Chapter 13 Brooke
Brooke
"Brooke!" Levi calls to me from the bench as I scroll through my list of polling questions for the boys. My plan is to stick around for practice and grab some pictures, then video them coming off of the ice and answering one for the camera.
Standing from my seat in the row right behind him, I step up to the boards. Levi tosses something small over the glass, and I fumble my phone trying not to let either fall through the seats.
"That's the key to Jenny's old office. It's down the hall from mine. Drew reminded me I never gave you any of her equipment. That's my fault. Use whatever you need."
I'm caught off guard by just about everything he says—office, Drew, equipment. Mostly because I've never had an office before. Not that it's really mine, of course. And Drew—he just keeps surprising me.
"Thanks, I'll take a look while you guys are out there."
Levi nods, then holds his phone screen up to the glass. "These are the job requirements I forgot to show you last week."
I scan the list. There's nothing on there that I didn't expect—or already Google.
Capture photos and videos, create content, schedule posts, track trends, collaborate with the marketing team, and interact with fans online.
Most of it is either obvious or something I won't be around for long enough to worry about.
"This is all very professional of you, Coach McHottie," I say, tapping the glass where his now blacked-out screen is still displayed.
He rolls his eyes, pulling the phone back down and swiping up on the device. Pressing it back to the glass, he says, "And this is what I can offer you for the time you're here. That is, if Burns and Anderson didn't already scare you away with their tour."
I grin, glancing down at the screen, then back up at Levi, who's looking over his shoulder as the guys start funneling onto the ice. Leaning in closer, I double check the number.
"I don't think that's right," I say, calculating. "You only asked for a month."
Levi turns the phone back toward himself, nods, then flips it to me again. "That's the number, Larkin."
I do the math once more, and I know I didn't go to college—sorry, Mother—but I'm not stupid.
And I know money. That easily matches what my pay would be for the next month at The Gilded Pub, plus more, and that's without dealing with college kids on cheesesteak nights.
I already got Tessa to cover my shifts for me for the time being.
Luckily, she's in-between her regular gigs and was eager to take them.
Mentally thanking Tess—and Alex for banging the fucking coach like I so graciously suggested—I smile. "Sounds good to me."
Levi pockets his phone. "Cool," is all he says before he turns around, steps off of the bench, and starts skating toward the boys.
I take one look at the team, spotting the goalie, who, thanks to my studying over the last couple of nights, I now know is Carter Ward.
Take that, college. His legs are bent in a way a girl could only dream, but with my new temporary salary in mind, I shake the immediate thought and head back toward the tunnel.
"If your hockey stick had a name, what would it be?" I ask the next player off, sticking the tiny wireless microphone out over the tripod.
The player, who I believe is Ellis but could easily be Hughes—I'm getting better, but I'm not that good—stutters. "Uh, I, um… Hercules."
I smile politely.
"No, Thor."
I nod, pulling the microphone back.
"No, wait..."
I shove it back in front of him, inhaling deeply, my mouth still formed in a forceful grin.
Ellis-Hughes stands straighter, the corner of his lips turning upward. "Excalibur."
I nod, and thankfully, Ward steps up behind him, saving us both from any more indecisiveness.
"Claus."
I snort out a laugh. "What?" He simply shrugs and continues walking by as Petrov's presence shadows above me.
Still half giggling, I swallow down his massive size, tip my chin up to him, and hold out the mic. "Hey, Alexei, if your hockey stick had a name, what would it be?"
He pauses, contemplating, then glances down at his stick. After a moment of consideration, he looks back at me. "Volshebnaya Palochka."
"Oh," I say quickly. "That's, um—wow. Okay." He stares at me, his expression as unreadable as it normally is. After another beat of silence I assumed he would fill, I ask, "And what does that mean?"
"It is the same as you say wand." We both look at each other blankly. "Because with it I make the magic."
My eyes go wide as I tilt my head. "Huh. That's so… poetic."
He nods assertively then walks away. I track his movement, dumbfounded by the intricate depth of such a large man. When I turn around, Drew is standing there, leaning his weight against his stick, his helmet unstrapped and one eyebrow raised. "You gonna ask me?"
