“Knock, knock,” Mr. Peterson calls as he stands outside my office door.
Great. I guess everyone is just turning up today. Why not the team owner, too?
I gesture toward the other chair in front of my desk. “Come on in.”
“I was just giving Finley the good news about the success of the last competition,” Sabrina tells Ken with a smile.
“Well, great minds must think alike,” he replies. “I came to offer my congratulations as well. You know, Coach Blake, I wanted to see how you’d handle being the face of the team when the pressure is on, and it sure is convenient I get to before we’re in the playoffs.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, not sure how else to respond to his comment. Was being named interim coach after my boss had a heart attack on the bench, and then becoming the first ever female head coach at the ripe age of thirty-one,notenough pressure?
“Of course. This really is a great opportunity to cement you as the head of this team.”
I give him my media smile because, what the actual fuck? Am I not cemented as the head of this team? Interim has been gone from my title all season.
After promising to do whatever Sabrina needs from me, I tell them I have to leave, grabbing my skates to get a bit of ice time in before our game against the Archers tonight.
I skate laps, trying to burn off the angry energy flowing through my veins at the fact that the external optics matter so much. That so little of what I’m evaluated on is the way the team plays on the ice. That I’ve heard more about The Great Yeti Challenge than Pike’s recovery.
My watch buzzes, letting me know a call is coming in. Seeing it’s from my dad, I skate over to where I left my phone sitting by the bench.
“Dad,” I answer, stepping onto the rubber matting as I hastily make my way to the coaches’ suite. “Give me just a second.”
He remains silent while I walk down the tunnel, and I wait until I’m in the coaches’ room with the door closed before I put him on speakerphone.
“How are you?” I ask, untying my laces.
“I’ve been better, Finley. What is this I hear about you going viral for a dance? With a player?”
He saysplayerlike it’s a bad word, and I know it is in this situation, but at the same time, Beckett isn’t just some player. He’s the man who understands what it’s like to be fully committed to the job. The one I’ve laughed with in the last few weeks more times than I have in the years before he moved here withanyone. The one who lifted me like I wasn’t a burden and never once let me fall.
I force myself to take a deep breath, to think rationally. I did what I was told to do. Nothing more. The slight warmth in my chest when Beckett’s around? It’s nothing. Heartburn at most. The butterflies that seem to find me when Beckett is aroundwere nothing when I was sixteen, and they’re less than nothing now.
“I told you about the social media thing Ken is pushing. You know how these things are,” I reply.
“But dancing, Finley? That’s a reckless reminder to the world that you’re a woman.”
“We weren’t the only team who danced, Dad.”
“You’re the only one who doesn’t get to blur the lines, though,” he practically barks at me. “Youcan’t afford to have people question your professionalism, Finley.You.Not Kane, not Li, certainly not Larsen. Damn it. I knew you weren’t ready for this. When you’re fifty? Sixty? Sure. But a thirty-one-year-old coach? It’s really fucking rare. I don’t care how forward-thinking Ken Peterson is, or how much of a push there is for younger coaches. It was bold if you were a man, but it’s just plain stupid to put a young woman in charge of a team of men.”
“Dad,” I cut him off, knowing it’s the only way to end his rants. I know I can do this job better thananyman, but I also know that he’s right. I wouldn’t have put myself in charge right now, based on the optics alone. But Iamin charge, and I don’t plan on doing anything to mess it up.
“Just don’t give them a reason to question you.” He sighs.
Don’t mess up is the real message. One I know well.
“I know,” I say. “But I have to do this. Even if I don’t like it.”
Though that’s not necessarily accurate. I liked dancing with Beckett. I liked practicing with him. I liked the way the warmth of his body seeped into my own through every point of contact.
Dancing with him felt easy. If I missed a step, he’d cover for us. And when he held me above his head, there was no doubt in my mind that he had me. It was… fun.
And something else. Something that felt soft and new. A sign that maybe those butterflies from all those years ago aren’t as meaningless as I need them to be.
But, no. This can’t happen.
I hang up with my dad in time to see an email from Sabrina come through, one with details of the next challenge that explains how we’ll be paired with other professional athletes from Colorado. It also reminds us that the fourth challenge will test our knowledge of each other. It legitimately tells us to spend time “getting to know one another.”
