3. Chapter 2 #2
“Exactly. The product on the ice has to be excellent. But we also have to make sure people know it’s excellent.
” She leans forward again, her gaze sweeping the table but somehow always circling back to me.
“This isn’t about replacing hard work with hashtags.
It’s about amplifying the hard work you’re already doing, Declan. ”
I pick up the pen again. Click. Click. Click.
Her voice is calm and reasonable. Infuriatingly so.
Why the hell is she targeting me? Mason's eye is twitching at the thought of this too.
I lean forward with a sigh, scanning the room for an ally.
"Come on. You both know this bull shit won't work. Winning fixes everything. We need to focus on the ice."
Colin sighs, the sound of a man who’s had this argument too many times.
"Declan, we're going around in circles here. If we had time for that strategy, I'd agree with you. But we don't. The league wants results now. On and off the ice."
Josie’s calm voice cuts between us. "We're not saying winning won't help. But winning in an empty arena doesn't save a franchise. You need people in seats. You need jerseys sold."
I shake my head and let out a frustrated groan.
I hate this.
I hate cameras. I hate being on all the time, performing for people who don't actually care about the game, just the spectacle of living vicariously through people like me.
And you know the problem with that? Why they shouldn't idolize men like me?
They don't know what I've been through.
They don't know my childhood, and why I came to Beachside to disappear into something easy.
"Alright. Fine." I stop clicking the pen, and it clatters to the table. "Fuck it. Do what you want. But for what it's worth, I don't think this is going to work. We're wasting our time."
The silence stretches.
Josie doesn't break eye contact.
"I'm not asking you to be someone you're not," she says, her voice softening just a fraction. Just enough to feel like a secret between us. "You're a leader. You're talented. And you care about this team, Declan."
Oh fuck. Don't say my name like that. Don't fucking do it.
She sees it. She sees right through the grumpy captain act to the guy who lies awake at night replaying every lost face-off, every missed check. She can see that, once upon a time, I used to care.
And now, she's using it against me.
The meeting wraps up with Colin barking logistics, finances, and scheduling. I barely hear it because blood is pounding in my ears. I just want to get the hell out of here.
Half an hour later, Colin stands, clapping his hands together.
"Alright. Good start everyone. Declan, Beck, Mason—I'll leave it to you to show Josie around the rest of the facility. Show her everything. The locker room, gym, media room. Get her familiar with the space and introduce her to as many people—"
"What—no." I stand up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. "We've got practice."
Colin's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Excuse me?"
"I've got practice," I say, the lie smooth and automatic. "Gym session."
There's no way in hell I'm spending more time with her. I need to stay as far away from Josie Whitfield as possible.
"Darcy can do it. Right, Darce?"
Darcy, the brains behind our analytics, speaks without looking up from her tablet. "Nope. I've got tape to review with Pete."
Beck's grin could power the entire arena. "Oh, I'll do it. Happily."
I shoot him a look that could strip paint off a battleship. Beck knows. Of course he fucking knows this is the woman form the bar the other night. The grin. The eye contact. The way he's looking between me and Josie like he's watching a reality show designed specifically to torture me.
I'm going to kill him when we get home tonight. I'm going to murder him with my hockey stick.
Just as I open my mouth to argue, to say anything to get out of being alone with her, the conference room door swings open.
And salvation, in the form of a wide-eyed, sweating rookie, stumbles in.
"Oh, shit. Sorry, Coach, I thought—"
Corbin Cole skids to a stop, a protein shake clutched in one hand, his sandy hair plastered to his forehead. He looks like he just sprinted a marathon race to make it here, and knowing this eager, pain-in-the-ass kid who’s constantly trying to earn a spot in the first shift, he absolutely did.
"Cole!" I shout across the room, my voice tight with relief. "Perfect timing, my man!"
Corbin's eyes dart from side to side, like he can't believe I'm actually talking to him. "S-sir?"
I cross the room, and grab him by the shoulder. The kid flinches as I physically steer him toward Josie, who's now standing by her chair, watching this disaster unfold with an unreadable expression.
"I need you to show this… woman… around the building."
Josie's eyes flash with hurt before she locks it down, and I know exactly what I just did. I heard how it sounded.
Like I'm dismissing her entire existence.
And usually, that's not who I am. I don't reduce women to obstacles.
I grew up watching my older sister, Zoey, sacrifice everything while our parents checked out. She's literally the reason I respect the hell out of women who fight for what they want.
If Zoey heard me say that, she'd put me through the fucking boards.
But I'm not trying to be fair right now.
I'm trying to survive.
So I let Josie think I'm a misogynistic prick. Let her hate me.
It's easier than explaining why I can't be in the same room with her without losing my goddamn mind.
"Show her the locker room, Corbin. Gym. All of it."
Corbin just blinks up at me, stammering. "Uh. Yes, sir. I mean—of course, Captain. Anything for you." He looks to Josie. "Hi. I'm Corbin."
Josie's spine goes even straighter, and I know I've hit a nerve. "Nice to meet you, Corbin. I'm Josie."
I don't wait. I don't look back.
I just turn on my heel and walk out of the conference room before it's too late. Beck's low, booming laughter chases me into the hallway, but there's only one place I need right now.
I need the gym.
I need to hit something. Lift something heavy. Anything to burn off the fucking adrenaline that's been screaming through my veins since the second she walked into that room.
But the last time I tried to relieve stress the way I normally would, I ended up fucking my new boss.
So yeah. Private gym it is.
I shove through the heavy double doors into the small gym at the back of the building. No one else comes in here.
It's cold, it's lonely. And it's fucking perfect.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored wall. My shoulders are tense, my eyes wild.
I came to Beachside for easy.
And she just made everything impossibly fucking hard.