She presses her lips between her teeth briefly and then shrugs. “There are certainly other people who’d jump at theopportunity to wear theAon their jersey. But wanting that distinction, and being the right person to serve as the alternate captain, are two entirely different things. Show us that you’re the kind of player who’s right for that role, Renaud...” She trails off, like there was something else coming after it, and my mind is spinning with the possibilities. But the only one that feels right isor else.
My chest shakes with a laugh, because this is AJ’s special brand of leadership: making you believe you can be better than you are. But the problem is, I’m a great hockey player preciselybecauseI’m a physical player. I’m the guy who lets his emotions get the better of him out there on the ice, because my emotions are the fuel that lights a fire in me, making me push myself harder.
Asking me to tamp down my emotional responses on the ice, to lead instead of fight—that’s like asking me to be a worse player, instead of a better one. Isn’t it?
“I see those wheels turning,” she says, leaning back in her seat as she rolls her chair away from the table. “And I suspect you’re asking yourself the right questions right now.”
“Which are?”
“How you can play at the level you’ve been playing at, if you have to rein in your emotions out on the ice.”
Goddamnit. Is she a fucking mind reader?
“But the answer leads right back to where we started,” she continues as she stands. “You need to be the kind of player who has to start working hard at it. Because if you take physical intimidation out of your playing style, I suspect you’re going to have to put a bit more effort into your other strengths.”
“Ouch.” I stand, mirroring her position.
“Listen, Renaud, you’re a very good player who has the potential to be great. You’re also not getting any younger and basically shattered your hand a year ago. If you’re getting infights all the time, the risk that you’ll reinjure your hand increases dramatically. And if you’re out on IR again, you might as well retire at the end of the season with Colt.”
Well, shit.
“If you want longevity in this league, not to mention on this team, you’re going to need to make some changes to how you play.” She lifts a shoulder and an eyebrow before saying, “The choice is yours. I’ll see you in a couple hours in my office. Have a good workout.”
Two hours later, freshly showered and with a recovery shake in hand, I approach AJ’s office. The workout my trainer, Jared, just put me through has my body feeling sore in ways it hasn’t in a long time, but at least it gave me something to think about besides my GM’s ultimatum. Or ultimatums, plural, actually.
AJ’s assistant, Colleen, isn’t at her desk, but the door to the office is wide open and McCabe, Colt, and Walsh sit chatting with AJ on the couches and chairs in the seating area near the wall of glass that overlooks the practice rink. It’s only then that I realize that AJ sought me out earlier so she could have a private conversation with me about my future with the team, and now, more than ever, I appreciate her discretion.
My teammates greet me with more enthusiasm than I probably deserve, and then spend the next ten minutes catching me up on what’s changed since I last played for the Rebels. It’s a lot of what McCabe already told me, so I spend my time watching the dynamics instead—how Colt, who was always our unofficial captain, sits back and lets McCabe take the reins; how Walsh peppers comments in about the new players, and theirstrengths and weaknesses; how McCabe actually sounds like he gives a shit, whereas before he was the grumpiest fucker that ever played hockey.
AJ opens her mouth to say something but a knock on the door behind me stops her, and then Colleen’s voice rings out, “Morgan’s here.”
My stupid, hopeful heart beats harder just at hearing that name, even while I know it’s nother.
“Hey, I forgot you started working here!” Colt says, jumping up from his seat and striding past me.
I turn in my seat, only to see him wrapping his arms aroundmy girl.
My stomach clenches as he pulls her into a quick hug before he lets her go, stepping back enough for me to see her. She’s standing there in an ivory dress that’s fitted on the top before flaring out just past her hips. The heels of the strappy wedge sandals make her calves more pronounced and remind me just how sexy her legs are when they’re wrapped around my head. With her freckles and her strawberry blonde hair flowing loosely past her shoulders, she looks like a literal ray of fucking sunshine.
“She’s worked here since the playoffs,” McCabe grumbles.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“Nooo,” Morgan says, drawing the word as she looks back and forth between AJ and McCabe. I can tell she’s holding in a smile. “I did some work for AJ during the playoffs, and then agreed to come on as a consultant for the team. Now I’m stepping in toactuallywork here for a few months, because Tatum is having surgery and you all need someone to run your social media.”
“What about your PR company?” Colt asks. “You just leaving all your other clients to come work with us?”
“I’m doing a favor for a friend.”
A quick glance shared between her and AJ lets me know that AJ is the friend in question... and none of this makes any sense. AJ is well over a decade older than her. How are they friends? And how does she know McCabe, Colt, and Walsh?
Most importantly, why has she not even acknowledged me? In fact, she’s directed her attention at everyone in the roomexceptme, which means she’s not surprised to see me here. She’s intentionally ignoring me.
Finally, she turns toward me, holds her hand out, and casually says, “Hi, I’m Morgan. You must be Aidan,” as if I didn’t just have her coming apart in my hotel room, in a cave during a storm, and against a wall outside a hotel just this past weekend.
There’s a slight emphasis on my name as it rolls off her tongue—not enough that anyone else would notice, but I can tell she’s pissed. It’s like when we saw each other at the wedding, only a hundred times worse. Because not only have I not stopped thinking about her for the last two days, but now, in addition to being related, we apparently work together.
I’d convinced myself that I could forget about her because I’d never see her again. But this is another hit I didn’t see coming.
