19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Merri Wylie nixed the power suit and rocked retro sunshine, but let’s be real.
Those dresses are just a small part of her fabulousness.
She’s got style, brains and a winning attitude.
She’s the complete package. And folks are noticing.
I saw you lookin’, Landon. Don’t think I didn’t! ~Penni’s Puckleberry Tea
Merri
Nat drove us back to the apartment complex.
We beelined for my door the instant she brought the car to a halt, jetting inside.
Nat flopped onto the couch, sinking into the slate gray cushions with a loud sigh.
I dumped my bag on the coffee table, kicked my shoes underneath and dropped to the floor beside the couch.
“I’ve never had more fun with more gorgeous—mostly blonde—people, but, man, am I whooped.” She grumbled into the yellow daisy throw pillow.
I smiled at her muffled but happy words. “Thanks for coming along, Nat. I’m sure spending your Saturday getting dunked in freezing water wasn’t exactly—”
“Oh no.” Nat rolled over, fixing me with that laser-focused stare that meant trouble. “Don’t you dare thank me for front-row seats to that show. The way Landon looked at you—”
“Stop.” The word came out sharper than intended. I smoothed my hands over my thighs, focusing on the rough texture of my jeans. “We’re not discussing how anyone looked at anyone.”
“You have a Shepherd Landon problem. Gorgeous, funny, sexy Shepherd Landon.”
“All that, huh?”
“All that and bulging muscles, too.”
The image of how the man filled out his wetsuit blasted through my mind and had me digging my fingers into the carpet beneath me. “Not really a problem.”
“We lie loudest when we lie to ourselves.”
My eyes popped wide and I slanted her a “you’re nuts” look. “You really need to stop memorizing Pinterest self-help quotes by made-up gurus.”
“They only make you squirm when they’re true.” She sing-songed, before rolling towards me, inspecting her nails and speaking in a deceptively incurious tone. “Merri.” Her voice softened. “He’s not Cale.”
The name hit like a body check, stealing my breath.
My fingers itched for Joonie’s familiar shape, for the calming blue spikes and yellow glasses that had gotten me through so many moments of panic.
I pressed my lips together, channeling my inner analyst. “No, he’s worse.
He’s a star player with a teenage daughter I knew nothing about until today. Talk about complications.”
“Since when do you run from complications? Complications are what make life interesting. Fun, even.”
I didn’t reply. Nat reached over, flipping the end of my hair with her thumb. “This isn’t about complications. This is about you running scared.”
“I’m not—” The protest died on my lips as memories of the Thunder video room flooded back—woodsy cologne, heated kisses, the solid wall of his chest pressed against mine. I swallowed roughly. “I’ve worked too hard to get here. The NHL isn’t like college hockey. One wrong move and I’m done.”
“One wrong move with the wrong person.” Nat shoved up to sit on my couch. “Cale was a self-centered jerk who used your affection to pump up his ego. Are we really putting Landon in that category? You think the resident golden boy needs help with his ego?”
“At first, Cale wasn’t.” I pulled my knees to my chest. “He was perfect while we were at Arvon. The dream boyfriend—until he made it to the NHL.”
As time passed, the cracks began to show.
After Mom died, I’d thrown myself into activity with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
Every waking moment filled with school, with graduating, with landing that coveted video coach position at Arvon.
Numbers didn’t hurt. Statistics didn’t leave gaps that ached to be filled.
He moved to another state, playing for the Rangers’ AHL team before quickly being called up to the big time.
I’d rationalized our missed calls and dwindling time together to the distance, to the busy schedules, to the impossible task of meshing two different hockey schedules.
I told myself his apparent disinterest actually stemmed from his need to succeed at the more competitive NHL level, a shift in focus, not disinterest.
Our second anniversary brought Cale’s team to play the Renegades.
I’d planned the perfect weekend—time off work, hotel booked, new dress that hugged every curve.
I’d arranged for a long weekend off and headed out to meet him after his game.
My texts about meeting after the game sat unread on his phone.
I ignored the warning signs, just like I’d been doing for months.
Since Mom died, I’d gotten good at lying to myself. Too good. Losing Cale felt impossible, so I made excuses. Relationships had rough patches. People grew, changed. Life threw challenges.
I pushed my lips together, remembering how I’d walked into that hotel bar. Hair perfect, new dress hugging every curve, ready to surprise him.
Instead, he surprised me.
