Chapter 37 Middle of a Beehive
Middle of a Beehive
Darcy
August
Um, Darcy?”
I look up from my accounting textbook to find another sweaty nineteen-year-old standing in front of my desk.
I have a unit test tomorrow, so I’m not even supposed to be working today.
But the Legends’ development camp is in full swing, which means there are eighty entirely clueless young hockey players milling around our headquarters.
It’s like trying to study in the middle of a beehive, if the bees were all young minor leaguers vibrating with anxiety about their performance. They don’t know the schedule. They don’t read their emails. And they eat all the mini muffins in the players’ lounge.
I’m only here because my troll of a boss is feeling extra needy. So is the kid in front of me, apparently. Because he immediately starts talking and won’t stop.
“I hate to be that guy, but I’m literally not vibing with my roommate situation at all.
Like, it’s actually giving me the ick.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously.
“My roomie is lowkey toxic, no cap. Bro thinks he’s the main character of the dorm, but he’s actually just really mid.
He keeps me up all night playing video games, and his hygiene is questionable at best. It’s giving frat boy energy but not in a good way. ”
The kid leans forward slightly, his voice dropping.
“I tried to communicate with him about boundaries and stuff, but he just told me I was being extra. Like, sir, wanting to sleep before practice is not extra, it’s basic human needs, you know?
Honestly? I can’t perform when I’m running on zero sleep.
So if we both make the cut going into next week, could you, like, swap me with someone else in the chat? ”
Then another shadow looms over me. I look up, expecting to find yet another sweaty teenager with issues.
But nope. My stomach does a perfect backflip with a full twist, almost before I realize it’s Eric. He’s wearing a Legends T-shirt that can barely contain his muscular chest. And he’s tanner than the last time I saw him.
Even worse, his gray eyes are smiling at me, and now my brain is melting down. “Rookie,” he says sharply. “Are you giving Miss Kendrick a hard time?”
The kid turns, and his jaw drops. I guess I’m not the only one who has a strong reaction to Eric Tremaine. “Yo, Cap! I’ve been watching film of you since I was, like, twelve. You’re literally the blueprint. The way you read the ice? That’s just straight fire.”
The captain frowns. “Thanks, I think. But are you sure this isn’t a problem you can solve yourself?”
“Eric.” I hold up a hand to stop him from helping me. “It’s fine. You’re Calder, right? Jersey twenty-seven?” I shake my computer mouse and wake up the machine.
“That’s right, Dar…” He glances at Eric and then corrects himself. “… Miss Kendrick. I heard you’re the CEO of all this type shit.”
“Listen…” I find his entry in the binder.
“Zero sleep is definitely not the vibe when you’re trying to make the team.
Real talk, though? Room changes are kind of a nightmare logistically.
But you seem genuinely pressed about this, so here’s the tea—I’ve got exactly one open spot, but it’s with Petrov, and he’s intense about his sleep schedule.
Like, lights out at nine thirty or he gets feral. Can you vibe with that?”
Eric’s eyes widen. Then he smiles.
And the kid is ecstatic. “Yo, Miss Kendrick, you’re the GOAT for real. I owe you.”
He thanks me profusely again and stammers a few more compliments at Eric. Then he finally bounces off, leaving me alone with the man I’ve tried so hard to stop thinking about.
“Hello, Miss Kendrick,” he says, his voice a low scrape. “That was some excellent work there. Didn’t know you were multilingual.”
“It’s all part of the job, sir. Do you need something?”
He tilts his head, more curious than annoyed with my briskness. “Maybe. But let’s back up a sec. How are you?”
“Fine,” I say automatically. But it’s a damn lie.
I’ve spent the last three weeks trying not to wonder where he is or what he’s up to.
I’ve deliberately avoided social media, so I won’t have to see any pictures of him on Colorado mountaintops or burning marshmallows with other women.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt, because the regular part of training camp doesn’t start until next month, and I thought I had more time.
But here he is, all chiseled and sunshiny and looking down at me with an intensity that’s completely unnerving. “I always check in with the devo camp. Helps me remember what I’m up against.”
“Children,” I say firmly. “Every one of them is a stack of hormones in a trench coat.”
He smiles again, and a little more of my brain leaks out of my ears. “Exams?” He points at my textbook.
I look down at the chapter on inventory systems, and it might as well be written in Swahili. “Just a test. Exams are at the end of the month. Is there, um, something I can help you with?” Or are you just here to unsettle me?
