Chapter 12 - Reese
Reese
“I’m gonna need you to say something. Anything. Give me a sign of life, please.”
I bit my tongue and kept pacing, my sneakers squeaking on the linoleum every three paces when I would turn around to go back the way I’d come. Holly’s eyes tracked me, her hands steepled at her chin. She seemed oddly calm after what just happened but then again, that was her job.
Her most urgent concern was management’s reaction to that monumental fuck-up in the press room. For me, it was the look on Theo’s face when he hauled ass out of there. I’d never seen him that… scared, was the word that floated up. Although it didn’t quite fit.
“I can’t do anything until I know what I’m dealing with, Reese.”
I didn’t even know what I was dealing with. I wanted to talk to Theo. But also, I didn’t think I could bear to see him.
“This was a bad idea.” I said it more to myself than her. “All those cameras…”
“That’s what a presser is,” she replied. “You knew that going in.”
My feet stopped, and I looked at her. “They were all over him. Talking at the same time, thrusting their stupid mics and phones in his face. How is that okay?”
“It’s not,” she conceded, and dropped her gaze. “Which is why I called security as soon as things went sideways.”
“Yeah, well, it should’ve been called off,” I snapped, anger pushing up through all the other emotions vying for attention. “You shouldn’t have forced McAvoy and me to go through with it. To put on a show after Theo stormed out.”
She let out a long, controlled sigh. “That would’ve looked a lot worse.”
“Worse than what I said in there?” I flailed my arms in defeat, shoulders sagging. “I don’t even know what I said. I went blank.”
“You said the right thing. Mostly,” she replied, and leaned back in her chair. I hated how relaxed she seemed. Even if it was fake. I hated how she could fake it so easily. “But the presser’s over, and what we need to talk about now is management.”
“Fuck management.” I started pacing again. “No, seriously, fuck ‘em.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “And after we fuck them, what will we say to the question of their star defenseman’s fitness and your role in it?”
“My role?” This time when I stopped, it wasn’t out of anger. “You’re not saying they’re pinning this on me?”
That’s exactly what she was saying. It was written all over her face.
Bile burned the back of my throat. Because Theo was right. This was my responsibility, my job to keep our secret a secret.
“Answer me.”
Holly nodded. “They want to know why you sent in those reports declaring him fit to play when he clearly, well, wasn’t. You’ve put them in an uncomfortable position, which I’m sure you know. The Surge is gunning for the Cup this year.”
That goddamn cup. It had people in a blind frenzy, willing to risk their literal lives just to wave it over their heads.
An idea sparked in the back of my head. One that required me to keep using my shovel instead of handing it in.
“My reports were accurate.” I dug the hole deeper. Coming clean meant both Theo and I lost what we wanted most. Doubling down meant we both still had a chance of getting it. “His injury happened in Dallas.”
The surprise on Holly’s face was expected. “Game four?”
“Game four.” I held her gaze, determined not to show any sign of awkwardness or nerves. I’d been lying about this for so long, it wasn’t even that hard to do. “And the reason management didn’t know is because I haven’t done my reports for this leg of the round. We only landed a few hours ago.”
“So you’re saying Theo’s been fit to play this whole time?”
“Up to now, yes.” I approached her desk, leaning in to grip the edges. A closer look to make sure she believed me. So far, so good. “If you watch it back, you’ll see the hit he took in the second period. That’s all this is. He’ll be fine to play in three days.”
There was that word again. Fine…
He wasn’t fine. We weren’t fine. Nothing about this catastrophic shit show was fine.
But I plastered a smile on my face and let Holly make her little notes to take back to management, and as soon as I was cleared to go, I left.
I dropped my bags in the middle of my apartment and kicked off my shoes, letting them skid across the floor. My shoulders felt raw, knotted with plane turbulence, game intensity, and that fucking press conference. A shower was the only thing I had on my mind. That, and a stiff drink after.
Steam billowed out the second I twisted the faucet, the pipes coughing to life like they were just as overworked as I was. I peeled off my clothes without ceremony, letting each piece fall where it fell—onto the tiles, over the African violet blooming in the corner, across the damn sink.
The heat hit me in a rush, a blistering curtain straight into the knots at the base of my neck.
I braced my hands on the wall in front of me and let the spray pour over me until the worst parts of the day dissolved enough for me to breathe again.
The water stung too hot but I didn’t dare adjust the temp.
If anything, I welcomed the burn. Needed something honest after everything else.
I dropped my head and it sluiced down my back, mapped every ridge of tension like it was reading me more clearly than Holly or management ever could.
My shoulders throbbed with the ghost of the stress I’d been wearing since we landed, since the presser and Theo bolting out of that room like it was on fire.
A pulsing ache bloomed behind my sternum, unwelcome and persistent—
Nope. Not doing that.
I dragged a hand over my face as I came up for air, pushing soaked hair out of my eyes, and stood there until the tile stopped spinning and my heartbeat found something resembling normal. The water kept pounding down in scalding relief, and I kept taking it.
For a second, I thought I imagined the knock.
But then it came again, and I cursed under my breath.
I hadn’t even worked the conditioner through my hair yet.
I shut off the water, and yanked a towel from the hook, wrapping it tightly across my chest. Steam followed me out of the bathroom in thick waves as I padded down the hallway, still dripping onto the floorboards I kept telling myself I’d refinish someday.
