Chapter 21
Juno
The executive suite has a different vibe today as I enter through the double mahogany doors. Through the glass walls lining the corridor, I see people moving about with quick steps and intended purpose.
Janine looks up from her desk the moment I arrive. “Juno,” she says warmly, already rising from her desk. “You’re right on time.”
“Always try to be,” I reply, returning her smile.
I follow her toward Patrick’s office, sidestepping people.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “How’s filming going?”
“Fantastic,” I reply, glancing into offices as we walk by. I see the general manager, Oliver Kemp, bent over a pile of documents with his face scrunched up. “I need to schedule some time to roam around the executive suite. I assume you’re the lady to make that all happen.”
“Absolutely.” She beams back at me. “I’ll pave the way for whatever you need.”
“You’re a gem,” I reply, and tuck away an internal note that Janine seems to be the main cog in the wheel that keeps things functioning smoothly. She’ll have a good perspective of the front office workings of this organization, as well as shed light on the enigma that is Patrick Rowe.
She doesn’t announce me, merely gives a tap of her knuckles against his already open door and we step inside. “Juno’s here, Patrick.”
I step around Janine and I’m stunned to see Cherry in his office, perched on the edge of one of the guest chairs that sit on the opposite side of Patrick’s desk.
He’s sitting in his big leather chair, leaning back with elbows on the armrests and fingers steepled as if he was in deep thought over whatever Cherry might have been saying.
One has to admit, she’s stunning in every way. She’s wearing a fitted cream blazer worn open over a silk camisole the color of champagne, the neckline cut low enough to draw the eye without technically crossing a line.
Her skirt is pencil-straight and dark—black or maybe a deep charcoal—hugging her hips in a way that I’m certain is intentional. High heels lengthen her legs, not so high they suggest she’s here for anything other than business. Everything tailored. Everything pressed. Nothing out of place.
Her hair falls in glossy waves over one shoulder, styled but not stiff, and her makeup is flawless—defined eyes, glossy lips, a touch of warmth on her cheeks. The overall effect is polished, feminine and unmistakably curated.
Patrick’s face lights up when he sees me, and he rises from his chair. “Juno… hi… come on in.” He gestures at Cherry, who also stands. “Have you met Miller Parks’s wife, Cherry?”
“Actually, yes,” I reply, bobbing my head her way. “At your party.”
Cherry’s expression is somewhat sour as she takes me in, and I guess she hasn’t forgiven me for calling her on the carpet with her bullshit about Crosby.
But I don’t want to waste time thinking about that, as I’m busy wondering what the hell a player’s wife is doing in the owner’s office. It’s not as if they were doing anything wrong, as the door was wide open, but still.
As if he could read my thoughts, Patrick clears his throat and rounds his desk. “Cherry brought me a unique idea and I’ve given it my blessing.”
My head swivels to Cherry, my eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “Really… what’s that?”
Cherry beams a smile at Patrick and takes two steps to meet him at the corner of his desk.
She reaches out and touches his arm. “Patrick was kind enough to listen.” I don’t miss the way that Patrick takes a subtle step back so Cherry’s hand falls away, and I can tell that tiny touch made him uncomfortable.
“What I’m going to do is form a community initiative.
I’ll call it the Wildfire Family Collective, and it includes the wives and significant others, even parents or siblings.
We’ll organize social events for the team, crowdsource help when needed, even make care packages for our guys when they travel. It’s all about family.”
As much as I’ve decided I don’t particularly care for this woman, I have to admit… it’s a good idea. Sweet, even. “I like it,” I say politely.
“I kept thinking,” Cherry continues, voice softening like she’s divulging a noble statement, “if I don’t do this, who will?
Someone has to step up, and I’ve always sort of been the emotional backbone of any group I’m a part of.
It makes sense that I’d take this on. After all, some people are natural leaders. ”
Ah… there it is. The need for recognition. I nod slowly. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“And,” Cherry adds, adding another bright smile toward Patrick before her gaze comes back to me, “I thought it might be an interesting layer for your documentary. The off-ice ecosystem. The people who support the players behind the scenes.” Her smile sharpens a fraction.
“I’d be happy to sit down for an interview if you’d like. ”
Yup… there it is. The need for attention.
But she’s not wrong. The people who support the players is an important element I intended to dive into at some point.
