24. Lucy #2
“Maybe tonight you don’t have to solve anything,” Naomi said. “Maybe tonight you just go home.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“After I finish this access audit.”
“How many lines are in the access audit?”
I looked at the spreadsheet.
Too many.
“It’s already half done.”
I smiled faintly and clicked to the next row. Charlotte’s old office access. Disabled. Executive conference level. Disabled. Sponsor credential portal. Disabled. Shared comms archive. Password reset completed. External forwarding permissions revoked.
That was the mercy of systems. They had rules. They had boxes. They had places to put things that otherwise sprawled everywhere.
People were much less cooperative.
A soft chime sounded from my inbox. I glanced over automatically.
No new email from Charlotte. Just the final travel notification confirming the last player transport had cleared.
My stomach tightened before I could stop it.
I knew he was back.
That did not mean anything.
Players returned from away games all the time.
Buzz had a truck in the secured lot like half the team.
He had recovery in the morning. He had a life that existed entirely outside my office and my overlit little corner of Talon Arena.
He had just played a game in Denver, recorded two assists, and probably spent the last several hours surrounded by teammates, staff, trainers, airport handlers, and the strange insulated momentum of a road win.
“Interesting,” Naomi said.
I frowned. “What?”
“You got quiet.”
“You need a hobby.”
“I own a bookstore. My entire life is other people’s hobbies.” A paper bag rustled on her end. “Also, for the record, I don’t think you hate Buzz Burns.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose beneath my glasses. “Wonderful. We’ve reached the unsolicited analysis portion of the evening.”
“I think you’re furious with Buzz Burns.”
“That is not breaking news.”
“And I think you still love Ty.”
The room seemed to still around the sentence.
I looked at the reflection in the glass.
At the woman there. Glasses slipping down her nose. One earring missing because I had taken it off during a legal call and could not remember where I had put it.
“I don’t know what I love,” I said quietly.
Naomi did not answer right away. “I know,” she said at last.
I swallowed and straightened in my chair. “I need to finish this.”
“No, you need to go home.”
“I will.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because eventually it will become true.”
“Fine.” Naomi sighed. “Finish one thing. Not twelve things wearing one thing’s coat.”
“Your metaphors are getting worse.”
“It’s late and I’ve been explaining to a grown man that Rilke is not business leadership.”
“That does sound taxing.”
“It was harrowing.”
Then Dottie’s head lifted. Not slowly. Not in the lazy, confused way she woke when a cleaning cart rattled somewhere down the hall or when my printer startled her by remembering it had a purpose.
Her head came up all at once. Both ears shifted forward. Her body went still, nose angled toward the open doorway.
I stopped with my fingers on the mouse.
Naomi’s voice came through my earbud. “What?”
Dottie stood. Her nails clicked softly against the floor as she stepped off the bed. One paw, then the other. Her tail started moving before I heard anything. A cautious sweep at first. Then faster.
My heart did something embarrassingly unprofessional.
“Lucy?” Naomi asked.
“I have to go.”
“Is that the dog?”
Dottie trotted toward the door, whole body waking into happy recognition.
“Lucy.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“If that is who I think it is, make good choices.”
“I always make good choices.”
Naomi snorted.
I pulled one earbud free and ended the call before she could become more accurate.
Dottie reached the threshold and stopped, tail wagging so hard her hips moved with it. She looked up the corridor like she had discovered Christmas had a personal scent.
Then a shadow shifted beyond the glass.
I rose halfway from my chair before I meant to, one hand landing on the edge of the desk.
My water bottle wobbled. The legal folder sat open beneath my palm, Charlotte’s email still glowing on the screen beside it, all that careful, manufactured outrage suddenly small in the face of the man standing just outside my door.
Ty Burns leaned one shoulder against the frame like he had not just crossed half the country, won a hockey game, and walked into the one room in Talon Arena where I was least prepared to see him.
His hair was a mess from postgame travel and flattened badly on one side. A dark team hoodie stretched across his shoulders beneath his open coat. There were faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes, and his jaw held the rough shadow of a very long day.
Dottie made a sound that could only be described as betrayal with vocals.
Ty looked down at her first. His worn-out face softened. Then his eyes lifted to mine. “Working late, Ms. Thomas?”
“Unfortunately.”
