Chapter One
Elle
The click of my heels echoes in the empty hallway of theMaple Creek Gazetteas I hurry toward the editor’s office, my notepad clutched in my sweaty hands.I’ve been a journalist for two years, writing lifestyle fluff pieces about pumpkin festivals andTen Tips for Decluttering Your Closet, and I’ve been begging for a serious assignment since day one.
Today, it seems my begging has paid off.
I hope.
I knock on the door and smile when Ted, my editor, lets out a grumpy “come in.”Sitting across from him, I take out my pen and notepad.
Ted is a hero around here.He’s the Gazette’s longest-standing editor and cracked the story of three high-profile crimes that happened in town decades ago.He’s basically my hero.
“Sports,” Ted says when he finally looks up from his computer.
“Sports?”I echo, frowning at him.
“Yeah.You’re on the Thunder beat now.They’ve got a new media deal, and the fans want more personal coverage.You’ll be shadowing the team, starting tonight with their press conference.”
My mouth goes dry.Sports.As in hockey.As in a game I know next to nothing about beyond what I’ve absorbed from movies and my brother’s obsession with NHL video games.
“Yes, sir,” I manage, trying not to let my nerves show.
“Good.Now, get out of here.”
I nod, standing on shaky legs as I head out of his office and scurry back to my tiny desk.It’s barely even a desk, more of a table shoved into a dark corner of the third floor.I plop down in my seat, gasping as the chair tilts sideways.
“Gotta replace that thing,” I say, kicking at the broken wheel that always has me sitting at an angle.
Sports,I think with a sigh.What the hell do I know about sports?
I can feel a headache starting to come on, so I pop a Tylenol and rub my temples.
This is my chance, and I’m not about to blow it,I think, and then I get to work.
I Google hockey, taking notes on everything that seems important.I come up with a few sample questions to ask and scribble those down, too.By the time I’m done watching old videos of games and trying to memorize names and stats, it’s late, and I need to get to the game.
Grabbing my press badge, I take a few slow breaths as I head into the Maple Creek Thunder stadium.I follow behind some other reporters and pretend I belong here as I make my way toward the Thunder’s press room.
Cameras flash, reporters chatter, and every seat is filled with seasoned sports writers.I stick out like a sore thumb in my pencil skirt and bright blouse while everyone else looks effortlessly casual.
Note to self: update my wardrobe.
I take a seat in the back, smiling at the people around me.They all ignore me, and I deflate a bit.Pulling out my pen and notepad, I look up when the door opens and a few people filter in.I scan them, recognizing a few of the coaches and key players.I feel more optimistic about things once I place the players and start to relax.
Then I see him.
Declan Hayes.
The breath stalls in my lungs, and all I can do is stare at him.The room seems to quiet to a dull buzz as I watch him, tracking every one of his movements as he sits beside his coach at the table up front.
Whoa…
Declan is the Maple Creek Thunder’s star center.I study him, drinking in every detail.
Broad shoulders stretching his suit jacket, a sharp jaw dusted with stubble, dark hair that looks like he ran his fingers through it in frustration on his way here.His green eyes sweep the room like he’s memorizing exits, like he’s already looking for threats.
And then they land on me.
