Chapter 26
The office at the practice facility was small. White walls, a desk that had seen better days, two chairs that didn’t match. This was where they’d stuck me and Kirk Chappell to figure out whatever the hell this was supposed to be.
I sat across from him, trying to look composed.
Kirk sat across from me in gray sweatpants and a Wardens hoodie, taking up an absurd amount of space. He was huge, built like someone had inflated a regular person to some gigantic scale. Messy black hair, easy smile, the kind of face that probably got him out of speeding tickets.
At the current moment, he looked deeply uncomfortable.
“So,” Kirk said, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is weird, right?”
“Little bit,” I agreed.
“I’ve never—I don’t really know what I’m supposed to. . .” He gestured vaguely between us. “What does an assistant even do?”
“You’ve never had an assistant?”
“Nope. I just show up and play hockey.” He grinned, sheepish. “My wife handles most of my life stuff. Schedule, bills, all that.”
“You’re married?”
“Yep. We’ve been married five years. High school sweethearts. She’s great.” He pulled out his phone, showed me his lock screen where a pretty blonde woman was laughing at the camera. “That’s Emma.”
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“Yeah, she is.” He pocketed the phone. “Anyway, Knox said you’d help me with. . . I don’t know, stuff? Organization? He wasn’t super clear.”
Of course he wasn’t.
“You really don’t have to do this.”
Kirk smiled. “And risk the wrath of Andrew Knox? Nah, I’m good. The idea of having an employee also sounds cool as hell. Especially if you can help me get some more sponsors. Knox gets all the cool PR.”
I thought of the piles and piles of unopened PR boxes in Andrew’s apartment and cringed.
“I’m not a replacement for your agent, but I can help with scheduling,” I said, falling into the familiar rhythm of explaining the job. “Media requests, appearances, coordinating with the team. Making sure you’re where you need to be when you need to be there.”
Kirk nodded slowly. “So like. . . you get coffee? Or is that offensive? I don’t know the rules.”
“I can get coffee if you need coffee. But mostly it’s about managing logistics.”
“Logistics. Cool. Okay.” He leaned back in his chair, which creaked ominously under his weight. “So, uh. You and Knox.”
I froze. “What about us?”
“I don’t know, man. He was really insistent about this.” Kirk’s expression was careful, not judgmental but definitely curious. “Like, scary insistent. And Knox doesn’t usually ask for things. He just does whatever he wants and deals with the consequences later.”
“That sounds about right,” I said. “Think of it as him helping out a former employee.”
“Sure. That’s definitely what’s happening.
” Kirk’s smile was knowing but not unkind.
“Look, I don’t care what’s going on. I’m just saying—he doesn’t usually give a shit about stuff like this.
So either. . . or. . .” He trailed off, clearly realizing he was venturing into territory that might get him in trouble. “Anyway. None of my business.”
“Right.”
“But if you need, like, advice or whatever—” Kirk scratched his jaw. “I’ve been around Knox for years. I can usually tell when he’s about to do something stupid. Which is always.”
I almost smiled despite myself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Cool.” Kirk clapped his hands together. “So when do we start? Tomorrow? Do I need to prepare stuff? Is there a handbook?”
“No handbook. I’ll figure out what you need, and we’ll go from there.”
“Awesome. You’re already better at this than I am.” He stood, held out his hand. “Thanks for doing this, Matthew. I know Knox kind of... volun-told you.”
I shook his hand. His grip was firm, genuine. “It’s fine.”
“Is it though?”
The question caught me off guard.
Kirk’s expression was still friendly but there was something sharper underneath. Not malicious. Just observant.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.
“Fair enough.” He grabbed his gym bag. “See you tomorrow, man.”
He left, and I sat alone in the borrowed office, trying to process what had just happened.
I’d been fired. Then hired. By a teammate of the man who’d fired me. The man I’d slept with. The man who’d made the decision for me without asking.
Again.
I was so tired of people making decisions for me.
The parking lot was cold. The heat from the afternoon sun doing nothing to cut through the wind. I walked with my head down, hands shoved in my pockets, trying to figure out where I’d parked.
Then I saw him.
Andrew was leaning against his Porsche, arms crossed, waiting.
For me. Obviously for me.
I changed direction. Kept walking toward the street.
“Quinn.”
I didn’t stop.
“Matthew.”
Footsteps behind me. Fast.
“Where are you going?”
I spun around. “Home.”
He stopped a few feet away, frowning. “My car’s right there.”