Ty’s mouth curved faintly. “That sounded like a confession.”
“It was an observation.”
“Dangerous hour for those.”
Dottie stepped into the hallway and pressed herself against his legs like she had personally invited him and was relieved he had finally stopped being rude about it.
“Dottie,” I said.
She ignored me completely.
Ty looked down at her, and his hand settled over the top of her head. Slow. Familiar. Gentle enough that something in my chest shifted before I could file the sensation somewhere practical. Dottie leaned into him with her whole body, eyes nearly closing.
“That is extremely unprofessional,” I told her.
“She had a long day.”
“She slept through most of it.”
“She still looks emotionally exhausted.”
“She looks delighted.”
Ty glanced up at me. “Can’t blame her.”
The quiet stretched between us for one second too long.
I looked away first, because I was tired and because the legal folder was open and because his hoodie had the faint rumpled look of travel and his eyes held the worn-bright edge of someone whose body had not yet come down from a win.
“You’re back late,” I said.
“That is usually how travel after games works.” He rubbed Dottie’s ear once more before straightening. “Charter got in a little while ago. Car service dropped me at the lot. My truck was still here from when we left.”
That made sense. It was normal. Practical. Professional. Players left vehicles in secured staff areas all the time around road trips, depending on travel schedules and departure windows.
It did not explain why he was standing outside my office instead of getting into his truck and driving home.
I folded my arms, then immediately unfolded them because it felt too defensive. “Congratulations on the win.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “You watched?”
“I monitored.”
“That’s sexier than watching.”
“Don’t make me regret congratulating you.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” But his smile warmed. “Thank you.”
“Two assists,” I babbled on.
The warmth in his face shifted into something softer. More pleased than smug. “You monitored thoroughly.”
“It’s my job.”
“Right.”
Dottie turned in a circle at his feet and then looked back at me as if to ask whether I planned to invite him inside or continue embarrassing all of us.
I cleared my throat. “You can come in if you’re going to stand there making my dog disloyal.”
“She’s got taste.” Ty stepped into the office, but only just. He did not take the chair across from my desk. Did not move too close. Did not claim the room with that effortless, restless energy that usually made every space seem like it had been waiting for him to arrive.
He stopped near the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his coat, eyes moving once over my desk. The legal folder. The open email. The takeout container.
His eyes came back to my face, and the humor thinned. Not disappeared. Just made room for something more careful. “You look tired, Lucy.”
My name in his mouth after Ms. Thomas felt too intimate in the quiet office.
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You just played a professional hockey game at altitude, flew home, and came here after midnight. I’m not sure you have the moral high ground on tired.”
“I was just noticing.”
“That sounds dangerous too.”
“It is with you.”
My pulse moved once, hard enough that I felt it in my throat.
Ty’s gaze flicked to Charlotte’s email again.
I clicked the screen dark before I thought better of it.
His attention returned to me. “Bad night?”
“No.”
He tilted his head.
I sighed. “Long night.”
“That’s different?”
“In my experience, yes.”
Dottie wandered back into the office and nudged her nose against his hand until he resumed petting her. Traitor.
“Charlotte?” he asked.
I looked at the blank monitor, then at the folder beneath my hand. “She sent another email.”
His jaw flexed once. “Another?”
“Threatening hostile workplace claims.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Dottie bumped his hand again, offended by the interruption in service. Ty looked down and resumed petting her, though his shoulders had not completely loosened.
“You okay?” he asked.
I almost said yes.
It was right there. Easy. Polished. Automatic.
Instead, I looked at him for half a second too long.
At the travel exhaustion around his eyes.
The flattened mess of his hair. The hoodie, the open coat, the faint line where his team-issued dress clothes had probably irritated his neck for half the night before he changed.
He looked like the kind of drained that should have sent him straight home to a dark house, a shower, and whatever recovery schedule Freya had already threatened into existence.
And still, he was here.
“I’m annoyed,” I said.
His face softened like he understood that annoyed was as honest as I could afford. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I bet.”
I reached for my water bottle because my hands needed something to do. The plastic crackled softly beneath my fingers. “It will go away. Legal will handle it. Sarah already has half the documentation, and HR has the rest. Charlotte is angry, not strategic.”
“She seemed strategic.”
“She seemed strategic because people mistook withholding information for intelligence.”