And Cherry has a good idea with Patrick’s blessing.
“I have some availability after I meet with Patrick. We could talk then, and you could give me a little more information so I can figure out how to capture it.”
“Perfect,” Cherry replies without hesitation. “How about I go down to The Blue Line and wait for you?”
“Sounds good.”
Patrick turns to Cherry. “Thanks again for bringing this to me. I think it’s a strong initiative.”
She gathers her things, all efficiency and charm. “Happy to help.” As she passes me, she leans in slightly. “Looking forward to our chat.”
Then she’s gone, hips sashaying as she walks away.
Patrick gestures me toward the couches where we sat on my first visit, the informal seating arrangement rather than the formality of him behind his desk. “Thanks for coming to see me. I know it was short notice,” he says, taking the couch opposite the one I settle onto.
“No problem at all,” I reply. “That was a great win last night against the Cold Fury.”
“Indeed,” he says, expression blooming with pride. “They’re a champion team through and through.” Patrick crosses one leg over the other. “I wanted to check in and make sure you’re getting all the cooperation you need and that I’m living up to my unlimited access guarantee.”
“It’s all been great,” I assure him. “I still haven’t broken a smile from Walter on the front desk though.”
I wait, wondering how Patrick will react to that. Some bosses might not be happy with a surly employee, especially one welcoming guests, and while I don’t want to get Walter in trouble, I am curious to see what Patrick does.
To my surprise, he chuckles, the sound rolling into a fond smile. “Yeah, well… Walter is an interesting fellow. I know he’s not the warmest and fuzziest of guys, but there’s a reason I have him down there.”
I stare at the Wildfire owner, eyebrows raised expectantly. “You can’t say that to an investigative filmmaker and expect me to accept that.”
Patrick grins. “No, I suppose not. It’s not common knowledge, but it is public.
Walter’s son played minor league hockey and he was very close to him.
Taught him much of what he knew and worked three jobs to keep him in the sport.
They were in a bad car crash a few years ago and he lost his son and Walter was disabled. So, I gave him this job.”
My jaw sags, mouth falling open. “Oh… wow.”
“I can certainly have a talk with him—”
“No,” I exclaim. “No… he’s not rude or anything. Standoffish. Please don’t say anything to him. And that’s very nice that you gave him a job.”
Patrick inclines his head and the subject is forgotten. “So… how are you feeling about the season so far? I understand it’s a job for you to film us, but I’ve noticed that you’ve been wearing some Wildfire gear to the games and cheering pretty hard. I suspect we have a new fan.”
“That’s observant,” I quip, and he smirks. I take a breath, shifting gears. “It’s been interesting. There’s a good rhythm developing. A lot of intensity, but also a sense of cohesion.”
He nods. “I think we’re off to a strong start, but it’s still early. Personalities haven’t fully settled yet.” His gaze narrows slightly. “And you? Settling in all right?”
“Yes,” I say easily. “The city is great, the people even better, and everyone on the team has been beyond gracious.”
He smiles at that. “Good. I want to make sure this project stays honest.”
“That’s the goal,” I agree, but my brows furrow. “Is there anything that’s happened that you think would render what I’m doing dishonest?”
Patrick blinks in surprise. “No, not at all. And I trust you when you say the project is running honestly. After all, when this film is finished, it won’t only represent the Wildfire, it’ll represent you.”
I think of my work as expository, but I can never forget that my experiences have shaped how I tell a story. So yes… it does represent me as well.
“You’ve been given a level of access most people don’t get,” he continues. “That kind of trust has value. But it also carries responsibility. Your credibility is part of the product, which is why I know the league chose you for this project.”
I shift slightly in my chair, a warm heat creeping up the back of my neck.
When he says the film will represent me, something dark twists.
I’ve always framed my work as exposure, not autobiography.
Facts. Systems. Structures. But stories don’t exist in a vacuum.
They pass through a lens, and that lens is shaped by who you are, what you’ve survived, and what you’re willing to sit with.
“And credibility,” he adds, “isn’t only about what you choose to show. It’s about what you choose to disclose. Context and perception matter, but bottom line… I trust you to tell the story that needs to be told.”
His words echo in my head.
Honesty.
Credibility.
Responsibility.
While Patrick has given me his utter trust, my awareness acute to everything I’ve been carefully not naming.