Chapter 24
Cassie
Cole is in my apartment. Again.
Except this time, he’s been comforting me while I embarrassingly hold back sobs in front of him.
It’s a lot to process. This whole evening is a lot to process.
Especially the fact that my father used to be Cole’s mentor. I had no idea. How would Cole react if he knew the truth? Would he look at me differently?
I feel a headache coming on. I clench my eyes shut, willing away the throb of pain in my head.
I always get headaches when I try to hold back tears. Like Britt says, there you go again shoving down all the bad feelings so you can be peppy Cassie all the time.
But even through the pain, I feel touched that Cole showed up here. Put his arm around me and comforted me. He didn’t need to do that, but he did it anyway.
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve again, waiting for Cole to come back from the closet.
The closet.
The closet where—
I jump to my feet.
No no no.
Too late. I rush around the corner and freeze a few feet from where Cole stands. He’s stock-still, staring into the closet like there’s a dead body in there.
And there kind of is. The ghost of celebrity athlete crushes past. The final—or not so final—resting place of my huge teenage obsession with Cole.
I feel the color drain from my face. A wave of nerves and ripe hot humiliation crashes over me.
It’s all there, plain to see in the box of merch my mom dropped off a few months ago.
Oh my god. Cole is going to think I’m a crazy, obsessive stalker.
I was going to throw it out, like I threw out all my other old junk that I moved out of my mom’s apartment.
I swear to god.
I just… didn’t get around to it.
Cole slowly turns to face me. God, at least he’s moving, he’s not frozen in cardiac arrest at this discovery, because killing the Nor’easters’ star goalie would be the only way to make this situation worse.
My stomach flips as he reaches into the closet, grabs the box of merch, and drops it on the floor between our feet. His stare jerks up to my face.
I can’t read his expression—god, do I wish I could read Cole’s icy expression right now.
“Explain,” he says dryly.
It’s clearly not a request.
I don’t try to think of an excuse. I’m not lying to Cole. The truth might be awkward, but he deserves better than that.
“I kind of used to be your biggest fan.”
He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. “Explain more.”
I take a deep breath and force my eyes up to meet his stare. Time to face this like a grown woman.
“I’ve always loved the Nor’easters. From the first game I watched as a kid, I was totally hooked. But it was complicated for me…”
I pause. I can’t say more, can’t go into the specifics of why my relationship with hockey was a complicated thing. On the one hand, it’s always brought me so much joy. On the other hand, I’m living with the pain of my absent dad’s shadow hanging over me.
“I didn’t think hockey had space for someone like me,” I continue. “But following your career from rookie to star was the best feeling. That’s when I realized I loved hockey as more than a hobby. That’s when I decided I wanted to pursue it as a career.”
The box sits there between us like an unexploded bomb. He glances back down at it.
“And the box of merch? My merch?”
I shrug. All I can do is be honest. “You were my favorite player when I was younger. I had… I had a crush on you, Cole. I bought a bunch of your merch. Well, what I could afford. My mom’s cleaning out our old apartment and dropped this off.
I meant to throw it out, but I didn’t get around to it, I guess. ”
Cole’s eyes widen. His eyebrows are a dark line, and his body is tensed behind those folded arms.
The silence stretches out, tense and taut, like a bow being pulled back before an arrow is released. I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
I’ve never been good with silence.
“Say something,” I blurt out in a rush, “just say something because this is totally awkward and you’re being way too quiet.”
Cole shifts his weight, as if he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands, which is a weird sight.
His voice is rough. “So you, uh, had a crush. On me.”
“A long time ago,” I say quickly. “It was just a little parasocial teenage crush on an athlete who I thought I’d never actually meet.
You know, some girls have boy bands or actors, and I had…
” I pause, biting my lip. You, is the implication.
I had you, Cole. “Athletes. I had athletes. Now I’m an adult with a job in sports and no longer spend my time pining for celebrities.
But then Rick sent me to supervise your every move until trade deadline, and… here we are.”
I don’t like lying to people, and yes, this is a half-truth.
I did grow out of the celebrity crush phase by the time I went to college.
But the crush I had for a couple of years on Cole—a blur of attraction and admiration and inspiration—never quite died out.
Like the moon during the daytime. It’s still out there somewhere, but you just can’t see its beautiful glow.
Or at least, that was the case until I met him five years ago when I was just starting out at the agency and decided he was a jerk.
But now I really know him, I see there’s so much more to the man I once adored from a distance. More darkness, but more light too.
Cole stares at me, unreadable.
For a moment, my stomach sinks.
