4. Chapter 3 #2
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No,” she agrees, turning the car onto the oceanfront road. “It doesn’t. But it does make it predictable.”
We pull up to a converted surf shack with a hand-painted sign that reads Goldie’s Coffee in cheerful, looping letters. String lights are draped from the eaves, and the windows are packed with lush green plants.
The smell hits me as it wafts over the open rooftop of Darcy's vehicle. Rich, dark roast coffee, and something sweet baking.
“Oh,” I breathe. “So this is the place they were talking about.”
"Oh yeah." Darcy smirks. “Everyone talks about Goldie’s. You’ll see why.”
Walking inside is like stepping into a hug. Rustic wooden tables and mismatched chairs are scattered all around, and a giant chalkboard menu takes up one whole wall, listing things like honey lattes and sea-salt cookies.
My shoulders, which have been knotted up near my ears since the conference room, finally start to loosen.
A guy behind the counter with sun-bleached hair and a sleeve of tattoos greets Darcy with a nod. “The usual, Darce?”
“Thanks, Kai. And whatever she wants,” Darcy says, jerking a thumb at me. “She’s new. Be gentle.”
I order the honey latte and the avocado toast on sourdough, because it feels like the most California thing I could possibly do. Darcy gets a cappuccino and a cookie the size of her face and we take our tray to the oceanview patio.
The breeze is cool, carrying the salt spray and the distant cries of gulls. The boardwalk stretches out beside us, a carousel spinning lazily in the distance, its cheerful music just audible over the crash of waves.
I take a sip of my latte. It’s smooth, sweet, perfect. The avocado toast, when it arrives, has thick, crusty sourdough piled high with creamy avocado, heirloom tomatoes and microgreens.
I pick up my fork and prod the poached egg until it oozes golden yolk at the slightest touch.
But before I can even start eating, the sun-bleached barista—Kai—appears beside our table with a small plate.
“Luna thought you might need these after,” he says, his voice as mellow as the reggae now playing inside. He sets down two still-warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies. “Says new sisters need extra sugar.”
“Sisters?” I blink, taken aback by the Beachside hippie-slang.
No one's called me that before. Not in a 'we're in this together' way. My actual sisters never made me feel like I belonged.
But Kai says it like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Darcy snorts. “It’s a Kai thing. He and Luna run this place.
They’ve adopted half the town.” She nods toward the counter, where a woman with dark, honey-streaked hair and a bright smile is waving.
“That’s Luna. She bakes the goods. He brews the brews.
They’re disgustingly in love, and not ashamed to show it. ”
Kai just grins, utterly unbothered by this description of his life. “Welcome to Beachside, sister. Go easy on the Bears, yeah? They’re good guys. Just… figuring out their place in this crazy world.”
He ambles away, and I'm just waiting for him to pull out his bong and start dread locking his hair while I start eating.
“Oh my God,” I moan around my first bite. “This is… so good.”
"Told you." Darcy breaks off a piece of her cookie. It’s thick, chewy, studded with pools of melted chocolate. “So. You’re surprised there’s another woman in the building.”
I nod, swallowing. “A little. I mean, I knew there were women on staff, but…”
“But you didn’t expect to see one in the leadership meeting.” She finishes for me. “Yeah. I get that reaction a lot.”
“How long have you been with the Bears?”
“Since the beginning. Before the beginning, actually.” She sips her cappuccino, leaving a faint trace of foam on her upper lip. “My father is Charles Madden. He’s on the NHL board. He helped get this franchise off the ground. I built the analytics program from scratch.”
My eyes widen. “That’s incredible. Go sister.”
She giggles along with me, then shrugs. “It’s exhausting. But I’m good at my job, despite who my father is. So I don’t apologize for that anymore.”
She talks about growing up around hockey, fighting to be taken seriously in a world that wanted her to be a puck bunny.
“The second you apologize for being smart, for knowing your shit? You lose. So don’t apologize. Fuck them.”
I absorb this like a sponge. It’s the pep talk I didn’t know I needed.
Especially after the morning I've had.
“What about Colin?” I ask, picking at my toast. “Is he really serious about turning things around, or does he just want to surf?”
I tell her about running into him in his boardshorts this morning.
Darcy smirks. “Oh yeah. Colin's a mixed breed. But he hired a Michelin-trained chef, Margot Lawson, to run team nutrition. And Brooke Kessler runs The Vault, you met her. She’s the local gal who makes every player sweat when she smiles at them.
And Poppy Sinclair, she's our sports psychologist. She's awesome. Players walk in insisting they’re fine, only to walk out texting their moms.”
I stare, my fork halfway to my mouth. “So… I’m not alone?”
“Not even close, sister.”
Hope, warm and sudden, spreads through my chest.
“What about Declan?” I ask, tracing the rim of my coffee cup. “Does he always…”
“Lash out when he’s cornered? Yeah.” Darcy breaks off another piece of cookie. “But here’s the thing about Declan Morrison. He’s not a bad guy. From everything I've seen, he’s just a regular hockey guy. But now you've walked in and told him he has to work harder. Of course he’s threatened.”
“I’m just trying to do my job.”
“I know. And from where I was sitting, I can see he knows that too.” She looks at me, her gaze direct. “Which is why he’s so pissed. He can’t dismiss you as incompetent. So he’s trying to push you away.”
"And I just take that?"
Darcy shakes her head. "Fuck no! Show him who's boss girl. Don't take anyone's shit."
The words land, heavy and true.
She's right. I came here to change. To stop being de-humanized for being different.
Darcy pays the bill despite my protests and the flashy new corporate credit card sitting in my pocket, then we walk back along the boardwalk with some to-go iced coffees in hand.
The ocean breeze is pulling at my ponytail, and the boardwalk is starting to come alive with energy.
Tourists in flip-flops and sunburned shoulders wander between food trucks and souvenir stands. The carousel spins lazily in the distance, its cheerful music drifting on the breeze. Gulls cry overhead, and the scent of grilled fish and kettle corn hangs in the salt air.
I'm mid-sip of my iced coffee, actually starting to feel human again
I’m feeling better. Lighter. Armed with cookies and good old fashioned gal-pal camaraderie.
Then, up ahead, gathered near a cool looking taco truck, a crowd is gathering. And at the center of it…
Stand three shirtless Morrison brothers.
And a dog.
“I’m just saying, we can’t leave him here!”