Another knock. Impatient now.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, checking the cinch on the towel. My hair clung to my shoulders, water trailing down my spine in thin, traitorous lines.
I wrenched open the door, and caught my heart right before it lurched out of my throat.
Theo. Standing in my doorway. My gut pitched at the sight of him, and the glaring awareness of my semi-nudity.
Skin still pink from the shower, hair wet and curling against my neck, in nothing but a towel.
His gaze didn’t so much as flinch. It swept me head to toe, greedy and shameless, lingering long enough to make my pulse stutter.
Heat climbed up my neck, infuriating and uninvited.
I slammed my brain back online. “What do you want?”
The question seemed to shock him out of whatever stupor he was in, because he took a breath and pushed past me.
I shut the door harder than necessary. “Sure. Come on in. Not like I’m in the middle of anything.”
He ignored the bite in my tone and did a slow turn, taking in my apartment with a kind of baffled curiosity. “It’s so… girly.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a girl. Surprise, surprise.”
His gaze found me again, and my skin reacted before my brain caught up. “I’ve noticed.”
That did something to me. Something highly inappropriate and inconvenient. Especially while I was trying to be moody.
I lifted my chin. “My eyes are up here, hotshot.”
That snapped him out of it, and his expression shifted. Like someone had pressed the play button on the actual reason he’d come here for.
“I want you to stop lying for me.”
My brain stuttered. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “I can see what it’s doing to you. I’d rather take the heat than drag you down with me.”
“Did someone say something? What happened after you left? Are you okay?”
He raked a hand through his hair, pacing once, then stopping in the middle of my living room like he’d hit a wall. “I can’t keep letting you do this. I see what it’s doing to you. To your career. You’ve got so much to lose...”
My towel suddenly felt very insufficient. I folded my arms across my chest. “You came all the way here to tell me in person what could’ve gone in a text?”
“The lie ends now,” he said, decisive in that infuriating way he had when he thought he was doing the noble thing. “Let me handle the fallout from here. There’s no point in you getting sucked any deeper.”
I blinked at him. Shocked. Angry. Confused. And inexplicably wound tight in a way that made no goddamn sense.
My laugh was sharp, a cutting sound that pierced the pillowy shock I was in. “What the hell do you think it is we’ve been doing this whole time? You think there’s any deeper to get sucked? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Hopper—”
“Don’t ‘Hopper’ me.” I crossed the floor so I was right in his face. Well, if he weren’t more than a head taller than me, I would’ve been right in his face. “This is it, Bouchard. We can’t get any more fucked than this. It’s not something I can just… not do anymore, or whatever you’re suggesting.”
He backed up, immediately defensive. “I didn’t think you’d be this upset over it. I’m giving you an out.”
“And I’m telling you there is no out. Don’t you get it?” My palms were sweating, which made zero sense considering I was dripping wet in the middle of my drafty living room. “You think I can just walk away now? After every line I’ve crossed to keep you on the ice?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“That is the stupidest idea you’ve had to date,” I shot back. “And you’ve had some shockers.”
His jaw tightened and when our eyes met, his gaze was practically on fire. “Need I remind you that crossing all those lines was your idea? I just went along with it because it kept me in the game.”
The audacity. The perfect timing. The way he looked so damn good saying it.
“Get the hell out.” My voice came out steady, even though my pulse was anything but.
He blinked, stunned. “Just hear me out.”
“I don’t wanna hear anything from you.” I backed off, clutching my towel to make sure I was still covered. Because I suddenly felt more exposed than when I didn’t have it. “I said leave.”
He hesitated, looking like he might actually regret what he’d just said.
“You have to see where I’m coming from. You’ve been doing all this work, dealing with PR, management, covering my ass…
I just figured it’ll work better if you let me be the one taking all the hits. You don’t deserve to go down with me.”
I looked at him with a mix of incredulity and fury twisting in my stomach. “Oh, so now it’s your sacrifice? The noble knight in shining armor swooping in to save the day? How convenient.”
“Reese…” he tried again.
I staggered at the sound of my name on his lips. He’d never called me that before. Combined with the sincerity etched into his face, it was almost too much to bear.
But I beared it just long enough to repeat myself.
“Out. I mean it, Bouchard.”
He backed toward the door reluctantly, like each step cost him. He didn’t look away until the very last second, then slipped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him.
My apartment felt way too quiet after that.
I stormed back toward the bathroom, heart hammering, skin prickling with anger I had nowhere to put, and the residual heat from him lingering in the air like a curse I couldn’t break.
I was about to restart the shower when my phone rang, slicing through the adrenaline. I stomped back to the living room where I’d left it and snatched it up.
“What?”
“Uh, Hopper?” McAvoy’s gruff voice sounded over the line, and I cringed hard. He cleared his throat, although it didn’t help the rough edges to his tone. “It’s, uh, it’s Coach McAvoy. Sorry to call out of the blue like this.”
I reeled myself in with a deep breath. “Yea— Yes. Is everything okay?”
“I need to know what’s going on with Theo. No bullshit.” He certainly wasted no time after that hesitant start. Granted, I was the reason for that, barking into the phone the way I had.
I opened my mouth, started to back into the story I’d built with Holly, but he cut me off before I could say anything.
“And think carefully about what you’re gonna say now,” he said, and my stomach fell ten feet. “I just got out of a meeting with management. They want to protect our Cup dream, and they think the best way to do that is to trade Bouchard.”