Chapter Twenty-One
Sadie
After the last few weeks, the team—me included—needs a pick-me-up.
Enter: a change of scenery.
The venue I rented out for this morning’s practice is called Portland’s Winter Wonderland. Based on the aesthetic, it could as easily be called North Pole Fever Dream.
“Well, this is officially my new favorite place and I’m not even out of the car yet.
” Vivi throws open the door. We’re the first ones in the visitors’ parking lot, because if you’re not early you’re late, and if you’re late you’re walking in on a bunch of hockey players messing around with things they shouldn’t be.
Dane pulls in a minute later to serve as security for the day, per Jax’s new protocol following the vandalism incident.
Jax, Dane, and Blake scoured the security footage from the parking garage and found the people who did it.
They turned it over to the police, who identified the vandals and opened a case.
We don’t know how it’ll end for them in court yet, but they are officially banned from returning to the arena, with any attempt to enter any Fury-owned facilities or parking lots considered trespassing.
Jax had my vehicle taken care of before I could so much as make a call.
When I think about the fact that a group actively worked together—multiple people who cheered each other on in the pursuit of something ugly and sinister—I go back to the dark place.
And therefore, I do whatever I can not to think about it.
Including field trips.
An empty Santa throne stands at the entrance to this Christmas village (I said we wouldn’t be requiring his services when I paid for the morning). An ice skating rink sits behind it, a short walk away.
The whole point of today is to get the men out of their heads, and a change of scenery paired with a dash of whimsy may be just the thing.
Vivi skips across the lot, light on her feet as ever. “Can you take a photo of me on Santa’s throne?”
“Anything for your adoring followers.”
“This will be for my mother. She’s very extra about holidays and will have it blown up into a poster-sized embarrassment by Christmas Day.”
Fondness for Vivi and her family mixes with a pang of longing.
My parents haven’t pushed for me to come home for Christmas, even going so far as to remind me that they know how busy I am and wouldn’t want to put me out.
I want them to want me there so badly that they guilt me into coming, which is silly.
“Well, I’m posting you in my stories,” I declare, following her out of the car toward the chair with my skate bag slung over my shoulder. “The world deserves to see my favorite Keebler Elf on her throne.”
“Is that a height joke?” She climbs into place.
“Nope. It’s a red-elf-hat joke. But you make it look good, as usual.” I frame the shot as she poses with ease. “Vivian Starling, America’s darling. The camera is still madly in love with you, by the way.”
She preens as I open the app to upload.
The screen brightens with a photo, the first on my feed. A group of people and a Christmas tree.
My stomach dips violently before I can stop it.
“What’s wrong?” Vivi asks, hopping down.
I click the button that takes me away from there, to the screen where I can post a photo instead. “Oh, nothing. Just…Robbie and his family.”
“What about him?” She snatches the phone from my hand and hops to his page.
“They had a baby.” I swallow thickly. “I didn’t know that.”
Vivi’s lips pull into a line. “Does that make you feel some type of way?”
“No. I’m happy for him. Our relationship happened a long time ago.”
“But the whole this-could’ve-been-me-in-another-life of it all—”
“Coach,” Ivan says curtly. I nearly jump out of my skin as he sneaks up from behind.
Okay, he didn’t sneak—it’s broad daylight, and I lost track of my surroundings for a second.
I greet him with a smile. He looks as vampirish as ever, his blond hair slicked back and his peacoat black as a winter night. “Good morning, Czernecki.”
“Can you walk with me for a second?”
Trying not to blink too fast in surprise, I gesture for him to lead the way.
Vivi waves us on as Ivan and I take off down a sidewalk lined with glittering candy canes on a path leading to the rink.
Wordlessly, he reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small black stress ball.
Well, it’s not really a ball—it’s oblong, in the shape of…the Bat-Signal from Batman?
I slow to a near stop. “What’s this for?”
“You keep those things on your desk. The yellow things.”
“Yes, I do.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “That day you told me I wasn’t going to be captain, and I lost my shit”—he exhales sharply through his nose, something dark flashing in his otherwise light eyes—“I noticed them. You were holding one, squeezing it.” He pauses.
“I was too intense. You didn’t deserve that. ”
I rub my thumb over the durable foam. “In fairness, you were having a shitty day.”
“That’s no excuse. After all that, you still defended me in the press.
