“You’d tell me if there was anything to be concerned about, right?”
My brain got caught between a few correct responses. Annoyance, incredulity, offense that he’d even imply that I was hiding anything… It was too much, and I short-circuited, so just sat there gaping at him like a dumb fool.
Hunter glanced around and leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Because if they’re right about this injury thing—”
“There’s no injury. You should know better than to believe that bullshit.” I got to my feet. Most of the team were asleep or thumbing their screens. Thankfully, nobody was paying any attention to what was going on with Hunter and me.
“You don’t get to be an ass with the whole team depending on you.” His tense whisper followed me down the aisle, but I made no move to acknowledge him.
I gripped the seats as I staggered my way to the back where the drone of the plane’s engines pressed into the cabin. Reese was alone, head bent over her laptop, fingers flying across the keys. She didn’t look up until I was standing right there.
I dropped into the empty seat next to her, and cleared my throat. Her face was unreadable in the glow from the screen, but she didn’t so much as pause her typing.
“Not now.”
I settled deeper into the seat to get more comfortable. “I take it you’ve seen the news.”
“I said not now, Bouchard.”
“It’s not like we’re the first team in NHL history to come up tied at game 4,” I said, ignoring her as much as she ignored me. “I don’t get why all of a sudden it has to be about my shoulder and what happened last season.”
She snapped the laptop shut and looked at me. “You think this is all just happening now? After losing to Dallas for the second time this round?” I didn’t answer, because she wasn’t looking for one. “There’s been suspicion around your injury since the start of the season. Of course they’re gonna zero in on that at the slightest invitation. It wasn’t this loss, Bouchard. It’s been everything leading up to this point.”
I bristled but for the most part, was determined to play it cool. “I keep telling you, I’m fine.”
“Which is total bullshit, and you know it.” She worked hard to keep her voice low, and spared a look around before continuing. “Besides, this isn’t about what I believe. You were supposed to convince everyone else.”
“And you were supposed to keep this off the record,” I snapped. “You had one job—”
“Oh, so this is my fault?” The vein in her neck protruded ominously. Shit. I’d come over here thinking it would be less tense than with Hunter. “And just so we’re clear… My job is to make sure you don’t fall apart out there. Maybe even make it through finals. But you’re so goddamn stubborn. You just had to keep pushing. I told you it wouldn’t last. My job isn’t to cover your ass just so you can have more time on the ice.”
“No, but it was your idea.” I held her gaze, refusing to back down. “You wanted to look good for management so you’d get your cushy promotion. If you ask me, that totally makes it your responsibility to make sure things stay under wraps.”
She fell back, stunned to silence. If only for a moment. I relished every microsecond of it, because the way her lips set, and that blazing look in her eyes told me I was in for it now.
“There’d be nothing to wrap if you took yourself out of the game long enough to heal.”
I scoffed, shifting so I didn’t have to look at her. But she jabbed my arm so hard I had no choice but to turn back. “I’m not proud of it, but you can’t sit there and put it all on me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I replied. I was fuming, but that shit had to stay bottled up as long as there were ears around us that could carry it over to whatever reporter was waiting in the wings. “All I’m saying is… You’re the one writing the reports, doing my rehab, slapping tape on me. That means in this scenario, you’re the last line of defense.”
And, ladies and gentlemen, Reese Hopper did not like that. Not one bit.
“How the fuck does that even make sense?” Her strained whisper went so high, so tight, only dogs could hear it. “How am I supposed to defend what you look like on the ice? When the whole world can see the way you’re clearly playing through an injury?”
“I’m just a dumb jock with a stick,” I said with a shrug. “The reason I partnered with you is so that you could take care of all that smart-brained stuff.”
“Oh, we are not partners, Bouchard.” Her nostrils flared, which was how I knew she really meant what she was saying. “Not by a fucking mile.”
I was still trying to smile through the way that ice cold delivery sliced through me when Holly popped up out of nowhere. She leaned over to speak to us both, one hand on the backrest behind my head, and the other on the one in front of me.
“Wipe those panicked looks off your faces. I’ve got it handled,” she said, looking like the least stressed out member of this team. “Once we land, we’re going straight into a presser with McAvoy to straighten this all out.”
“We?” Reese shrank back is if Holly was haphazardly brandishing a flaming torch. “What do you mean by ‘we’?”
Holly simply gestured to the two of us with a perfectly manicured finger.
“No way.” Reese shook her head so hard I got ready to catch it once it broke clean off her neck. “I don’t do press. Reports and behind-the-scenes stuff is one thing, but cameras? No.”
