Page 61 of Her Player

The locker room was quiet as I made my way out of its corridors. There was no pride in winning the way we had. There was no joy in the downfall of another team. The only wins that mattered were the ones we had to work for. A game like this?

Not as fulfilling as one would think.

I clicked my way into my office, my heels sharp against the floor. I heard the away team practically slamming their way out of Caldwell Arena, yelling and cursing at the top of their lungs. I wrinkled my nose as I closed the door to my office, blocking out the sounds. I knew Coach would handle it if he thought they were being too disrespectful to the...

“Hey! Keep the fucking shouting to a minimum! You’re guests in this house!” Coach Mercer bellowed as I heard him storming down the hallway.

Like I said, he’d take care of it.

I snatched the television remote off my desk. My office was damn near pitch black, save for the little warm white nightlight in the corner. I turned on the television mounted to the wall. A television my husband put there after he made this office his own space during his coaching days all those long years ago.

My God, that life seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Breaking news, everyone,” one of the newscasters said, “apparently, the Detroit Pirates were drunk at their game tonight.”

“Our reports indicate that at least four of the team members⁠—”

I flipped to another news station. “Breaking news! Disgraced PHL Coach Nicholas Mercer is headed to a championship game! Good to see that some things never⁠—”

I paused on one channel long enough to watch thirty seconds of Coach Mercer standing at a podium outside Caldwell Arena. No notes. No PR handler beside him. Just him, looking directly into the cameras, speaking in that flat, no-nonsense register of his. I couldn’t hear the words over the muted television but I didn’t need to. I could read his posture well enough by now. He wasn’t apologizing. He wasn’t deflecting. He was just stating facts about my daughter the way a man states facts about someone he intends to keep around for a very long time.

I flipped to the next channel.

I turned the station to yet another station. A local news station. And the headline made me grin. “The Vegas Vipers are headed to the qualifying round to play against the New York Bulldogs! Go Vegas Vipers!”

I clicked through every channel. I double-backed two or three different times. I saw news media rushing the Pirates as they tore out the side exit of Caldwell Arena. I grinned at their decision. That door tormented me when I’d first gotten into the building, and now it would torment them.

I watched those reporters stick microphones in their faces, and I couldn’t help but shiver with glee.

They deserved every fucking bit of it for disgracing my ice with their drunken ways.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

The instant my office door cracked open, I knew exactly who it was. Maybe it was the smell of him. Maybe it was the cadence of his steps. But when I felt Rhett’s strong hands descend upon my shoulders, I groaned as I leaned forward. His thumbs dug into the muscles that lined the edge of my shoulder blades. His fingertips slid up either side of my neck, causing my head to dip even lower.

Goosebumps spread along my skin as I felt myself slowly giving way to him.

“Mmm, right there,” I muttered as his thumb ran over a knot.

He got right to work, digging the heel of his hand into that spot and slowly circling it. “Everyone talking about the game?”

I snickered as I switched to yet another news story about the drunk semi-professional hockey team. “Every single outlet right now.”

He paused. “Wait, all of them?”

I giggled as I turned to face him. “Yep. All of them.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said as he gripped my shoulders and turned me right back around, “keep flipping. I’ll keep massaging.”

My finger mindlessly clicked through the channels, but I was no longer paying attention to them. “Deal.”

Slowly, I clicked while he slowly massaged. The only sounds were the ones of my breathing, grunting, and clicking. Every once in a while, Rhett chuckled, but other than that, we just… stood there.

Him, pampering me.

And me, relishing the fact that my daughter’s naked back caught on some asshole’s drone footage was no longer floating through the media.

“Thank you,” I muttered when I finally abandoned the remote control back onto my desk.