Cale had his hands buried in some woman’s hair, kissing her like she was oxygen while she perched on the bar. His teammates whooped and hollered, treating their star player’s infidelity like a game-winning goal.
He’d made me look like a fool. Not just to him, but to his whole team. All those months of calling me his girlfriend while treating me like yesterday’s takeout dinner.
A wolf whistle pierced the air. Heads turned, elbows jabbed ribs, fingers pointed my way.
It was then I realized I’d not been the only one to plan a reunion.
Peppering the bar were friends I’d gone to school with, guys on the Arvon team I’d coached.
These guys knew me. Knew I was Cale’s girlfriend.
And not one of them cared that my heart was shattering on the hotel bar floor.
That night taught me two things: hockey players saw everything as a game, and my judgment needed serious recalibration.
“Not all guys are Cale level of dickish.” Nat’s words floated softly between us, laced with the understanding of long friendship.
“Doesn’t matter.” I yanked the elastic from my hair. “One, it’s against team rules. Two, he’s clearly not relationship material, given the surprise teenager. Three, did I mention it’s against the rules?”
“Come on, Mer. Nobody gets to his level without taking something seriously. And he stepped up for his daughter.”
“Pretty low bar there, Nat.”
“He matches your competitive streak. Makes you laugh. And looks at you like—”
I swatted her arm. “He likes living loud. Doesn’t make him boyfriend material.”
“Right. Against the rules.”
But we both knew the real reason. Cale had bruised my heart. Shep could shatter it completely. The way he ignored rules, pushed boundaries… No. The risk was too high.
The Renegades Public Relations Coordinator ambushed me as I left the office on my way to the dining hall on Monday.
“Ten minutes,” Melani Tremblay said, her voice breathless and harried as she scampered along in my wake. “Just give us ten minutes to film a piece for the Renegades Roundup.”
I stopped short. “Roundup?”
“Yes.” Melani smiled. Not enough to look like an actual human being or budge her Botoxed brows, but enough to coax me into entertaining her request. “We want to highlight your success in a male-dominated position. That play Coach praised? Perfect content.”
The familiar tightness squeezed my chest. I’d been so focused on navigating Shep-related anxiety, I’d forgotten this part of NHL life. The endless PR machine, always hunting for content. Always looking to turn everything, especially the league’s first female video coach, into engagement metrics.
“I’m not comfortable being the focus.” I pushed my lips together. “There are lots of women making strides in the NHL. We’re just doing our jobs.”
Her expression hardened. “It’s good exposure for the team. Quick and painless. Besides, people already love your content online.”
“My what?” The constriction around my chest tightened another notch, the fluorescent lights of the corridor suddenly too bright.
“Your fashion choices. Someone’s been posting your game-day arrivals, just like we do with the players’ suits.” She scrolled through her phone, perfectly manicured nail tapping the screen. “The engagement stats are incredible. It’s perfect timing for a Roundup feature.”
The acid burning up my throat tasted like the grapefruit water I’d been sipping all morning.
Strangers were taking my picture? Posting them for the world to see?
I was going to drown Nat in cherry Kool-Aid for keeping this secret.
No way my social butterfly bestie hadn’t known I’d been “discovered” by Renegades fans.
My fingers twitched, itching to hold my little Pop. Instead, I tightened my fingers around the leather strap of my bag.
The PR rep had a point. Maybe I could help other women thinking about making the jump to NHL careers. “Okay,” I managed through a tight smile. “Ten minutes.”
“Perfect! Meet me by the photo wall in ten.”
Melani spun on her heel, leaving me in a puff of expensive perfume and a chest nearly too tight to breathe. I spun on my own heel and retreated back to my office.
Joonie waited like a comforting friend and I scooped him up without a second’s hesitation. Instantly the constriction in my chest eased and the acid in my throat faded. I ran my thumb over his blue plastic hair and thought about what I’d just gotten myself into.
I’d done interviews at Arvon—with the school paper, but it counted!
I could do this. The opportunity was exhilarating—a chance to showcase my work, my passion for the dynamic sport, and potentially hook another woman into giving the NHL a chance.
But the exhilaration was tempered by the gnawing terror of subjecting myself to public opinion.
I’d never been one to hide away, but I also wasn’t one to wave my arms and holler “Look at me! Look at me!”
Suck it up, buttercup. I wanted to keep this gig, which meant playing well with others, including the PR department.