Chapter Ten
Jenna pinched herself to get blood flowing back into her hands as the theme song to Hockey Evening in Canada played through the monitors. The most famous song in Canada besides the national anthem, written in 1969 by Elisabeth Gagnon and played at the beginning and end of every broadcast. It set her mind and body at ease, though it seemed Country was taking it one step further. He sat so still, all he needed was a pair of sunglasses and he'd be a real-life Weekend at Bernie’s.
Kessler's seasoned smile blossomed for the camera. "Good evening, hockey fans, and welcome to Hockey Evening in Canada." All the insecurity he'd shown in her office fizzled as he sank into his usual rhythm. The studio lights glistened off his impeccably slicked hair as he introduced the games ahead in his practiced lilt. Country hadn't moved, hadn’t blinked, and for a second, Jenna wondered if she should phone an ambulance. Before she could panic, Country exhaled and relaxed enough that his shoulders weren't in danger of busting the seams on his suit jacket.
Glen turned toward him. "And I'm joined by the man who's taken the Canadian hockey scene by storm with his commentary on social media. Would you say you're known more for wrangling cattle, pucks, or followers, Country?"
Jenna groaned internally. Glen and his lame-ass jokes. People loved them, though, and given that half their viewership was over the age of forty and proudly identified as dads or grandpas, it shouldn't have been a surprise.
"I have ranch hands to do the wrangling now, but I still keep a tight hold of the reins when it comes to pucks and women," Country quipped, and Glen laughed out loud. A genuine laugh from Kessler. Impressive. If that line hadn't come on the heels of him drooling over her chest and then pretending it was her fault, she probably would've laughed too.
Despite that frustration, Jenna found herself relaxing as the tension continued to ease from Country's shoulders. This was working. Praise the heavens he’d changed out of the horrid T-shirt. For a second, back in make-up and hair, she’d convinced herself he thought it was a good idea since it was hockey-related.
Jenna frowned. Since he’d brought a second set of clothes, why had he worn it in the first place? Yes, he’d been coming straight from a game, but couldn’t he have changed into his TV outfit right after showering? That Admirals T-shirt had catalyzed the most discussions out of either of their clothing items while they’d been together. Gentry knew she hated it, and yet he’d kept it all these years. Had he held onto it because she hated it? Worn it to the studio just to twist the knife?
"Let's dive right into tonight's face-off," Glen continued. "We have the Flames going head-to-head with the Canucks. A much-anticipated match-up, given the shoot-out the last time these two teams met. What are your thoughts, Country?"
"That shoot-out was a load of horse shit, we can start with that."
This time, Jenna's groan was audible. She tiptoed back to the booth and flashed an, I'm sorry, smile to Liam. He didn't have time to look up because Country had already uttered two more expletives.
"No, he's like a good steak—crusty on the outside but a big softie that'll melt in your mouth."
Glen cleared his throat. "Well, I’m not sure whether I should be hungry or aroused. Thank you for that disturbing metaphor."
Country nodded, straight faced. "It hits where it should, because this is the guy you want to take home for the night. He's hard and fast and only leaves you on the edge of your seat long enough to show you what he's capable of."
Jenna's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She whirled to find John, who was either crying or laughing so hard he had tears streaming down his face. How much longer did they have in this pre-game segment? She swung around to find the timer. Two minutes, thirty seconds before they'd switch over to the regional broadcasts.
Then, they had the first period to grab highlights and prepare for Coach's Commentary. Glen had taken that over after Barry left the show last year. Two minutes. Ignoring that deer-in-headlights moment at the top of the segment, Country was a natural. He was quick on his feet, and she couldn't help but love how much he disagreed with Glen.
Country's last words were, "That guy's got balls I'd hang from my bumper," and Glen looked like he'd just been given a twenty to spend however he wanted at the county fair as he signed off and the red camera lights went dark.
The studio erupted. Cameramen stepping away from their gear and guffawing, John racing up to the stage, his face as ripe as a tomato in July, and lastly, the door to the studio slamming open to reveal a very frazzled-looking Liam.
"Fun night?" Jenna gave him a thumbs up, then stepped back in case he threw up on her Jimmy Choos.
"Hot damn, Country! You chewed up that ice and spit it out like a Zamboni on overdrive!" John Allen's voice carried across the set. He strode over, bypassing Glen entirely, to clap Country heartily on the back. "You've got the gift of gab, son. The viewers are gonna eat this up like poutine at halftime."
The viewers might be apoplectic. Jenna's lips pressed into a thin line. This was good. Perfect, wasn't it? They'd get the attention John wanted, for better or worse, and then they'd move past the excitement and revert to their normal. Yes, John had already approved a story on the Snowballs, but she'd convinced Glen to team up with her and heavily suggested it be covered by Amelia Walters, a newer reporter on staff who needed a good project.
Amelia was talented and always quick to point out she shared the last name of one of the most famous female investigative journalists of all time. Surely that spelled success. Jenna didn't care if she was pretentious. She had kick, and she was willing to work hard. That was more than enough in Jenna’s books, especially when she needed a favour.
Country stood and rolled his shoulders, shaking out his arms before running a hand through his tousled hair. Of course he was allowed to touch it.
"Need anything, Mr. Maddox?" Rylen approached, and Country said something Jenna couldn't make out. Perfect. She didn't even need to interact with him. The interns and tech could take it from here. While Glen was doing Coach's Commentary, she'd help Liam in the booth. Make sure he didn't turn in a resignation letter before the second game started.
Jenna strode to the back table to grab a drink and protein bar to keep her company. She'd eaten a late lunch like she always did, and her usual chicken chop salad would be waiting for her between games. This snack was more for emotional support than necessity.
"Did I do alright?" Country's voice sliced through her internal dialogue.
Her heart kicked as she made the snap decision to lean in and inspect the labels on the flavoured water. "Mmhmm." Jenna took her time reading names of synthetic sweeteners then chose the one she always did. Dragonfruit.
Country didn't speak again, and she assumed he'd moved on down the table, but when Jenna turned, her bottle of water was the only thing standing between them.
"I'm sorry. For what I said earlier,” he said in a rush.
Jenna's skin buzzed. It took her a moment to remember what he was referring to. Right. The your shirt makes you look like a slut comment. "You're sorry."
