The Chemistry Coach (Coaching The Connors #1)

Chapter 1

Daisy

Daisy Mayes was the Seattle Freeze’s biggest fan. Hockey was her life. She spent every waking hour plotting ways she could weasel her way into a job with the team. Unfortunately, her background and skills weren’t transferable to the NHL’s open job listings.

After receiving her one thousandth rejection email, Daisy took matters into her own hands. Which is why she was sitting on the floor of her closet talking into a microphone with her best friend, Roxie.

Roxie flipped the microphone off and pressed play on the audio file they’d created. Their voices sounded light and airy in the closed space.

Roxie confidently asked, “What’s your opinion on the new Connor line Coach Bree keeps playing?”

God, what a cliché question. Every hockey podcast in the region had beaten this dead horse into the ground.

There must be something more interesting to talk about, but going against the grain wouldn’t help build a following in sports.

Fans liked hearing the same bullshit that repeatedly validated their opinions.

At least her answer seemed semi-intelligent.

“It’s not working. The other lines are scoring.

Valentine, Greene, and Hale need to start working together.

They’re supposed to be the top line. The stars of the show.

Yet they haven’t recorded a single point in eight games.

Valentine and Hale are young, new faces.

Greene needs to show some leadership. He has talent.

As a fan, it’s frustrating to watch the small mistakes taking their toll.

At this point in the season, I don’t see mixing up the other lines. The rest of the team is producing.”

Daisy paused the recording. “Do you think that’s too harsh?”

Roxie frowned at her. “No, it’s the truth.”

“But what if they listen to this?” Unlikely, but the idea of the players listening to negative media about themselves made her stomach turn. She would hate to have tens of thousands of people monitoring her work performance, even if she were the best.

Roxie gathered their equipment and stood, opening the closet door.

Light poured in, and they shielded their eyes.

“I know Connor Greene, remember? It won’t hurt his feelings.

We’re not saying anything he doesn’t already know.

Plus, if we’re doing this, you have to be okay with ruffling some feathers.

Journalism is about honesty and integrity. ”

A lump formed in Daisy’s throat. If she thought too hard about hurting the players she loved, she’d never be able to continue on this path.

Working in the NHL was her life goal. She needed this.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, gathering her emotions and forcing the anxiety to the back of her mind.

“You’re right. The team will never hear any of our commentary anyway.”

Recording session over for the evening, they prepared to watch that day’s media coverage of the Freeze.

Daisy had already watched it, but Roxie didn’t need to know that.

Daisy answered the door for the delivery of their dinner, handing the driver a tip, before settling into her favorite spot on the couch and accepting a fork from Roxie.

She started shoveling noodles into her mouth while hitting play on the Freeze’s latest YouTube video.

On her TV screen, a larger-than-life Connor “Beanie” Greene sucked his bottom lip into his mouth while he contemplated a reporter’s question.

His teeth dragged over the lip as it popped free, now glistening and full as he gave an answer.

Daisy had watched this clip four times, and she still wasn’t sure what he said, his lips too enchanting to look away from.

The dreamy sigh she let out had Roxie snorting and tossing a crumpled napkin at her. “You know if you do ever work for the team you can’t ogle him, right?”

“I’m incapable.” Daisy waved a hand at the TV. “Fucking look at him. Why is he so hot?” The Connor on the screen shoved sweaty curls out of his eyes and rubbed at the dark stubble on his jaw. She stared at his striking green eyes, not expecting an answer from Roxie, but she got one.

“You should see him naked. It’s a shame I’m not attracted to men. His body is objectively perfect.”

Daisy swatted Roxie. “Your lack of interest should be a literal crime. Straight to jail.”

Roxie let out a cackle that would rival any animated witch. “Hey, I really tried to make it work. I wanted to want him! And I’m pretty sure there are thousands of women who would say the same thing about you giving up Patrick Mills.”

Daisy crossed her arms and jutted her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “It’s not the same. I stopped dating him long before he became an NHL hotshot.”

“I dumped Beanie back in college, way before his debut. It’s the exact same thing. You can’t force attraction.” Roxie shrugged and took a massive bite.

Daisy rolled her eyes and transitioned her attention to the beautiful man on her TV, rewinding the stream a few seconds to try to listen to his words instead of mentally undressing him.

The conference room overflowed with people, and an executive spouted off nonsense that wasn’t applicable to two-thirds of the people in the room. Daisy loathed all-staff meetings. They served no purpose other than to waste her and everyone else’s time.

She slipped her phone out of her pocket and tapped her password in by muscle memory alone.

Glancing around the room to be sure no eyes were on her, she leaned back in her chair and surreptitiously studied her lap.

The podcast had ten listens so far. Daisy did some mental math.

Two of those were her and Roxie. Roxie’s sister and her brother Grayson had listened.

Maybe her mom and maybe Patrick. That meant four of the listeners were strangers.

More, if her biggest supporters hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Hope sprang in Daisy’s chest. Four people saw the cover photo and description of her podcast and were interested enough to at least click through. And she only posted five hours ago.

A chorus of whoops and cheers filled the dull meeting room, and Daisy shoved her phone into her pocket. She pasted her brightest fake smile on and focused on her boss, Rob, who watched her and clapped. She had no clue what they were talking about, but Rob motioned for her to stand.

“Daisy has shown over the years that she can handle whatever we throw at her,” he said. “She’ll be the go-to for our new client. If you have questions or suggestions, you can direct them to her.” When the overeager and unnecessary applause died down, Daisy plopped into her seat.

She held back a groan. She’d been through this song and dance before. When Rob gave her the ‘exciting new clients,’ it always meant they’d be difficult to work with and nobody else wanted them.