That same day, you told someone I’m still the best we have, handling things like a leader, a good man at my core.
” He grimaces as if in disgust. “After all the shit I’ve talked about you, you still said that.
And now that I know how terribly other people treat you, I feel even worse about my behavior. I didn’t deserve your kindness.”
“Often what we need and what we deserve are very different things.” I glance sideways.
“You know, I started with the stress balls when I felt so much pressure to be perfect that I thought I might explode. Or when I was upset at the things people were saying to me—or about me—that weren’t true, and I had nowhere else to put the feelings.
” I shrug. “Everyone needs an outlet. A coping strategy, you know?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah. I have a problem being honest about my feelings, and then they all come out as anger. So I’m trying to find new ways…” He gestures hastily at the Bat-Signal. “Anyway, you had enough yellow ones. I like Batman.”
I clutch it in my hand, and not from stress. “I’m proud of you.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps.
He looks young and old all at once as he lifts his gaze to the crystal-clear sky. “You think I still have a future here? Or have I burned too many bridges?”
“I think you have a future anywhere, Ivan. But especially here, if you want it.”
With a nod, he takes off at a jog toward the rink to lace up.
I give the Bat-Signal a little squeeze, feeling invigorated. Today’s possibilities seem endless. What else might go right today?
Most of the team arrives in one big wave, right on time, infusing Portland’s Christmas Village with life. I put on my skates and join them for an easy warm-up skate. The rink is large, which serves our purposes well enough, and sits next to a Christmas tree farm that perfumes the air with pine.
It’s exactly what we need.
I gesture for the men to gather around where Vivi and I stand in the center of the rink. As usual, I feel Leo’s presence like a warm palm on my back, but I avoid his eye so my mind doesn’t wander off track.
I slide my hands in my pocket as my gaze sweeps the group. “No axes today.”
That gets me a lot of laughs. I tuck it away for when I inevitably piss them off again.
“Here’s the deal. We’re playing like we’re still ranked bottom. We’re treating winning like a fluke and losses like the default. Overthinking the game.”
I scan the guys. Leo has a hint of a smile on his face, his eyes alight in the morning sun. The whole effect is just devastating enough to derail me for a few seconds before I carry on.
“So today, we’re doing the opposite. No drills, no over-coaching.
We’re scrimmaging. Playing it like a real game.
Fast, loose, fun. Trash talk is welcome, but don’t throw a punch or I’ll send Vivi in to kick your ass.
Time out will be cleaning skates in the Jingle Blade shack.
” I gesture to the skate rental hut, decorated to look like a giant gingerbread house.
More laughter. A thrum of connection ripples through the group, like a thread gently tying us together.
“Remember, we can’t sustain a winning season off adrenaline alone. Wins come from rhythm, consistency, chemistry, and joy. Let’s get that back, yeah? Leo will divide you into two teams. Ivan, break us out peewee style.”
Ivan extends his hand. “Fury on three.”
We circle up, stack our hands, and yell.
I’m well rested for once on the second Tuesday of December when I arrive at the practice rink. The men are scheduled to lift weights with Cruz and Dom, and I have a mountain of work waiting for me at my desk, but my spirits are high.
A text from Jax stops me in my tracks.
Where are you? Press is waiting.
I do a double take at the screen before pressing the call button. I don’t even wait for him to say hello. “What do you mean they’re waiting? I don’t have that on my calendar.”
“I put it on your calendar. Press, December twelfth at nine a.m.”
It’s not on my calendar. I check the thing religiously. And frankly, I would rather not talk to the press until after tomorrow’s game, because I’d really like to face them on the heels of a win, rather than after three losses.
But I’m more concerned that his vocal cords appear to have been put through a blender. “Are you okay? You sound awful, boss.”
“I’m masked up with strep in my office. Don’t think it’s contagious anymore, but—”
“Oh my God, why are you working with strep?” I fire back. “Please go home. For your sake and everyone else’s.”
“You’ll take care of this?”
“Of course I will. Go to sleep, please.”
Putting my car in reverse, I leave the practice arena and drive to the Fury Dome. While I rush inside, I add a bunch of sickness supplies to my shopping cart and schedule a contactless delivery to Jax’s doorstep.
Which is why I don’t notice that the press room is packed until I hit complete order and look up as I cross the threshold.
Almost every seat is full.