Chapter 6 Cassie
Cassie
“Let me get this straight. Your boss is making you babysit Cole Taylor for the rest of the season?”
My roommate Britt flips her braids out of the way as she leans over a scuffed-up chopping board on the kitchen counter. Her knife is a blur as she expertly chops up a pepper for a dish on the stove, apparently a twist on a Caribbean dish her grandma taught her.
Britt and I became best friends in high school here in Boston.
She went to culinary school, I studied sports management, and after college we moved in together.
Our apartment is a little rundown, but we’ve made it into something cozy.
It’s full of candles, cheap but pretty art prints, and brightly colored throw cushions.
Britt's gorgeous (flawless brown skin, dark eyes that men seem to fall right into), sarcastic as hell, and is usually in some kind of situationship with one of the fellow chefs at her restaurant.
“Yep,” I confirm, from where I’m sitting on the floor in front of a cardboard box. My mom is moving, and I’m slowly unpacking all the boxes of memories that I moved out of my childhood bedroom. “Rick’s orders. I have to go to all his games, practices, and team obligations. Everything, basically.”
That’s the plan, at least. But Cole is already making it difficult. I’ve been texting him so we can meet up and discuss the plan for the season. With no reply so far.
I rattle off another text as Britt keeps chopping a mile a minute.
CASSIE
You have to reply to me at some point.
At least I hope he does. I don’t know what my follow-up move is going to be if he just ghosts me forever.
I pause, then add a smiley face emoji for emphasis. Partly because I know that will probably irritate him even more.
“Well, does Cole live up to the hype at least?” Britt asks.
“He’s an All-Star goalie. He’s basically the best in the league. The team would be crazy to trade him if he weren’t such a colossal headache to deal with. Management doesn’t want a wildcard who could cause drama between teammates during a playoff push.”
Though Britt is from Boston, she somehow avoided becoming a sports fan. She observes the rabid intensity of the city’s sports culture with a confused sort of anthropological interest. She respects what I do for a living, but she doesn’t pretend to follow hockey.
“No, I meant, like… was he as hot up close as you always imagined?”
A flush rises on my cheeks. “He’s my boss’s client. I’m not allowed to even acknowledge that he’s good-looking.” Or his deep, gravelly voice. Or how his hand felt wrapped around mine when he shook it. "Anyway, you know I can’t stand him.”
Britt raises her eyebrows disbelievingly at me. “Cassie, babe, I was there in high school. I saw the posters in your bedroom. I remember when he joined the league, and you became obsessed—”
I scoff, trying very hard to be outraged. “I wasn’t obsessed. That’s a total exaggeration of the facts.”
“All the other girls in our grade were in love with Harry Styles, and you couldn’t shut up about the save percentage of this rookie goalie. That’s obsession. Pure and simple.”
“Okay, well,” I sputter, “that’s ancient history, remember? I met him in person five years ago, discovered he was a jerk, and moved on with my life.”
The memory barges back into my head. I had just started working at Legacy Sports as an assistant. At an agency party, I saw Cole across the crowd. I swallowed down all my nerves and introduced myself to him.
I’d been face to face with attractive athletes before. But being in Cole’s presence made me dizzy, and I’m not too proud to admit it.
I put on my most professional smile, told him I was a big fan, and that I was excited to be starting a career where I get to help athletes achieve greatness.
He made a dry, joking comment about how most agents only care about money.
It caught me off-guard, but I told him I wouldn’t end up like that because I truly believe in my principles.
Cole politely nodded, but when I walked away… I heard him over my shoulder, muttering to the player next to him.
She won’t last six months. This business eats people like her alive.
I had stood rooted to the spot, the words ringing in my ears, feeling like my insides had been scooped out.
As a fan of Cole, it crushed me into little pieces. But as an aspiring agent, it just lit a fire within me to work harder and, more importantly, to never give up my personal philosophy.
Kindness over becoming cutthroat. Care over becoming blinded by money. And never, ever let yourself become cynical.
“I mean…” Britt pauses her chopping. “Yes, he was a big jerk for doubting you. You’re still here, and you proved him wrong.
But maybe he wasn’t judging you? Maybe he was saying it sucks that sports are so ruthless and revenue-obsessed.
You say it yourself all the time that most agents see empathy as a weakness. ”
I fold my arms. Maybe Britt has a point. But that is not what I want to hear right now. “I’m being forced to supervise this guy all season and you’re defending him?”
She flashes a grin. “I’m simply asking questions. You know, as a third-party neutral observer who’s really smart and wise. Another question: does he know about your little crush yet?”
“Oh my god, no.” I feel a rush of cold horror at the idea of him ever discovering that. “And he never will. Never. Never ever.”
“Three nevers. Wow, you’ve got me convinced.”
The apartment buzzer rings, practically rattling the rickety walls. “That must be my mom,” I say, rising to my feet. “She’s dropping off some more stuff from her apartment before she moves to her new apartment.”
“Tanya’s here?” Britt perks up. “Yay, I love Tanya.”
“You love ganging up on me with her.”
“Exactly,” she grins. “Plus she makes a mean margarita.”
“She’s been a bartender my whole life. She better make a mean margarita.”
I love my mom too. Fiercely. Maybe it’s something about being the only child of a single mom, but we’ve always been the best of friends. She’s a total warrior who raised me on her own and instilled in me all of my peppy optimism.
