiar cologne. I wanted to believe him, wanted to pour out all my fears and insecurities.
But standing here, surrounded by the glittering trappings of Gunnar’s world, I’d never felt lonelier.