My family, the Tuckers, are one of the oldest on the island. Historically, we’ve swindled and bargained, bribed and coerced to get to the top of the wealthy social food chain. We even, somehow, managed to have the biggest city on the island named after our family. No one has clung harder to our history of social grandeur and those sinister principles than my mother.
“King Alexander is planning a big bash at the palace to welcome the players and their families. Anyone who hasn’t found a house or apartment is being boarded on the palace’s estate. They have a series of apartments, apparently? Queen Aurora lived in one of them before she became Aurora Summerset,” Tamiko adds.
“They’ve all been renovated in the last few years. I hear they’re nice. Wouldn’t be so bad to be on the palace grounds. Lots of privacy.”
“Logan Bishop made it very clear hewouldn’tbe going there,” Tamiko says. “Your father offered two oceanfront apartments for him to choose from. Rolling out the Tucker red carpet.”
“Which one did he pick?”
“Nathaniel’s old apartment in Tucker’s Town. He liked the hot tub on the balcony.”
“Has Logan been to the island?”
“Not yet. Refused to step foot. He’s not quite at the lemonade-out-of-lemons point. That’s your job.” She flashes me a quick smile. “He picked the apartment from photos. Honestly, I’mnot sure if he selected it or Chayton did. The email your dad, Jonathan, forwarded was a lot less abrupt than any of the other ones I read, and going by Chayton’s socials, he was with Logan when those decisions were being made.”
I grab my phone and click through Chayton Thackeray’s social profiles to see a whole life on display—his family, Logan, holidays, gatherings, fun. Chayton Thackeray looks like a happy-go-lucky Indigenous man surrounded by ample family beside Logan’s tough white-guy routine. Their friendship must be the epitome of the grumpy-sunshine dynamic.
Logan Bishop has profiles, too, but someone has to be posting for him. There’s not a single thing that isn’t related to hockey. Every post is stats and awards and games won or lost. I have to scroll several screens worth to even find a photo of the man off the ice, and it’s a collaboration with Chayton, which means he likely didn’t post it, Chayton did.
“For someone so young, he’s such an enigma,” I murmur.
“You keep that thought inyourhead when you meet him,” Tamiko says with a laugh. “Because the word I have been associating him with inmyhead starts with a different vowel.”
“I’ve come to appreciate people who are exactly what they seem,” I say, taking a deep breath.
“People hide all kinds of things, huh?” Tamiko says, trying to catch my gaze.
“They do.” I turn back to the screen. Often in ways you never anticipate. “So, if he turns out to be an asshole, I’m okay with that. I want authenticity, even if it makes it harder to work with him.”
“Remember you said that,” Tamiko says with another little laugh. “You’re basically his guide to Bellerive and his personal physiotherapist, as per his contract.”
“At least I still have my own physio practice too,” I say. “When they’re traveling, I get a reprieve becausemycontract with the team is only for when he’sonthe island.”
“I guess we’ll see if he’s the kind of client who likes to blur those lines.”
I won’t let him. Boundaries will be kept, and my life will be manageable and under my own control. Everything spun out once, and the thought of going back to that moment makes my stomach threaten to revolt.
A grumpy asshole who sets clear personal limits is exactly the kind of guy I’m capable of dealing with. I’m hoping his interviews and social media are accurate: that he’s a private guy who just wants to play world-class hockey. Otherwise, I might seriously regret taking this job.
Chapter Two
Logan
The crisp, clean scent of fresh ice always makes my heart sing. From the minute I stepped into a hockey arena as a kid, something inside me knew I was home in a way I’d never been before. For me, the air in an arena has been rich with possibility from my first deep inhale of its sharp coolness.
So when I arrive at Bellerive’s Tucker-Summerset Arena and get within sniffing distance of the ice, I’m not surprised at the rush of pleasure that hits me in the chest, even if I’d rather be in Michigan, or really any other state in America. Hell, I would have even taken a trade to a Canadian province or territory, but the fuckers wouldnotnegotiate.
Who puts a World Hockey League team on a tropical island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean? Hand on heart, I don’t see this move lasting more than five years. They could hold an island wide meeting in this arena, and there’d be almost enough seats for everyone. That’s madness. Capital M madness. That’swhen you know that people who live here have more money than sense, and I’ve never been about that. The island still has a monarchy with a hand in government affairs for fuck’s sake.
“Mr. Bishop,” Tamiko, my tour guide of the arena calls out to me from the bottom of the stands. “Are you coming?”
I don’t answer but instead suck in another lungful of my favorite air before ambling down the stairs behind her.
“In here,” she says, leading the way down a wide hallway, “are the team changerooms. Your coach assigned your spots in the room.” She opens an oversized door, and I step through in front of her. “You’ll find names are already attached to different cubbies or whatever you call them in hockey.”
Another reason having a hockey team in this country makes zero sense—not one person I’ve come into contact with so far has used the terms I’d use for anything.
The team’s room is huge and circular—a lot more space than I was expecting. Built beside the outdoor Olympic pool, the arena is easily the biggest structure within a five-mile radius. Hell, it could be the biggest thing on the island. I haven’t seen enough of Bellerive to know.