“There is something,” he says, crossing his arms over that chest. It’s hard not to stare at it, now that I know how it feels against my naked body. “I need help finding my desk.”
“Your desk?” I’ve been asked to help find all kinds of things today, including a hotel room for somebody’s translator, a pharmacy, and a bus map. But this is a new one. “Did you try looking for it in your apartment?”
The corners of his mouth twitch, and even that destroys me by another degree.
“I meant here. When I first became captain, I was assigned a desk. In that row, maybe.” He points to the bullpen opposite my desk.
“But I don’t remember which one it was, and I can’t impose on someone else’s workspace.
Do you have a seating chart? If it’s not too much trouble. ”
“Um, sure.” I hop up out of my seat and find the right binder on the bookshelf. I don’t usually open this thing, but now that I have, I find that Eric is correct. One of the desks in the first row is marked Captain.
I raise my eyes to the spot and realize his desk is catty-corner to mine. If he actually sits there, only a few yards of industrial carpeting will separate us.
“Did you find it?” he asks.
“Yes.” Although it’s tempting to lie. “I think somebody stored some boxes on that one. We’ll have to move them. Come with me.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he says, following me over to the desk, which also contains a decommissioned fax machine. “You seem busy.”
“True, but I’m the one here who knows where to put all this stuff.”
That’s how I find myself spending half an hour sorting through boxes of old team programs with Eric. Just me, and Eric, and the scent of his cologne, and the quiet glances he gives me every few seconds.
“How was Colorado?” I ask, just to break the tension.
“The usual.” He shrugs. “Preseason training is a lot of muscle soreness and exhaustion. But working out at altitude gives me an edge over the youngsters.”
Most of them can’t hold a candle to him. But possibly I’m biased. “How is your mother doing?”
“Better, actually,” he says. “She finally went back to therapy.”
I look up at him and find his gray-eyed gaze waiting for me. “That’s great, Eric,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it?” He gives me a quick smile. “They’re both coming to our next game in Boston. That’s the plan, anyway. And how’s your family?”
“Fine, I guess,” I say grumpily. “Theo texted me for no reason at all the other day. Although Tessa has a brand-new reason to hate me. It slipped out that I knew about Dad’s health condition.”
Eric frowns. “And that’s bad because…?”
“Because he told me before her.” It sounds even stupider out loud than it does in my head. “So I won’t be hearing from her for a while. My father took it well, though. He actually apologized for putting me in that position.”
“As he should,” Eric says sternly.
“Yeah, well. He also told me he’d hired Tessa to work in his office.”
Eric snickers. “Wonder how long that will last.”
“Not my problem. Oh—and Maribel wrote me a really nice thank-you note.” It opened Dear sister-in-law, and I must have been in a fragile mood, because I almost cried. “You probably got one, too.”
“Probably. Haven’t read my mail in a while. Maybe I’ll do that at my new desk.” He throws the last of the old files into the recycling bin and dusts off his hands.
“What are you using this thing for?” I ask, plucking a spray bottle of cleaning fluid and a rag off the maintenance cart.
“I haven’t decided.” Eric takes the cleaning supplies from me before I can use them and does it himself. “I thought I could hold office hours. It’s an act of professionalism, you know? To make yourself available to your teammates at a set time.”
“Because you’re such a slacker now?” I step back and watch him work. “Office hours could work well for you, but only if you force them to stop calling you at midnight with their relationship drama.”
He stops to look at me. “Stop making so much sense, Kendrick. Maybe I’ll actually try that.”
“You should.” And now I have nothing better to do than watch the fascinating way the muscles of his upper arm flex as he squeezes the bottle and then wipes the surface.
Eric’s hotness isn’t really the problem, though. I buried my attraction to him for years and didn’t lose any sleep over it. The problem is the familiarity. The bone-deep memory of the scent of his skin and comfortable slide of his palm against mine when we held hands under the dinner table.
It’s going to be a long season.
My desk phone rings, which is helpful because it startles me out of staring at Eric. I grab the receiver. “This is Darcy Kendrick.”
“Miss Kendrick? This is Arlo at the security desk.”
“Yes?”
“Your mother is here.”
“Wait, really?” My mother has never shown up at my place of employment. Then again, I’ve been stonewalling her for a few weeks. Badly enough, I guess, for her to take the train in from Jersey to perform a wellness check.
“Well, her ID checks out. So does the red hair. Should I send her up?”