12. Unreasonably Reasonable #2
“Sorry.” She holds up her hands in supplication, sleek brows lifting. “Look, I came to Blackwater to do a job. I want to do it and do it well. This… between us, it makes it harder. I know that, but you need to know I’m not going to hold back here. Outside of work is different.”
I look up the hall, searching for any listening ears before turning to her. “I can understand that. But the two are not separate for me.”
She frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“The Furnace is my home. The people in these offices?” I gesture ahead of us. “They’re my family. This is my life, and it’s not a job to me. I’m not used to separating the two, so can you give me some freaking grace before you sweep in and rip everything I care about apart on the first damn day?”
Shit. My voice has risen, and Lauren flinches back.
“Ro!”
Double fuck. I force a smile before turning.
Gabe jogs toward us, an armful of resistance bands looped around his neck like a weird snake display.
His eyes are curious as he looks between us.
“You still owe me the video from Friday. I need leverage over Ryker. Little shit is arguing about his knee.”
“I sent it to you.” It’s hard to put my brain back into work mode. “Yesterday.”
“Ah.” Gabe grins. “My bad. Who’s this?”
“Lauren Delacorte.” She offers her hand, and he takes it.
“Lauren is taking over content strategy,” I say before he can ask. “This is Gabe Holloway. He’s the Titans lead athletic trainer.”
Gabe looks surprised. “Did I miss a memo? You’re not leaving us, are you, Rosie?”
“She’s not going anywhere.” Lauren straightens, and I glance at her in surprise. “Her content is what made me interested in the job.”
My cheeks color at her small nod. Gabe whistles. “Well, that’s great news. We probably ask too much of her.”
“I don’t mind,” I defend. Lauren is watching me. “I enjoy it.”
“Thankfully.” Gabe wrangles an errant band, grabbing it before it hits the ground. “I need to get these set up. Welcome to the madhouse, Lauren.”
“Thanks.” Lauren watches him disappear around the corner. “Do they ask too much of you?”
“No,” I say shortly. “I’m happy to do it.”
She nods. “So this is the player center.”
I lead her past a series of doors, ticking them off. “Martin’s office—he’s the head coach. Viktor is assistant on defense, but don’t get on his bad side. He shares an office with Dean who works on offense.”
The notebook is back out. It’s mildly impressive how she can take notes while walking. Very coordinated. I keep going. “Remy is video coach. Don’t panic if you find him sitting in the dark, he hates his office light. More bat than man, to be honest.”
“Little weird, but okay.” She points at a nameplate. “These are the recovery rooms?”
“Yeah.” I hesitate outside Elena’s door. “Mina is the team doctor. There’s also Avery, who focuses on immediate recovery, and Elena who does longer-term rehab and mobility work.”
Leo’s door is open, and I stick my head inside. He’s lying half underneath the Zamboni, the roller doors on the other side half-open. The sound of sticks hitting pucks and shouts from the team echo in the air from the rink. “Morning, Leo.”
A muffled grunt answers before he rolls out. Oil streaks one weathered cheek. “What do you need, Ro?”
Advil and a bottle of wine. “Giving Lauren a tour. She’ll be leading on content.”
Lauren lifts a hand, and Leo grunts at her. “Leo keeps the rink in top condition. If you ask really nicely, he will still never, ever, let you touch his machine.”
He eyes us both and then slides back under the Zamboni.
“Good chat.”
Another grunt before I pull the door closed.
Lauren coughs into her fist. “You stole the Zamboni, didn’t you?”
“I plead the fifth.” And it wasn’t technically me. I just hitched a ride when Leo left the rollers open one day and Jonas took full advantage. I chew the inside of my cheek. “Want to see the rink?”
She doesn’t manage to hide the flash of excitement. “Sure. If that works for you.”
“I’d rather eat a razor blade, actually.” I stare at the entrance to the tunnel. “But come on.”
Liam can’t say I’m not trying.
He can’t say a single fucking word, because I keep my face straight as I walk through the tunnel with their scent match beside me. My voice is even as I approach the gate on the side and swing it open for her to enter the stands. “You can watch them—the practice—from here.”
She chooses a seat a few rows back from the bench. I follow her, keeping a chair between us as I sit down and stare blindly out at the ice.
Every muscle is locked. I keep my eyes on the rows opposite—on the sticks, the pucks, anything but them.
Until I can’t take it anymore.
Lauren is leaning forward, her cheeks flushed pink as she watches and her pretty, perky lips slightly rounded.
Because of my newfound masochistic tendencies, I can’t stop myself.
Jonas and Ryker have their heads together, Jonas half-listening to whatever Ryker is exaggeratedly gesturing about.
His other half is entirely focused on the omega next to me.
A small, stupid smirk lifts the side of his lips. It feels like getting a glimpse into a party I’m not invited to.
Dropping my gaze, I rummage in my own bag for something to distract myself from the shitshow unfolding in front of me. My notepad is in here somewhere, buried beneath piles of crap, most of which doesn’t even belong to me but I’ve ended up carrying anyway.
Lauren can carry Jonas’s collection of body sprays around with her from now on. Fuck knows her bag’s big enough. From the look on her face, she’d be only too happy to do whatever he asks.
I glance up long enough to see him look away, and then look back.
Like he can’t help himself. As if there’s nobody else in this whole world he’d rather be looking at. Anger surges, wrapping around my throat.
Like I’m not sitting right fucking here.
The crack echoes across the ice. Everyone not currently pushing a puck looks up.
I stare at the long fracture running through the safety glass, courtesy of my unexpectedly impressive right hand and a hefty bottle of sandalwood spray.
Well, shit.
All of a sudden, many, many gazes are focused on me. Swallowing, I look away from Lauren’s wide-eyed expression and shrink back into my seat at the sight of the figure that skates up to the glass. He pushes his visor up. “What happened?”
Liam’s expression makes it very clear that this was not what he had in mind.
I look around for Carter. But he’s not here. My throat starts to burn. “I…”
The apology hovers on my tongue, and he waits for it.
But I’m not sorry. Not really. My chin pushes up, and I glare back at Liam with every shred of self-respect I can pull together. “Sorry. Accident.”
It’s not the last I’ll hear of it. But my spine is straight as I stand and walk out, slamming the gate closed behind me and stopping her from following.
For once in my life, I want to be alone.