14. Chapter 13
Josie
Icruise along Beachside's coastal road in Declan's Range Rover, and can't help but feel like I've just stolen something.
This vehicle is basically a luxury spaceship. A spaceship that smells like him. I keep catching myself grinning at red lights like a lunatic.
"Get it together, Whitfield," I mutter to the rearview mirror, where a woman with thoroughly kissed lips is grinning back at me. "You have a job to do today. A serious, important job."
Except the woman in the mirror does not look like she has a serious, important job to do. The woman in the mirror looks like she spent the entire night getting absolutely, comprehensively wrecked by a professional athlete who told her she was changing his life while he was buried inside her.
Three times.
My thighs ache in the best possible way.
By the time I make it back to the hotel, shower off the very obvious I-just-had-sex smell clinging to my skin, and yank on a fresh team polo and jeans, the yoga class on the lawn below my balcony is already mid-downward-dog.
I lean against the railing, and snort a laugh.
Cute. They have no idea I perfected my own version of that pose last night. Repeatedly. Namaste, indeed.
The instructor's serene voice floats up through the open door, telling everyone to release what no longer serves you.
For once, I actually do.
Because somewhere between Declan's mouth on my throat at 2 a.m. and his hand spread possessively over every inch of my skin, something shifted.
Maybe Declan's right. I twist my wet hair into a clip and look at myself in the mirror. Maybe Mom's the one missing out.
The thought lands soft and strange and enormous. For years I've worn her disappointment like a second skin, and now some grumpy hockey player has gone and snipped the thread in one night.
I exhale, releasing it.
Then I grab my bag and my keys and the version of myself that has a hockey team to save. Because the Bears are nowhere near safe, and one semi-decent night doesn't fix a franchise on life support.
I didn't move across the country to be the woman who rode a single buy-one-get-one ticket promo into the sunset.
There's work to do. Real work.
I can do this if I stay focused. Stay sharp.
I built this entire life on being undeniable. On being so good at my job that no one could ever reduce me to anything less.
Which is a real problem, considering I just spent the night letting the captain of my team reduce me to a whimpering mess against his headboard.
Fuck.
My biggest secret used to be the career I hide from my mother.
Now it's the one that could end it.
Four days later, I'm staring at the single most beautiful catering spread I have ever seen in a professional setting.
Goldie's outdid themselves with the order I placed late last night.
Right in the center of the table in Conference Room A, there's a tray of warm cinnamon rolls the size of my fist, glaze still glistening and dripping down the sides in slow golden rivers.
There's a pyramid of fruit danishes with edges so flaky they shatter when you look at them, and a basket of those famous brown butter cookies that Luna swears can fix a marriage.
I help myself to the sleek silver carafe of cold brew sweating beside a French press of something so dark and aromatic it's making my mouth water already.
Kai dropped it all off twenty minutes ago, walking to The Bear Cave barefoot, calling everyone 'brother' and 'sister,' and then drifting out like a benevolent surf ghost.
Colin Holden is currently ruining it.
"Now this," Colin says around a mouthful of cinnamon roll, leaning so far back in his chair I'm genuinely worried for his spine, "is what I'm talking about. Josie. Josie. Did you taste the cookie?"
"I'm aware of the cookie, Colin."
"The cookie," he repeats, pointing at me with the remains of his pastry.
He's wearing a Hawaiian shirt patterned with tiny surfboards and looks like he wandered in from a family beach barbecue.
"If we lose this franchise, I want it on record that the cookie was the only thing that made this season worth it. "
Coach Pearson, sitting at the far end with his coffee, grunts. "We're not losing the franchise. We won again last night. We're on a roll."
"I know! That's why I'm enjoying the cookie." Colin licks glaze off his thumb. "Stress-free workplace, baby. Stress-free."
He kicks back and lays his feet on the table.
Yes. Last night was a win, technically. A scrappy two-one squeaker we only got because the ref missed a high-stick so obvious my dad would've been turning in his grave.
Declan played okay last night. Okay.
Not the way he played last Saturday. With that smooth, predatory flow, reading plays before they happened in front of the packed crowd.
But it kind of adds up. He's been off all week.
"Sorry I'm late." Declan's voice rumbles from the doorway, and my whole body lights up like the jumbotron. He looks at me sheepishly. "Late again."
