Page 31 of He Has Pluck

“Yes.” I hold my breath and then try to control my breathing, my erratic traitorous heart, trying not to anticipate what she’ll say, if she wants more.

“Okay. I get it. It’s an extended fling. The kind that burns hot and fast before it’s over,” she says.

I let out a deep breath and feel relief and disappointment at the same time. I can do a fling. As long as I don’t let it go further, don’t let it get in the way of hockey, don’t promise more than I can deliver because hockey comes first. The NHL or bust.

“Then I’ll stay,” I say. We lay back on the bed, and she settles in against my side and strokes her hand over my belly and abdomen in circles. That’s how I fall asleep.

* * *

At first light, before my alarm goes off, I leave before she wakes. She’s not flying on the team’s plane, thank fuck. I hurry to make the bus to the airport, scenes from the night playing in my head, not knowing what the hell happened between us. Not knowing if I’m crazy.

Or just plain stupid, allowing the same mile-wide self-destructive streak that my dad had enough room to take over, to possibly blow up my career if I let it.

There’s more than one way to sabotage your own success, kid. But I’ve learned that a woman is the quickest and baddest way to blow yourself up.

How could I forget the best fucking advice my dad ever gave me?

Chapter Nine

JULIETTE

In the taxi on the way from the airport to my Airbnb, I call Carlos Hermetta, skipping the texting stage of communication because, hell, I admit it, I’m desperate. He answers on the first ring, and I smile and give sweet thanks to my one true friend in this business for being there.

“Sullivan, how the hell are you? What’s up?”

“Where are you? Are you on your way? I need your camera desperately.” He laughs.

“Not as desperately as I need you—I mean my camera needs you.” My turn to laugh. It’s a running joke between us why we can never get together because we’re like work siblings, professional peers and competitors for every assignment ever since college when we graduated number one and two in our program. I was number one, but he’s since forgiven me.

“Seriously, when’s your ETA?” I ask.

“Seriously, I’ll be there within the hour. You’re welcome. I’ve only been driving since two am.”

“Where are you coming from? No, never mind, don’t tell me. I’ll only get jealous.”

“How are you?” I know he means it as more than a superficial pleasantry. He was there and saw me fall apart after the shooting when no one else did. I wonder briefly if he’s the one who told Ruminski, but it doesn’t matter. Both of them are trustworthy, and in spite of our professional rivalry, I know Carlos would never do anything to ruin my career, same as I would never do anything to sabotage his. We’re good for each other, pushing each other to do better, to reach the next level. I need him and he needs me, professionally speaking and as a friend.

“Paying my penance in a hockey rink. How the hell do you think I am? Desperate to get this over with.” It’s not a lie though it’s hardly everything. But I’m not in the habit of baring my soul, not even to Carlos. Not to anyone.

While the team is allegedly napping according to the schedule, I unpack and take my place in front of the computer in one of those ergonomic chairs and get to work on the edits. Jason’s words play in my head about the almost fight, about it being bad for the team, but I know he’s wrong, and I know how we can handle it that’ll please Delaney and measure up to my standards.

It’ll be the infusion of just enough personal drama that we need, and Jason will end up looking like a hero, getting past his issues and growing as he fits in with the team.

Tony will look like Tony, and I know there’s no disguising him, but that’s okay because he only plays a superficial role in this story. Too bad for him, but good for the film because Delaney was right after all in choosing the focal point to be the new guy, Jason Tansem.

After what seems like the blink of an eye, the doorbell chimes making me jump and then the door bangs open and the familiar voice of my friend Carlos rings out.

“Anybody home in this shithole?” I unfold myself, laughing, and meet him in the foyer. He has three bags that he’s dropped on the hardwood floor and after I let him give me a hug, lifting me off the ground, I pick up one of his bags.

Laughing, I say, “Follow me. This place has enough rooms to invite the whole team from Columbia to stay—if they were still talking to me.” He grunts in response to the reference to Columbia and follows me upstairs. I show him to the first bedroom on the right and toss his bag on the bed done up in green and black plaid.

“You expect me to sleep in a preppy bedroom?” He looks around like I’ve led him to a snake pit, and I grin.

“I know. Not the kind of digs we’re used to. Takes some getting used to working in this environment.”

“Don’t worry. I can transform any environment down to my level. I’ll make myself at home.”

I laugh. “What are you going to do? Plant some deadly vines and bring in a boa constrictor?”