Chapter Three #3
a secret: NHL superstar turned cautionary tale, who ditched his family for the party lifestyle before a drunk driving accident
left him with permanent brain damage and killed two people. But it’s still not something either Brooke or Gale ever talk about.
E.M.M.A. continues: Your playing style shows remarkable parallels to his historical footage, as does your physical composition. Losing such an
influential figure during those developmental years must have shaped not just your technique, but your entire emotional approach
to the game. Do you ever feel his presence when you’re on the ice?
My whole body tenses. Even with all her sophisticated language parsing, E.M.M.A. hasn’t mastered the art of delicacy.
“No.” Gale erupts from his seat like a volcano, ripping off the wrist cuffs. “This is messed up.” His frown deepens the faint
lines around his eyes. “That’s it. I’m done, calling it right now.”
“Yikes, yeah, okay, that was unexpected,” I blurt out, hands rising to soothe him like he’s a spooked horse. “But as you know,
we’re just starting beta testing and have to work out the kinks—”
“Nah, I’m good.” Gale gives me a wide berth as he goes around the other side of the table. “I’ve been off my game, and I gotta
find my way through. But not like this. I don’t want to be some lab rat, and I’m not going to talk about him.”
His fingers close around the doorknob as I order, “Stop.”
There’s enough authority in my tone that he freezes, but doesn’t turn around. “What?”
I walk up to stand beside him. “If you bulldoze out of here, people are going to notice, and then the whole office is going to talk. I don’t want that. My guess is you don’t either.”
“No, not really.” His voice is level, but for a flash, I saw right through the tough guy act to the vulnerable kid underneath—the
same one who tried so hard to play it cool during The Cabin in the Woods one Halloween years ago. Back then, I could practically feel the panic radiating off him as he white-knuckled the armrest,
determined not to let his sister or our friends see how terrified he was as college students got systematically dismembered
on-screen.
Back then, he’d been easy to figure out. These days . . . well, somewhere along the way that teenage kid transformed into
a twenty-something man, and I’d lost my ability to read him so clearly. Maybe it had to do with how I’d suddenly noticed him
that summer after his twentieth birthday—caught myself watching his T-shirt stretch across his shoulders at Brooke’s barbecues
doing something as simple as reaching for a beer, or how he’d show up early to her backyard just to help set up without being
asked. Hard to stay objective when you’re trying so hard not to stare, harder still to remember all the reasons you shouldn’t.
“Then slooooow down. If you really can’t do this, I need you to go out and take a hard left, it will go toward a side exit.
I’ll walk beside you. If anyone asks, you got called away for something. No one will question you.”
There’s a long pause before he responds. “Fine.”
He opens the door and we turn as I instructed. Luckily no one is going in or out of the bathrooms so we are able to pass through
unnoticed and step outside. A hard wind whips us, as if trying to blow my professional ambitions away. But I can’t force him
to stay.
“It would be cool if you didn’t tell Brooke about any of this.” Gale slides the sunglasses from the top of his head down over his eyes, shutting me out. “She’ll worry.”
“Remember those confidentiality documents you signed? That protection goes both ways. I’m legally not allowed to gossip behind
your back. But that doesn’t matter. Morally, I never would. Your privacy is number one.”
His posture relaxes slightly, but his eyes remain guarded. “I’m sorry, Harriet. It’s just . . . all that stuff with Dad hits
too close to home.”
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Can we talk more about it? Your reaction was intense.”
Gale’s jaw locks, his expression harder than steel. “That machine crossed a line.”
“I know, and that’s on us. We’ll fix it. But if even mentioning your dad causes this much distress, maybe that’s something
worth exploring? Not with E.M.M.A., but with someone qualified.”
He barks out a bitter laugh. “Now you sound like my sister. Always pushing therapy.”
“Come on, that’s not fair,” I protest, hearing frustration creep into my tone despite my effort to control it. “You can’t
think your reaction was okay.”
Gale sighs. “I know it wasn’t. But whoever said I was okay to begin with?”
His vulnerability surprises me, but it’s gone in a flash as his face hardens.
“Let’s just forget it,” he continues. “We can meet up again at another holiday dinner and pretend this never happened.”
I stand frozen as he stalks off to his truck. I’m torn, wanting to call after him, to make one last attempt to get him to
change his mind. But the haunted look in his eyes tells me it’s useless. Pushing now would only backfire.
The rumble of his truck fades into the distance before I pivot to face the building. My stomach twists, anticipating the mountain of damage control looming ahead. I pull out my phone, wondering how long Gale actually lasted in there. My horoscope still glares up from the lock screen:
Brace for a thunderous new chapter in your life, not a gentle awakening.
I scoff and shake my head. Why do I even bother with horoscopes—it’s just playing cosmic mad-libs.
I stumble as a wind gust slams into me, my hair whipping across my face. Damn Texas weather—always keeping you on your toes.
Before I can duck for cover, thunder cracks overhead, vibrating through my chest like I’ve swallowed a bass drum.
Okay, so it’s a bit of a weird coincidence. But I can’t shake the feeling that this storm might be more than just the weather.
“Boss!” Amir emerges from the building, umbrella in hand, and Hana hot on his high-tops. “A severe storm alert popped up.
Could be hail.”
“I saw you go out with Gale,” she says apologetically as Amir opens the umbrella, sheltering the three of us. “And we thought
you might need this.”
Right on cue, rain hammers down, each drop exploding against the parking lot. The air fills with the sharp, earthy scent of
water on pavement.
“Thanks.” My throat’s a minefield, and I don’t dare risk another syllable. One wrong step and I’ll detonate into a mess of
tears and trembling consonants.
“I’m assuming it didn’t go well?” Hana pushes, concern lacing her words.
“He, well, he . . .” I lightly clear my throat. “He expected a different process and decided to bow out.”
“No beta tester,” Hana says blankly.
“No beta tester,” I confirm.
“Fucking hell.” Amir’s groan is pure frustration. “Tony is going to lose his shit.”
Thunder booms again as my phone buzzes with an incoming call. I see my boss’s name flash. “Guess we’ll know in a minute,”
I mutter, my voice barely audible over the howling wind.