He drops into the chair across from me—not beside me, of course, because secrets—then reaches for the black coffee.
And God help me, I have to look back down at my notes before I do something insane, like climb across the danishes just to kiss him.
Because fuck. I miss him.
And here's my problem.
I've barely seen him.
Oh, we've talked. Texts at midnight that turned filthy fast. A stolen ten minutes in the equipment hallway that I'm still not recovered from.
But between his practice schedule, game night last night, and my fourteen-hour days trying to salvage this franchise, we've been two ships passing in a very horny, unsatisfied night.
It's now been four days since he made me feel like the only un-broken thing in the world, and I've gotten exactly one half-clothed grope out of it.
It's not enough. It's nowhere near enough with a man that looks like that.
And worse—
I sneak a glance at him over my coffee.
He looks grumpier. Not at me, exactly. Just… off. Every time I've seen him, he's been staring at his phone with this blank expression and a heaviness behind those blue eyes that wasn't there when he was whispering mine against my neck.
Something's eating at him. Something he hasn't said.
And I have no idea what.
Did I do something? Is this the part where he pulls away?
No. Focus, Josie. You have a job to do.
Beside me, Colin is still heaping praise on the food spread as Darcy slides her sunglasses up onto her head and gives me a look so dry it could mummify a grape. How is this guy still running the team, the look says.
I bite back a smile and clear my throat.
"If everyone's settled with their—" I gesture at the pastry massacre, "—breakfast situation, can we get started? Rose has the numbers."
"Numbers!" Colin claps his hands together, scattering crumbs. "I love numbers."
Rose stands, tablet in hand, and immediately knocks her elbow into the cold brew carafe. She catches it before it tips all over her father, Coach Pearson.
He gives her a look, exhales, and Rose gives an apologetic little wave to the room like she's just been scolded by the man who raised her.
"Okay. So." She taps the screen, and the wall display lights up with a graph that, frankly, makes my heart sing.
"The campaign is exploding. Like, genuinely exploding.
Our social engagement is up four hundred percent month over month.
The 'Bears Behind the Scenes' TikToks are averaging two hundred thousand views, and the one of Beck trying to teach Biscuit to fetch a puck broke a million. "
"A million?" Colin chokes on his coffee.
"A million." Rose beams. "Merch is up sixty-two percent. Brooke literally cried in the stockroom yesterday because we sold out of jerseys."
"Those were happy tears," I clarify. "I checked on her well-being."
Dr. Poppy Sinclair, the team psychologist, gives me a curt nod from the other side of the table.
"And ticket sales—" Rose swipes to the next slide, "—okay, so. Last night's home game didn't quite hit the heights of the buy-one-get-one night Josie put together on the weekend."
I lean forward, ready to defend it, but she's already nodding at me.
She's good at her job. I'll give her that. Mind you, she's had to be. Being the Coach's daughter and all.
"But that was completely expected," Rose continues, "because it was a Tuesday. Weeknight game, working town, school night. We still pulled fifty-eight percent capacity, which two months ago would've been a sellout fantasy. The trend is up. Steady, consistent, up."
Colin sets down his cookie. An actual miracle. "Fifty-eight percent on a Tuesday?"
"On a Tuesday," I confirm.
He stares at the screen for a moment, and for once, the surfer-dude mask slips. Underneath it, just for a second, there's a man who really, really doesn't want to lose his job.
"Josie." He looks at me, genuinely. "You're a wizard. I've been telling people you're a wizard. Tyler called you a wizard. We're all in agreement that you're a wizard."
"I'm a marketing director who answers her emails in a timely fashion," I say, feeling Declan's eyes run over me. "But sure, I'll take wizard."
The room chuckles, and I let myself sit in it for a second.
Because this? This is the dream. The thing I crossed the country for. The thing I've been trying to prove my entire adult life. I built this. Me. The girl my mother thinks is floating around chasing little boys on a frozen pond.
I should be over the moon.
And I am. Mostly.
Except for one tiny, infuriating, six-foot-four problem.
Colin spins his chair toward the man on my mind, cookie crumbs in his stubble. "Speaking of momentum… Declan. How's the team shaping up? What are the vibes in the old locker room?"
Declan clears his throat.
And side-eyes me.
