Chapter 13 Cassie
Cassie
Today is an exercise in acting casual.
I act like I’m not nervous about my first road game with the Nor’easters.
I act like I’m used to taking a luxurious private charter flight with a whole NHL team and staff.
I act like I’m super-duper chill about the fact that I’m going to be staying in a fancy hotel with the team.
And that after this road trip is done, there will just be more of them.
So, I wheel my suitcase across Tampa’s charter terminal tarmac, hoping none of the team see through my smile to the nerves underneath. A warm, tickling breeze touches my face as we walk.
“Good god,” Landon exclaims, pointing at the hazy blue sky, “now this is more like it. Sunlight! Warmth! I’d forgotten temperatures above freezing even existed.”
“It shouldn’t be warm in December,” Cole says. “It’s just unnatural.”
“Oh, you Northerners,” Landon teases, “you think there’s something admirable about freezing your ass off for five months of the year. Well, it ain’t. New Englanders are addicted to being cold and miserable.”
Cole snorts. “You’ve lived in Boston for over a decade. You’re more of a New Englander than you’d like to admit.”
“I like winter in Boston,” I say, squinting in the sunlight. “Yes, it’s frigid. But there’s something beautiful about those cold, crisp mornings with the perfect blue skies. And when ponds freeze over and everyone gets together to skate on them… It’s the best.”
I can’t help but notice Cole’s lips tug upward, like he’s pleased I’m coming to New England’s defense.
Roman laughs from where he’s walking in front of us, a deep-pitched sound as he turns back. “You Americans are funny. You think Boston is cold? You wouldn’t survive ten minutes in a Russian winter.”
I laugh as the team continues bickering about who’s right about the weather. A part of the assignment I didn’t expect is that it’s actually fun spending time with the team. In the moments when I’m not scrambling to stop Cole blowing up his own career, at least.
It’s a good reminder of why I wanted to become a sports agent. Because I have the utmost respect for athletes, and I think the sports industry needs more people who remember that athletes aren’t just machines or a way to make money. They’re human, too.
We all file into the charter terminal lounge, which is apparently where we wait for the team buses to pick us up and take us to the hotel. I take a seat next to Cole and get my folder out of my bag.
“So, should we go over the schedule again?” I ask brightly.
“We went over it yesterday. And on the plane. I think we’re good, Cassie.”
“Right. Okay.”
I was secretly hoping he’d want to talk about the assignment. When I’m talking about work, I feel confident and anchored.
When I’m sitting in a private lounge on an NHL team road trip… that’s when I’m off balance.
Cole’s stare rests on my face. I keep up my professional smile, but maybe he senses the flutter of nerves underneath it.
He leans toward my shoulder. “You been to Tampa before?”
“Nope. This is my first time in Florida, actually.”
Cole shrugs. “Florida’s okay. Wait till we play a California team. Then we’ll get some really good weather and scenery.”
“California? I thought it was unnatural for it to be warm in December.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve got to keep up appearances when a Southerner is talking shit about my hometown.”
I catch myself laughing. Easing back into my seat, I loosen my grip on my folder of notes.
“I’ve actually never been to California either,” I admit. “Or anywhere on the West Coast. I haven’t been to many places outside of New England. My mom was pretty broke when I was a kid and my dad wasn’t around, so our vacations were to cheap townie beach towns in Massachusetts.”
I swallow, realizing I’ve probably just said too much. I’m supposed to be keeping things professional.
Professional means not oversharing about my childhood or the difficult parts of my life.
Sometimes I think that if I even dip into the low-level, constant humming fear of not belonging, or the thought of people finding out about my dad… well, it feels like I might not get back out again.
My dad had retired from the league by the time I was old enough to watch hockey. I never expected to enjoy the sport. Too much baggage. But after watching my first game on my mom’s tiny TV, I was hooked.
Except part of me was always holding back. I was scared that my love of hockey was just something my dad passed down to me in my DNA. I didn’t want to share anything with the man who was cold enough to walk away without a second glance back.
But the season when Cole started playing with the Nor’easters, that feeling changed. It just fell away. Cole was the first individual hockey player I was a huge fan of. Watching his skill on the ice as a rookie made me appreciate the sport in a whole new way.
It felt like something that was mine. Mine alone. I suddenly had a love for hockey that no one—not even the shadow of my dad—could take away.
After that, it was like I gave myself permission to fall in love with the sport completely. I decided I wanted to work in it. I was so inspired by the athletes: their strength, their persistence, their skill. I decided more than anything I wanted to build a career working with these people.
And then, in my first year working at the agency, I finally met Cole, and one cutting remark from him showed me who he really is.
Or at least, who I thought he was.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to, um, tell you all that.”
But Cole doesn’t look annoyed or surprised. “No, it’s fine. I hadn’t traveled much either before I started playing hockey. Growing up in Maine, even getting to the nearest airport would’ve been a long drive.”
He laughs, a warmth crinkling his green eyes that’s not usually there. Talking about home seems to bring that out of him sometimes. The rest of the time, it seems to tip him over the edge of losing his temper.
Not for the first time, I wonder what caused that complicated contradiction.
“It’s kind of strange,” I confess, “suddenly being someone who travels with an NHL team. I’ve been trying to act like I’m not fazed by anything, but it’s all new to me. The private plane. The hotels. All of it.”
“I’ll look out for you.” Cole’s jaw ticks, like he’s catching himself. “I mean—the whole team will. The guys really like you, Cassie. And yeah, all the travel can get overwhelming. You find yourself feeling really far away from everything back home. You ever need anything, you tell me. All right?”
Is Cole really offering to help me? Reassuring me?
It’s unexpected from the man I’m supposed to be keeping in line. From the man who I thought resented my very presence here.
But his gruff expression is… sincere.
“Thank you. That’s—that’s nice of you, Cole. Although I’m supposed to be the one supervising you.”
“Well,” Cole says, and there’s something distinctly not icy cold in his voice. The opposite, in fact. Warm and simmering. Like summer in California. “We agreed to be a team, remember? Teammates help each other out.”
I nod, words caught in my throat. Cole gives me a brief smile, then says he has to go make a call outside.
I spend a few minutes catching up on texts with Britt about her new chef situationship before the sound of Coach Reed’s voice interrupts.
“Bus is here,” Coach yells across the lounge, and the rest of the team starts to filter back out to the tarmac.
I glance around the lounge. Shoot—where is Cole?
Unease rises in my stomach, but I follow the team outside with my carry-on suitcase. Everyone’s lining up to get on the bus. The sun’s warmth touches my skin. Like a reminder: you’re a long way from home, Cassie.
The line gets shorter, and I glance along the tarmac. Cole is striding back toward the team, and relief hits me. Thank god I didn’t lose track of him before the road game even started.
He pauses at my side, a slight smile on his lips, though his dark brows are a firm line. “Sorry. Had to hit up the main terminal for a minute.”
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He gives a casual shrug, staring ahead.
But his hand comes to brush against mine. My pulse jolts, heat spreading along where his skin is against mine. His fingers ease mine open, and he quickly slips something cool to the touch into my palm.
His hand goes back to his side, and I glance down. It’s a souvenir, a brightly colored little snow globe with a grinning green alligator in its center. TAMPA, FL reads the plaque.
Cole ran over to the main terminal to buy it. It’s silly but weirdly touching, and I feel something warm and fluttery in my chest that I really shouldn’t be feeling.
“Thank you,” I laugh.
“Here’s the start of your new collection. You’re about to see some more of the world.” His eyes meet mine. “You never know. Maybe when this assignment is over, you’ll want something to remember it by.”