Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Alexei
The grounds at Chase Manor looked like something out of a fairytale, complete with a white trellis with climbing roses, a beautifully landscaped garden with a pretty pond, and a fancy tea set with little pastries I should not be eating as countdown to the season start loomed.
I had been summoned.
Harper Chase, the Rebel Queen and CEO of the team that had just bought my contract, lifted a floral-patterned teapot and said, “Earl Grey?”
“Sure, Ms. Chase.”
“Oh, it’s Harper. Please.” She poured a cup and nudged it my way. “Help yourself to cream and sugar.”
I did and let the silence build. While I had met Harper a few times over the years in social settings, I had never had a real conversation with her.
“What happened to your face, Alexei?”
No amount of ice could keep a bruise from forming where my father had struck me.
“I am still getting used to the cabinets in the kitchen. I misjudged an open door.”
“At least you didn’t lose your balance. I wouldn’t have been happy to hear that. How are things otherwise?”
“I’m fine. It was good to move here ahead of the season, get organized.”
“And do you feel that? Organized?”
I wasn’t used to people in my business. Vadim had warned me before I made overtures to be acquired by the Rebels that “from top-down, they will meddle in your life.” I had expected team nosiness, that kind of thing. I did not expect the boss to be so hands-on.
“My house is in order. Well-furnished with all my personal things where I like them. I have found a coffee shop, a bakery, and a place to get my nails done. All is good.”
She smiled. “You know, I couldn’t believe it when you said you wanted to end your career in Chicago. We didn’t think we could afford you, but then you took a pay cut. Even with your injury-interrupted play last year, you could have scored a bigger contract with another team.”
“Coming to this city is important to me.”
“Because of your father?”
I nodded, though it wasn’t the truth. It would have been better to keep him in Seattle, close to everything he knew. But Chicago had other attractions.
“And how is he?”
Here it was, the true reason for this meeting. “You need not concern yourself. His illness will not interfere with my game.”
She studied me over her teacup. “That’s not what I meant.
I could have sent Coach or Ryder to talk to you, but I like to meet all our players for a real talk at least once or twice a year.
And I especially like them to know that they’re now part of a family.
Oh, I know all the teams say that, but we don’t pay lip service to it here. We mean it.”
I had heard this before. Every team’s general manager, coach, and psychologist had a spiel about team dynamics and how they were there for us. Until you stopped playing well and became a liability. That would not happen with me. I could manage this, all of it.
“I appreciate that. And if I need the team’s help, I will be sure to reach out. Right now, the situation is in hand, but I would appreciate discretion. No discussions with the press, that kind of thing.”
“Of course. It’s your business, and it’ll stay that way. But just know, we’re on your side.”
“It is much appreciated, Harper.”
The Rebels Youth Hockey Camp was an annual summer event at the Rebels practice arena where kids got a chance to play on professional ice with hockey stars.
It was usually spearheaded by Theo Kershaw, but this year his eldest, Hatch, had stepped into his skates to conduct two weeks of intensive skating and drills—or as intensive as was appropriate for kids aged eight to fourteen.
Hatch was going over the rules with the cohort while I sat on the bench checking my phone. I had left a message with my father’s doctor about his recent behavior, and I was waiting for him to return the call.
The weight of the bench shifted as someone took a seat.
“Molly, how are ya?”
One of Theo’s many talented progeny, Conor Kershaw was a young upstart who currently played for the Detroit Motors.
On the ice we would call him a chirp king, the kind of guy who was constantly running his mouth, but in his case was so good-natured that you wanted to ruffle his hair instead of bash him over the head with a stick. Most of the time.
“Molly?”
“Molotov cocktail, my man.”
“Rather weak.”
He grinned. “Nah, it’s perfect.”
A lot of confidence, this kid. But he could back it up. He was destined to be one of the greats.
“Have you done this camp before?”
“Yeah, it’s a lot of fun. Damn, I can’t wait to have kids.”
I snapped my head back. “You are what, twenty-three?”
“Almost. But why wait to do something that would make you happy?”
“You are barely an adult yourself. Perhaps you should enjoy your life, playing the field. I hear you are very popular.”
“I am.” Another grin. “But you have to wonder if any of those chicks would be interested without the pro-athlete tag.”
I assessed him. I was not attracted to my own gender, but I could tell when a man had the “it” factor. “You would do okay, I think.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, you should come on my podcast.”
“That sounds like a thing I would not want to do.” Before he could make a case, I changed the subject. “There are more girls in this camp than I expected. That one is impatient to start.”
A girl with a red-haired braid was skating figure eights behind the group while Hatch talked, her eagerness to begin palpable.
Connor nodded. “Isobel and Mia have done a great job with outreach to girls, and of course, they’re not going to pass up a chance to play with LoYo.”
“LoYo?”
“Yep, here she comes. Late as usual.”
I looked up to see Lauren skating toward us, hockey stick in one hand, helmet in the other. Her stride was smooth as glass; her hair flowed behind her like a midnight-tinted carpet. She waved at Hatch, then joined us on the bench with Conor between us.
“LoYo!” He offered a fist bump which she reciprocated. “About time you joined the party.”
“Some of us have jobs, Connie.” Her eyes narrowed at me. “What happened to your face?”
My bruise had deepened, leaving no doubt that I had clashed with something or someone.
“It is nothing.”
My reticence annoyed her. “You’re Jason’s replacement?”
“I am. Though I expect I will surpass him in every way.”
She huffed her discontent and turned her attention to the ice, waving at someone across the way, a tall kid who was playing with a puck. He lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
Conor elbowed me. “Dude, what did you do?”
“I am breathing.”
“Okay, I need this story.”
“There’s no story, you filthy hound.” Lauren tapped her stick against the plexiglass, an old habit of hers I recognized. “Alright, time to show the kids how we do this.” She burst upright and cleared the wall easily.
Ever the tough girl, but I remembered a time when she was more willing to show her soft side. When I had the key to unlock it.
I needed to find that access once more.