"Yeah, sure," I say before swallowing. I take an interest in my phone to ensure it's still recording and notice through the view of the camera that Drew is watching me.
The way he looks at me is different than I would have expected. He's different than I would have expected. I think back to our conversation earlier in the shooting bay. The way he spoke up for me with Levi. Everything about that night at the gala.
But that's only him some of the time.
And that's only one of our problems.
I reach my arm out to him, clearing my throat. "What would your stick be called if you had to give it a name, Twelve?"
Drew narrows his eyes and runs his tongue along his top lip. "Maybe—"
"The Hammer," Brett says, stepping up to Drew and throwing his arms over his shoulder. He knocks his glove into Drew's stick, and it falls to the rubber ground with a thump. "Look, Cap. You dropped it."
Drew scrunches up his face as he looks at him sideways, then puts his arm behind him and shoves him forward. "Get lost, Burnsey," he says through a chuckle.
Burns lets out his infamous cackle as he falls into step backward, away from us and the video. "My stick's name is Dixie, by the way! Dixie Normus!" he calls to us as he continues down the hall.
"You wish, bud!" Drew yells, then rolls his eyes to me.
"I'll just edit all that out."
"Good idea."
I tap the record button on my phone to stop the video. "I think I have enough anyway."
A silence falls between us. It's not uncomfortable, but definitely charged.
Every interaction I have with Drew feels weighted.
Not necessarily heavy, but dense. Maybe it's because I know how I feel—hell, I know how he feels—but I won't act on it.
Maybe it's because we really do connect.
But it always seems like there's a depth to our interactions—electric chemistry, intense banter, loaded questions.
Like if I just let myself give in, we might fall from the cliff we're teetering on.
It gets me thinking that if I want to do my best here, I'm going to need some of the novelty to wear off between us.
I can't work with him every day for a month, thinking there's some sort of unsolved mystery inside of him—some unlocked potential.
I need things to be easy and casual. I need to see him as the man that he is and not the man I wrote him to be in my head that night.
I need to see the Drew that the world sees—but for myself.
"What's your typical day look like?" I ask, capitalizing on the motivation I have.
He pulls his neck back, justifiably caught off guard. "Um, it's different all the time, honestly."
"Do you think you could show me?" His eyebrows shoot up before he blinks them back down, attempting to hide his surprise. "Maybe let me sort of shadow you for a day?"
His brow wrinkles slightly. "Like for content?"
Like for peace of mind.
I shrug. "Sure."
He mulls it over, silent while maintaining eye contact. When his lips crawl into his signature grin, my body reacts as it usually does, and I start regretting my decision. "You sayin' you want to hang out with me, Mystery Girl?"
"No, I—that's not what—"
He adjusts his stance, shaking his head. "I'm fucking with you, Brooke. Jenny did this before with Ward. Why she'd want to spend the day with a goalie is beyond me." He blows out a breath as if his opinion's exhausting. "Those dudes are weird as hell."
I catch myself snickering, and he definitely notices. "But yeah," he says, striding half a step closer. "Sure. You can be my shadow."
I nod and remove my phone from the tripod clamp. I shove it into my back pocket as he continues.
"Under two conditions."
I peer up at him. "No dates."
He cocks his head back and looks me over quickly. "Well, someone's awfully confident." My gaze turns to a glare. "But no. That's not one."
"I'm listening."
Drew switches his stick to his other hand and tugs one glove off, tucking it under his arm.
He removes his helmet next, balancing it on the top of his stick and runs his free hand through his hair.
"The first is you have to lean in. You want to spend a day in my shoes, you're walking in them right alongside me.
" When my eyes finish their quick detour to his hair raking, they return to his.
And of course, he's smirking at me knowingly. "You have to commit, Mystery Girl."
"Perfect," I say, dripping in false confidence. "That's exactly what I've been working on."
"It'll be good practice then."
I tip my chin down, popping a hip out and scooping up the tripod. "And the second condition?"
His voice flattens, his tone serious. "I say what makes it into the highlight reel. If there's something I don't want on social media, you have to respect that."