"You're smart, and Glen makes dad jokes on camera."
She pursed her lips. "You don't think Glen's smart?"
"Do you?" he asked. She considered, searching for a PC way to answer that question, while Liam continued. "I see the notes you send, and your understanding of the game is better than his. You know, what I'd like to see is you sitting there bantering with Country."
Jenna laughed out loud. "Just what every hockey fan wants to witness. A petite blond woman pretending she's on a level like that." She motioned to Country standing next to the desk, his shoulders testing the seams of his shirt as he reached for a pen.
Liam laughed. "That's why I stay behind the camera. I only have to keep the studio from burning down and I get a pay raise."
"They don't pay you enough for everything you keep from burning down around here."
Liam patted the seat next to him. "Please. Join the misfit toys for the night. We all learned in high school that the talent was never as fun as the tech crew."
Just as she was about to sit down, Owen waved through the window. Jenna groaned. "We might have to pull in an extra chair."
_____
Country was only half listening to Kessler as he rambled on about a salary conflict on the Avalanche. His whole body had tuned to Jenna's frequency the second she'd walked into the studio, and now that she was talking to a tall guy with an athletic build, Country was on high alert.
"Who's that?" Country asked, interrupting Glen mid-sentence.
Glen shielded the light from his eyes and squinted. "Oh, that's Owen. John's nephew. They hired him on in preparation for John’s retirement."
“To train for Jenna’s job.”
Glen shrugged. “I don’t know how it will all shake out.”
Country stiffened. How soon was John planning to retire? Why wouldn’t it be in everyone’s best interest to spell things out and announce his replacement? He thought back to Jenna’s words at the ranch. There aren’t many women in the field. It’s not cut and dry. He didn't like any of it.
Admitting to the Snowballs that he wanted to see Jenna again had been like pouring kerosene over simmering coals. He'd thought about texting or calling her every hour of the past week, but after she'd closed up like a shuttered window that afternoon in front of the pond, he didn't know what the right move was.
She’d remembered everything he had, that much was clear. But what was going through her head? That question had plagued him as he’d stood in shock, flipping and closing the lid on the ring box he’d had sitting on his nightstand for three weeks before Jenna’s phone call thirteen years ago. None of it made any sense then, and it was just as muddled now.
Jenna still had his keychain, and there was some part of her that still wanted him. Even after all these years, he knew her too well not to sense it in every flick of her eyes, every stilted breath when he stood next to her. This thing he felt—the weight lodged beneath his ribs—wasn’t one-sided, but that knowledge did nothing to comfort him.
Something was holding her back. Every time that connection zinged between them, Jenna let go of the leash. If she refused to open the door and kept him watching from outside the glass, it didn’t matter what truth she was protecting.
Country rested his elbows on the sleek surface of the sports desk. The studio brimmed with the hum of electronics and nervous energy. After last week’s success, there were expectations, and everyone seemed wound as tight as guitar strings. He leaned back in his chair and shook out his hands as the tech crew adjusted the lighting.
"Did you see that one-timer by Thomson last week? And MacKinnon? Kid's like a bullet," Glen rattled off.
Country barely heard him, even though it was obvious he was seeking his approval. His mind was still tangled up in emerald eyes and blonde hair, scrabbling for some strategy that would carve out a moment with Jenna before they drove home for the night.
"Country, you with me?" Glen snapped his fingers.
"Sorry, just thinking about the game," Country lied, adjusting the papers in front of him. "Thinking about how Thomson's one-timer is going to get stuffed against Riggs."
Glen’s eyes widened. "That’s—I don’t see that happening, but we can let the reels do the talking.” He reached for his mug that definitely didn’t contain only coffee. “Keep an eye on Anderson, though, eh?”
Country let him talk. He was having a hard enough time mustering energy for the actual broadcast to waste any on preamble. Eventually the AD counted them down and the red light blinked on.
"Good evening folks," Glen crowed with his white teeth gleaming. "You're tuned into Hockey Evening in Canada, and let me tell you, we have a barn burner lined up for you tonight. The Rangers are facing off against the Bruins, and it's going to be a clash of titans. What are your thoughts, Country?"
"Titans? That’s a hell of a hyperbole. More like a whale and a feisty goldfish.”
Glen laughed. "The Bruins have Barkley on defence?—”
“They’re not the goldfish, Kessler.”