“I’ll walk.”
“All that way?”
“I’ll get a taxi.”
“Just get in the fucking car.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “You don’t get to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” I gestured between us, at the facility, at everything. “Fire me. Get me hired somewhere else. Make decisions about my life without asking me.”
“I solved the problem—”
“A problem that you created!” My voice echoed across the parking lot. “You fired me because you wanted to fuck without the ‘bullshit.’ Fine. But then you just—you moved me around like a chess piece. Told Kirk to hire me. Didn’t ask if I wanted that. Didn’t ask if I was okay with it. Just did it.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened. “You said you needed a job.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is I don’t get a choice!” I was yelling now. “You decided to fire me. You decided Kirk should hire me. You decided everything. And I just—I just went along with it because that’s what I do. That’s what I always do.”
“Would you have said yes if I asked?”
The question landed like a punch.
“That’s not—”
“Would you?” Andrew stepped closer. “If I’d asked, ‘Hey, I want to fire you so we can date without it being weird, is that okay?’ Would you have said yes?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
“Exactly,” Andrew said. “You would’ve said no. Or you would’ve overthought it. Or you would’ve found some reason why it wouldn’t work.”
The silence stretched.
Andrew stared at me like he’d finally realized this wasn’t something he could bulldoze his way through.
“Fuck,” he muttered again. Then, abruptly—like a switch flipped—he turned and walked back to his car.
I scoffed. “Wow. Great. Storming off now?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, Andrew Knox climbed onto the hood of his Porsche.
Actually climbed. One foot up, then the other, palms braced on the windshield before he straightened, standing there like a lunatic king surveying his kingdom.
I froze.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“Fixing it,” he said.
Then he raised his voice.
“HEY.”
A couple of people across the lot turned. Someone stopped loading gear into their trunk. A guy in a team hoodie stared openly.
Andrew pointed at me.
“This is Matthew Quinn,” he announced, loud and clear. “He’s smart as hell. He’s terrifying when he’s mad. And he’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long fucking time.”
My stomach dropped.
“Andrew—”
“I’m not done.” He grinned, sharp and fearless. “I fired him because I didn’t want to be an asshole. And yeah, I handled it like shit. But I’m not hiding him. I’m not pretending this didn’t happen. And I’m sure as hell not embarrassed.”
Someone actually laughed. Someone else whistled.
Andrew looked straight at me now, voice lowering just enough to be for me.
“I want you,” he said. “Not because I can move pieces around. Not because I get to decide. Because you choose me back.”
Then, because apparently humiliation was his chosen love language, he added, loudly:
“And for the record? Best sex of my life.”
I covered my face.
“Oh my god.”
Andrew hopped down like nothing had happened, hands up in surrender, blue eyes bright. “Okay. That part might’ve been unnecessary.”
I stared at him. This ridiculous, infuriating, sincere man who had just climbed onto a Porsche in a parking lot and announced his feelings.
My anger cracked.
Just a little.
“You’re insane,” I said weakly.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I’m being insane honestly.”
I shook my head, fighting a smile I did not want to give him.
He stepped closer. “Still mad?”
I swallowed.
“Yes,” I said.
His mouth curved into a grin. “Good. Means you care.”
I exhaled, anger finally breaking, replaced by something warmer and far more dangerous. “You realize your car could be ruined.”
Andrew shrugged. “Worth it. Matthew, I’m asking you now.” His voice was softer now. No audience voice. Just Andrew. “Ride home. Dinner. Space if you need it. Your call.”
He waited.
Didn’t move. Didn’t reach for me.
Just waited.
“I need a few days,” I said.
“A few?”
“To think,” I added. “About all of this. About what this is. I don’t want to fall into something just because it’s loud or intense or because you decided it should happen.”
Something shifted in his expression, but not irritation, not impatience. It was more like relief, maybe. Or respect.
“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“I’ll text you,” I said. “When I’m ready to talk.”
He nodded once. “I’ll wait.”
“And I’m going home alone.”
He looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t.
“Okay,” he said. “Text me when you get there?”
Something in my chest twisted.
“Sure,” I said.
I walked away, pulled out my phone, and ordered a taxi.
I didn’t look back, but the truth followed me anyway, heavy and unavoidable. Andrew Knox didn’t do things halfway. Not on the ice. Not with his career. And apparently not with me.
But for the first time, he’d let me set the pace.
And that scared me almost as much as it mattered.