She’s also a total party girl flirt, which is a gene that missed me. Completely. The last date I went on was a year and a half ago. Who needs a personal life when you have a corporate ladder to fight your way up?
“Hey ladies!” my mom yells when I open the door.
She’s carrying a cardboard box, her head sticking out over the top.
She dumps it by the bookcase, revealing her leopard-print top and hot pink leggings.
My mother has never met a pattern or color combo that intimidated her.
Who can blame her? She looks fabulous. She’s always trying to get me to trade my pencil skirts and blouses for something sexier.
She pulls me into a tight hug. “Hey, Mom,” I murmur into her shoulder, smelling her sugary drugstore perfume.
Immediately, I feel some of the tension drain from me.
Forging my path at work might be a headache, but things feel so much better when I have the two best ladies in my life in the same room. “Thanks for bringing that over.”
“Hey, Tanya!” Britt hugs her too. “How’s life?”
“Oh, you know me,” my mom says with a wink. “I have three dates this week. And then I have a girls’ trip with my old bartending friends to Vermont next weekend. We’re going to get wine drunk at a log cabin and read dirty romance novels.”
Britt reaches out and touches my mom’s arm, very serious. “You’re my hero, Tanya. That’s everything I want in life. Actually, maybe I could just come too?”
I swat Britt’s hand, laughing. “No hanging out with my mom without me. Let her drink with her ladies in peace.”
“Speaking of drinking,” my mom says, “which of you girls wants a spicy marg?”
“Me!” Britt yells, her hand shooting up.
The two of them get to work on the margs, while I walk over to the box my mom brought over. “What’s in here? I thought I moved all my stuff last weekend.”
My mom glances at me and waggles her eyebrows. “It’s your box of Cole Taylor merch. I know you have a grudge against him now, but I didn’t just want to trash it without asking.”
Britt cackles with delight.
I groan, head in my hands. “Are you serious? This is the worst timing.”
Quickly, I pick up the box—which is embarrassingly heavy—without looking at its contents and shove it to the back of the storage closet. I close it tight behind me and lean against the door, as if the box were a serial killer in a slasher movie.
Mom looks confused. “Bad timing?”
Britt explains while I pout at the ceiling. “Long story short, Cassie’s boss is making her supervise Cole all season to keep him in line.”
A complicated look passes over my mom’s face. “Seriously, baby?”
A little tug of guilt pulls at my heart. “Don’t worry about it, Mom,” I reassure her. “I can handle it.”
My mom supports me one hundred percent and is proud of my work, but I never give her too much info on the ins and outs of my job.
Because, well… this is the last career my mom wanted me to pursue. The only thing worse in her eyes would be if I were to date a hockey player. Luckily that will never happen—and anyway, my job leaves me with barely any time to go on first dates, let alone develop a full relationship.
My mom has her reasons for hating hockey players.
Well. One big reason.
The absent father shaped gap in my life.
I’ve gotten very good at not reacting when I hear his name brought up.
When I see his face on TV. John Novak, retired NHL star, now sitting behind a desk as a hockey broadcaster with an easy smile and a sparkling reputation.
He’s charming, warm, and universally respected.
In New York, where he played for years, he’s basically untouchable.
I don’t think anyone knows he has a daughter in Boston.
He and my mom casually dated when they were in their early twenties.
He was playing in the minor leagues, and she was bartending to get by.
She got pregnant, and they were both terrified of their lives being turned upside down.
But my mom said it only took a few days after getting that positive test result to know she already loved me and wanted this badly for herself.
My dad had options. A dream of making it to the NHL. A life that didn’t have room for a kid he hadn’t planned on.
So, after I was born, my mom gave him a choice. Be there or don’t. No drifting in and out when it was convenient. My mom told him that if he left, she never wanted to hear from him again.
He chose to chase his hockey dreams. Before he left our lives, he wrote a check.
As big as he could afford at the time. Big enough that he could probably tell himself he’d done the right thing.
It was enough to keep us going for a while…
and then it was just me and my mom against the world.
She worked two jobs to make sure I never felt like I was missing anything.
I don’t blame my mom for making him choose, and I never will. Still, it stings sometimes. And now I work in that same world—the league he’s been part of for years. Close enough that I’m scared one day we’ll end up in the same room.
I live in fear of people finding out. Because despite everything, I fell in love with hockey on my own terms, and it’s what I want to give my life to. What would the industry think of me? Would my father have a problem with his secret coming out? What would that do to my career?
Luckily, my fabulous mother got over John Novak quickly. She always tells me that settling down young would have killed her. She’s happiest when getting to live her single, independent, free-spirited life, which involves lots of men but no singular man.
My mom walks over and gives my hand a squeeze. “Oh, honey. Don’t let those athletes give you shit, okay?”
Taking a deep breath, I nod. I won’t let Cole turn me cynical. I won’t end up like all those other jaded agents. I know I can succeed and still keep the things that make me who I am, all the smiles and positivity and optimism that other people try to tell me is just naivety.
I got this far in my career on my own. My mom did everything she could so I could chase my dreams.
I won’t let her down.
“Let a hockey player give me shit? Wouldn’t dream of it, Mom.”
As if on cue from the universe, my phone pings.
COLE
Fine. You win. Let’s talk. Time and place?
I smile down at my phone.
It’s about time that Cole Taylor learned that I’m no quitter.