It's quick. A flick of those deep blue eyes, there and gone, but it lands like a hook under my ribs. Yep. Something's off. Something's wrong. I just don't know what.
Because the last time I saw this man, he was pulling me against his bare chest, pressing his car keys into my palm while kissing me slow and stupid in his bedroom after we just got caught by his brother.
The last time I saw him, he was smiling.
Now?
He's looking around the room like everyone here personally wronged him.
"Vibes are fine," he says.
Fine. My stomach drops.
"Guys are working hard. Putting in the reps." He shrugs, all loose and breezy, like he's discussing the weather and not a franchise on life support. "It'll come together."
It'll come together.
That's it. No fire. No fight.
Just the grumpy, coasting hockey dude I'd spent weeks dragging into the light.
Darcy takes the floor next, sliding her tablet across the table. Coach Pearson straightens, his amusement fading into something more serious as our head of analytics has her say on proceedings.
"The players are doing well," Darcy begins, pulling up a new set of data on the screen.
"Our analytics show significant improvement across the board.
Declan, your faceoff percentage is up twelve points.
Campbell's shot accuracy has improved. Sawyer's save percentage in the last two games is the best it's been all season. "
"Good," Coach rumbles. "That's good."
"It is." Darcy pauses. "But we're keeping our eyes on a few underperformers."
I notice the way her gaze flicks across the room. And for just a second, it lands on me.
That's odd.
"Underperformers?" Declan pushes forward on his seat, suddenly more interested than he has been since he walked in.
"Nothing to be alarmed about yet," she continues smoothly. "Standard roster evaluation. Every team does it mid-season. But there are a couple of players whose numbers don't match their salary cap hit, and if we're looking at long-term sustainability..."
"They're trade bait," Colin finishes.
"I didn't say that. But if certain players don't start pulling their weight..." She trails off, letting the implication hang.
Colin nods, drumming his fingers on the table. "Alright. Keep me posted. I don't want any surprises."
"You won't get any."
He pushes back from the table, stretching his arms over his head.
"Alright. Good meeting everyone. Great meeting. Best meeting we've had since I took this job, and I'm including the one where they gave me the keys to the surf storage."
"That was your first day," Darcy says, gathering her things.
"Best day of my life." He stands, still stretching, but then he points at me. "Oh! Josie! I almost forgot my favorite part!"
I frown at him. "Yes, Colin?"
"We've got the road trip coming up. Three games, two cities, away from home." He's grinning now, that big easy grin. "And since you are the reason anyone in this entire country knows the Beachside Bears exist anymore—" he spreads his arms wide, "—we're sending you with the team!"
I blink. "You—what?"
"Road trip! Yay!" Beck, who I hadn't even fully clocked sliding into the back of the room halfway through, pumps a fist from the doorway. "She's coming on the road trip! FUCK YES!"
"Fuck yes, indeed. PR duties," Colin continues, grinning. "Content, media coordination, all the wizard stuff. You'll travel with the boys. First class, team hotels, the whole circus." He claps me on the shoulder as he passes. "Enjoy it, Josie. You've earned it."
And just like that, the meeting's breaking up. Pastries vanishing into napkins. Rose gathering her tablet. Coach Pearson muttering something to Pete about line change practice as they walk out the door.
I sit there for a second, my pulse doing something stupid and hopeful behind my ribs.
A road trip? With the team?
With Declan?!
A road trip means hotels. Which means close quarters. And that means, for the first time in days, I might actually get more than three minutes in Declan's orbit.
At least now I'll find out the truth.
At least now I'll be close enough to read whatever's been written across that beautiful, brooding, infuriating face of his.
At least now I'll know if I actually did something wrong.
Or if my mother just did such a number on me that I've spent four days mistaking a man with something on his mind for a man pulling away from me.
I gather my laptop, stand, and catch Darcy watching me with that knowing little half-smile.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing." She slides her sunglasses back down. "You've just got the exact look of a woman who's about to spend a road trip pretending she's not sleeping with the captain."
I nearly drop my laptop.
"Darcy—"
"Relax." She grabs the last cookie off the tray and turns for the door, calling over her shoulder, "Your secret's safe with me… wizard."
I stand frozen in the empty conference room, my heart hammering and my face burning.
A road trip. Out on the open road, with two blazing secrets ready to explode.
God help me.
God fucking help me.