“Let’s give them space to get showered and changed,” I tell Marilyn, easing her back outside. “You can wait here.”
Marilyn drops her hand, nodding. “I found Levon’s date,” she says suddenly. “If he’s in a relationship, I’ll want that person to attend as well. I don’t believe in keeping secrets, it’s bad for their image.”
“Ah, Levon and this person are going to need to make a trip to Human Resources first,” I say. “It’s a relationship that’ll need to get cleared before they can go public.”
“You’re trying to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?” she breathes, clutching her chest. “I can’t handle him getting kicked off the team after such an incredible game.”
“That won’t happen,” I deny. Levon wouldn’t be performing so well without Santo. There’s something about them together that seems to even Levon out.
His mind is sharper, and he picked his fights tonight with precision. I’ve worried about him for a while. Marilyn hasworked her ass off to keep him out of jail, along with our legal team. His smart mouth tends to get him into trouble both on and off the ice.
“As his coach, I hope that’s true,” Marilyn grumbles. “I will figure out this date. I just need to get her to say yes now.”
“Excuse me? Is there a possibility that she won’t say yes?” I ask, surprised.
“Believe it or not, not everyone likes hockey players,” she sniffs. “We may think they’re God’s gift to the world, but that’s not always an attractive feature.”
“Does that really seem like someone Levon should go out with?” I ask. “The guy is as taciturn as you can get some days. He is not a people person.”
“He’s gotten better,” she hisses defensively as people walk around us.
It’s always busy after a game, and since we brought so much staff with us, it’s even more so. Everyone is darting around to get their work done before heading back to Nashville.
“You’re right,” I agree. “He’s also a big part of why we almost won tonight. He sacrificed himself so that others could run the puck down the ice. However, his teamwork tends to end once a game is over. It would be really shitty if he walked because the girl you hooked him up with picked a fight with him.”
“That won’t happen. Besides, you’ll be there to keep him in line,” she reminds me.
Fuck, I feel like I’m talking to a wall. I often end up in this position. Marilyn is stubborn as fuck once she knows what she wants.
It’s her funeral.
“Alright,” I grunt, pushing off the wall to walk. I need to get out of her bubble before I say something I shouldn’t. I’ve learned that removing myself from a situation can sometimes be the best thing I can do.
I’m not paying attention to where I’m going, nodding to staff and players as I pass by them absently. Soon, there are less people around, and I’m glancing into an open office door.
“You,” I grunt, staring at Caelia sitting at the desk. The plaque says this is Coach Freedman’s office. “Why bother to come to a game if you’re on the phone most of the time?”
I used to tease her here and there when I was a player on her dad’s team, but it was never in a mean way. I remember my teammates couldn’t stop talking about how she smelled the night Coach left, but I didn’t have any idea what they were talking about. I caught a fist to the nose early on in the game, so I couldn’t smell fuck all that night.
I also remember that her dad yelled at the team to stop bugging her because she had just presented as an omega the night before. I was disgusted with the game and my teammates, so I left in the middle of Coach’s tirade.
I was planning to apologize to him the following day. I never got the chance to.
Now, I can smell a hint of her sweet scent despite her covering it up with a blocking spray that is meant to absorb and hide it, and I can’t move. It feels as if I’m seeing her for the first time, and this is really really bad.
“Cute,” Caelia mutters, her fingers pressed against a deck of colorful cards. What is she doing? Is she playing solitaire? “I’m working, and you shouldn’t…be here. I’m waiting for my dad. Please, don’t come any closer.”
Swallowing hard, I watch as her fingers clench around something tensely, and her cherry scent sours.
“Are you afraid of me?” I ask, confused. “I got turned around as I was walking, and ended up here. I won’t come closer, okay? Why are you freaking out?”
“I hate all hockey players, even the retired ones,” she breathes. “You’re all the same, taking what isn’t yours.”
My foot moves closer without realizing it, wanting to soothe her. It’s as if I can smell all the layers of her scent, my brain trying to parcel through what’s hers and what’s the lie.
“I’m the same person today as I’ve always been,” I shrug. “Your father is the one I have a problem with. He abandoned his team.”
A shudder rocks her system, and she gags at my words.