But then—slowly, teasingly—his lips tug into a smile. “Are you going to tie me up and kidnap me, sunshine? Is this a Kathy Bates in Misery situation?”
Relief flows through me. I can’t handle Cole being freaked out and avoiding me. I can handle him making fun of me.
A soft smile breaks out on my face. “Funny. Hilarious, actually.”
“Look, Cassie.” He shrugs. “It’s not that weird. Everyone has a random crush at some point. Hell, I had a crush on Lola Bunny as a kid.”
I laugh a little too hard. “You know she’s a rabbit, right? It’s right there in the name.”
“Okay, smartass. Want to go back to talking about your teenage crush?”
“No thank you.”
I pick up the box of merch and forcefully shove it back into the closet.
“That poster looks in pretty good condition.” Cole shoots me a grin. “Want my autograph?”
“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” I mutter. “You normally love emotional repression and not talking about things, where did that energy go?”
But we’re both laughing by the time I’ve shut the closet door tight. I turn around to lean my back against it and breathe out a sigh, my eyes closing briefly.
Cole’s voice makes my eyes flutter open. His expression has shifted to curiosity.
“If you were a fan of me as a player, then why did you seem to dislike me so much when Rick made you work with me? That first day, I mean.”
I swallow. “I tried to be nice. I didn’t want to let that show.”
Cole’s face twitches. “So there was something to show.”
I’ve come this far. No use holding back the full story from him now.
“That day at the arena… It wasn’t the first time we met.”
His face hardens. “Oh.”
“Right. Oh.”
“I don’t remember.” He scrubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Shit. How is that possible? I would remember meeting you.”
I blink, confused. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’re memorable, Cassie.” He takes a step toward me, his gaze heavy on my face. “I couldn’t forget you now if I tried. I don’t think there’s a thing about you I won’t remember when this assignment is done and you’ve moved on.”
My throat tightens. A rush of shimmering warmth floods my body.
Does he really mean that? I force myself to keep talking.
“I guess it was different back then. It was five years ago. I was in my first job at the agency.”
I recount the story to him: how I introduced myself to him, how he’d made a joke about agents only caring about money, how he’d looked at me like I was naive when I said I cared more about athletes as human beings.
She won’t last six months. This business eats people like her alive.
Cole’s face goes dark as I talk, shaking his head.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Cassie. You don’t know how terrible I feel, knowing that I hurt you back then.
I’ve never been careful enough with my words.
” He trails off. “For what it’s worth, I probably meant it as a vent about this whole industry.
I’ve always hated how anyone who isn’t out for blood gets screwed over.
Meanwhile, the business people who succeed don’t view players as people with feelings.
But either way, it was fucked up, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. ”
“I accept your apology.” I smile ruefully. “I mean, I was just an agent’s assistant. You were an NHL All-Star goalie. You can say what you like.”
His eyes flash with an intensity that hits my chest, steals the breath from my throat.
“Don’t you dare sell yourself short, Cassie,” he says. “You’re the future superstar here. I’ll have retired from hockey by the time I’m forty. But you’ll be busy out there conquering the sports world while I’m figuring out how to spend my life after the NHL.”
My heart flutters. “Cole, you don’t have to say that…”
“I mean it. You’re more dedicated to becoming a sports agent than half of the prospects I meet are focused on making it to the NHL.
You’re smart and you don’t take shit from anyone.
But you’re also the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and you make everyone around you feel warmer.
Do you know how rare that kind of combination is in a person?
I should be asking for your autograph. It’s going to be worth a lot someday. ”
Warmth ripples through me. My breath is shallow as I stare up at Cole in the dim light.
It means so much that despite this ridiculous assignment, Cole thinks so highly of me.
I hold up my empty hands. “Sorry, no pen,” I manage to joke, still breathless.
Though his dark brows stay in a hard line, he smiles and steps even closer.
He holds out his left palm upward in front of me and gently grabs my right hand, drawing my forefinger toward his hand… like it’s a pen against paper.
I bite the inside of my cheek as my finger touches his palm. It’s warm and slightly calloused. A chill runs along my skin from the point where our bodies meet.
“Who needs a pen and paper anyway?” he says. “Give me your autograph.”
For a second, I’m confused. Then I get his meaning.
Gently, I trace the letters of my name across his palm.
His stare drags upward to meet mine. Heat explodes through me. He smiles, but there’s nothing warm about it. No, this is pure liquid heat.
I let his palm drop. “There you go,” I whisper.
“Thank you, Cassie,” he says, and his voice is hot enough to set me on fire.
Later that night, after Cole has gone home, and I’m all alone, I go to sleep wondering if he can still feel my touch on his palm.