Daisy needed to do something. This job was sucking her soul out, slowly but surely, like a rosy-cheeked toddler drinking soda through a coffee stirrer.

The first few years had been good. She got to create custom plans for her clients, and she planned fun, inclusive activities that sparked meaningful conversations. Team-building could be a blast if you had the right tools.

On good days, she got to work with groups of young professionals who wanted to grow, or school-aged kids excited for a field trip.

Since Rob became the boss, those scenarios became few and far between.

Mostly she oversaw uninterested executives playing half-hearted games of ‘Desert Island’ and doing ill-advised trust falls.

Large corporations often paid for team-building as a checkbox in their budget.

The results didn’t matter. And since the results didn’t matter, her effort didn’t either.

Rob had cut funding, allowing only for the most basic activities.

Ropes courses and blown glass classes became sober party games and egg drops.

Rob rattled off more new assignments and then dismissed everyone. Daisy waited for the crowd to filter out before standing to leave, but Rob signaled she should stay and closed the conference room door once they were alone.

Daisy tried to put a light in her eyes when she sank into her chair.

“What’s up?” she asked.

He pulled a file folder from his briefcase and handed it to her. “There’s some paperwork you need to fill out before you can get started with your new clients.”

Many of the companies she worked with had confidentiality agreements, so Daisy flipped open the folder and signed the highlighted areas without bothering to read the documents. She shoved the folder back at Rob, who stuffed it in his briefcase.

“Anything else I should know about this one?”

Rob handed her another document from his bag.

This one had a list of basic activities on it.

Collaboration (popsicle stick bridge, egg drop), party game (two truths and a lie, never have I ever), friendly competition (marshmallow tower, obstacle course), escape room.

She flipped the paper over to find a list of cliché icebreaker questions.

“Stick to what’s on the sheet. These activities work. You’ll be doing four sessions with this group.”

Daisy barely contained her eye roll. “Understood.”

When Rob freed her from his godforsaken presence, she beelined to the meeting room she would use for her mysterious new client.

She pulled out the supplies for popsicle stick bridges, filled the refreshment fridge, and left her list of questions out on the table, eager to set up so she could get home and watch the Freeze game.

Connor Greene was on Daisy’s last damn nerve.

This man. She’d been having shameful fantasies about him for years, but that night’s involved strangulation.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to be annoyed with him.

They’d never met, but he’d impacted her life more than he could ever know.

This time, though, her irritation stemmed from his body placement, rather than her inconvenient lust for him.

“What the actual fuck!?” she yelled at the TV as she watched the puck bounce off Connor’s leg and into his own goal.

Roxie’s hand flew to her head. “No, are you fucking kidding me? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The Freeze had a three-goal lead going into the third period.

Until Connor fucking Greene broke their defensive posture and a puck bounced into his own net off his body.

And then two minutes later, it happened again.

Two own-goals in less than three minutes.

The dipshit hung his poor goalie out to dry.

No goaltender should have to defend against his own man.

With eight minutes left in the third, Connor had single-handedly made it a one-goal game for their opponent. That left plenty of time for the opposition to tie it up. Then he got called for interference, giving the other team a power play.

“What the fuck, Beanie? You’re better than that!” Roxie shouted at the screen.

Instead of relaxing with some ice cream watching the end of what should’ve been a sure win for her team, Daisy teetered on the edge of her seat, man-spread, elbows on her knees, her head in her hands as she waited for the puck to drop after a TV timeout.

Roxie mirrored her, her grip so tight on the remote her knuckles turned white.

Adrenaline pulsed through Daisy’s veins as she watched the special teams duke it out.

Every clear brought a sigh of relief, every zone entry a spiral into certain despair.

The air became thick with tension, Daisy and Roxie’s sighs and gasps coming in simultaneous waves.

Daisy was spitting mad at Connor’s mistakes, but the uncertainty and hope and dread and whole-hearted, blind faith in these men to keep a tiny black puck out of the net—this is what Daisy lived for. This is what she tried to describe to anyone who asked her about her passion for hockey.

In hockey, the momentum could change in a heartbeat.

A winner not decided until the final buzzer.

Hockey fans are a special kind of delusional—often believing their team could score three goals in one minute to take a game to overtime.

But it could happen. It had happened before.

It only took one lucky bounce, or the goalie getting a little too comfortable, or the refs being on your side for once in their lives.

Seattle’s veteran defenseman, Harland Reese, stole the puck with a well-placed poke check. He maneuvered around the other team’s attackers and cleared the zone, alone on a breakaway down the ice. Daisy and Roxie were on their feet. Reese looked for a pass. None of his teammates were around.

Daisy and Roxie screamed at the screen. “Shoot the fucking puck!”

Reese did, and the little black disk flew past the goalie’s glove and ricocheted around the back of the net.

The goal horn sounded; the lamp lit up. The crowd on the TV roared.

Daisy and Roxie were hugging and jumping in Roxie’s tiny living room.

A Nirvana song blasted in the background as the TV broadcast showed the replay from half a dozen different angles.

On a shorthanded goal, one of the star players made it a two-goal lead with five minutes left.

That was the beauty of hockey. This was a regular season game for a team that, honestly, wasn’t very good. But the excitement of every single goal was worth every upset. Fans would cuss out the refs one second and scream in support the next.

After the game, which Seattle won, Roxie and Daisy hunkered down on the floor of Roxie’s tiny closet and recorded their next podcast episode.

It was more optimistic this time, but Daisy couldn’t help the despair in her voice when they talked about Connor Greene’s mistakes.

If Roxie had any concerns about discussing her ex’s crappy play, she didn’t voice them.