by Kate Meader
Some people? “Like I said, the Rebels approved my being embedded with the team. Nothing was off the table. Harper Chase was very clear about that.”
“Well, they probably have little to fear in terms of toxic masculinity. Some people might say it’s because there isn’t any masculinity over there at all.”
Jordan pulled up short. Again, there was the mention of some people, this time tied to a snide comment about masculinity. “I don’t follow.”
“The team is run by women who seem to have all the players under their heels.” He laughed. Jordan didn’t. “It’s certainly introduced an unusual culture and might make fans question the team’s killer instinct.”
Was this a Devil’s Advocate strategy with him deliberately taking the counterpoint so her argument stood stronger? If so, she wished he’d run it by her first.
“If you’re implying only men can have killer instincts, you must have been under a rock four seasons ago when the Rebels won the Cup the first year the Chase sisters were in charge. They also have Dante Moretti as their GM, a former defenseman with a great record before he turned to management.”
“Easily attributable to a fluke. The stars aligned for one good year. Now they’ve lost two of their prime players who are staying home to play house husbands instead of out on the ice where they’re needed.”
“Coby, with all due respect, you sound like an idiot.”
He laughed again, holding his hands up in that age-old gesture of Whoa, calm down, hysterical female! But there was something else, a deadening of his eyes. He didn’t like being called out on his own show. Good old Coby was not such a friend to the ladies after all.
It was at this point she realized that she’d brought a knife to a gunfight.
“Fair enough.” Coby gave that sly smile that told her she’d better don her catcher’s mitt because here come the fastballs. “Harper and company have certainly done wonders for the Rebels, which is amazing considering what happened to her.”
“What happened to her …?” Jordan prompted when Coby left it hanging.
“It’s a true testament to her strength or maybe the Chase genes that she was able to rise above being assaulted by a player before she inherited the team. Anyone would understand if she wasn’t able to assume that mantle.”
Jordan’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Coby.”
“Oh, really?” Coby looked down at a piece of paper, consulting notes she suspected he knew by heart. “My source tells me that Harper Chase, current CEO of the Chicago Rebels, was assaulted by a Rebels player several years ago. And that the organization hushed it up by trading him out. Essentially made him someone else’s problem. Not exactly the pro-women, call-out-bad-behavior stance you’re painting for the team.”
She swallowed. Hard. She had no idea where he was getting his information and given that she had nothing on the record from Harper, she was not about to confirm or deny.
“You’ll have to take that up with the Rebels front office. As I said, I’ve witnessed nothing but professionalism in my dealings with them.”
He nodded. “Right, professionalism. Let’s talk about your profile of Levi Hunt, the latest addition to the Rebels. How’s that going?”
Feeling whiplashed, she was glad to step out of her defending-female-run-teams role, if only for a moment while she caught her breath. “Good. It’s been fascinating to travel with the team and witness the onboarding, so to speak, of a new and exciting talent in the league.”
“Hunt’s hard to read, would you say?”
“At first. But getting to know him and the rest of the crew over the last few weeks has been really rewarding.”
“But you had a leg up there, Jordan. He was a friend of your husband’s.”
She narrowed slitty eyes of death at Coby, making it clear she didn’t enjoy this line of inquiry. “I knew him briefly from before.”
“And that helped you get this plum assignment.”
“Helped when I got this plum assignment, Coby. That connection meant the Rebels management were more open to having a reporter embed with the team. Levi would be more likely to trust someone he knew, who understood where he was coming from and the sacrifice that he and his unit had made.”
Coby reached his hand over to cover hers. “We’re grateful for your husband’s service.”
You. Fucker. She pulled her hand away, knowing it came off as childish but not caring. “Thank you.”
Anxious to get back on track after that ambush, she tried to line up her ducks. The guy had basically said she got the assignment because of her connection to Levi—which was true.
But.
This business was as much about who you knew and who you could trust. Levi trusted her and she’d worked that to her benefit. Even he knew that. What she didn’t enjoy was the underlying, insidious accusation.
You beat a male reporter to this story by flashing the woman card.
You beat me.
Coby wasn’t done. “What would he think of you and Hunt?”
“Me and—”
“Your husband was a close friend of Levi’s. Do you think you have his blessing?”
Her heart pounded, and those rivers of sweat overflowed their banks. Surely, the man wasn’t going there.
She chose to interpret it another way. “I think Josh would be happy that I’m following my dream to report on a sport I love.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt. Especially since you’ve come a long way in such a short time.”
She balled her fist, then, worried about how it would look on camera, she put it in her lap. Nails dugs deep into her palms, sharp enough to break skin. “I’ve worked hard, as have a lot of female reporters.” Yet we’re still getting dissed by pricks like you.
“Sure. Still. As a newbie on the pro-league scene, there’s bound to be a lot of jealousy and questions wondering how you gained such quick acceptance and the trust of a notoriously guarded player. But it was probably easier to gain that trust since you and he have a special relationship.”
Time to shut this offensive play down. “So you’ve said. In fact, you’ve said or insinuated several times that my meteoric rise is suspicious and that there has to be a reason why I’ve been blessed with this assignment. Maybe you should be clearer about what you’re accusing me of.”
Coby’s expression said that crazy Jordan must be completely misunderstanding him.
Bring out the oil for the gaslights, buddy.
“Not accusing you of anything, Jordan. I think it’s great that you’ve found happiness again, though I’m guessing there might be some infraction of an unspoken code here. Perhaps it doesn’t bother Hunt and you’ve every right to seek solace where you can. I don’t have a problem with it, but given some of concerns you brought to light here today about female reporters being expected to provide favors for information, some people might say a relationship with a player you’re covering for a story weakens your argument.”
Not me, though, his expression said. I’m on your side and the side of women everywhere.
Shock throttled the words in her throat.
Dawson filled the silence. “With a man as private as Hunt, he’s not going to reveal his troubled history to just anyone. The tough upbringing that included homelessness, losing his father to pneumonia while they were both living on the streets, and then the death of a fellow soldier, your husband, who was also a good friend.”
Her mind whirred, fumbling for the correct response here. As far as she knew, Levi’s history was not common knowledge. His friendship with Josh was known but everything else? This was Levi’s very private life that Dawson was splashing around on live TV.
“I’m not here to talk about Levi’s past or my relationship with him. I’m not sure where you’re getting your information—”
“From you, Jordan.” He held up the paper in his hand. “This is all background research you’ve done on Levi Hunt.”
No no no … “I—I didn�
��t tell you that.”
“So, it’s not true, then? How Levi’s mom left him when he was a kid, his dad drank his way out of a roof over their head, they sometimes stayed the night at a gym where Hunt Sr. worked. It’s all in your notes, Jordan.” He consulted those damn papers on his desk.
Were those her notes? But, how?
“Now he’s paying it forward by volunteering at a Chicago homeless shelter. Of course, you wouldn’t know any of this if you weren’t so close to Levi, so kudos there. It’s just …” He grimaced, like this was so awkward to bring up. “It looks like you’re getting that scoop any way you can.”
Fury fueled her response at last. “You pri—”
“Hold that thought, Jordan. Let’s take a break and delve deeper when we come back.”
Later Jordan would learn that her lunge for Coby Dawson was not caught live on camera. Damn seven second delay.
She tightened her grip on his tie, choking it good, hoping that, by the time the commercial break was over, she’d manage to extinguish all life from his smug, entitled, assholic face.
He sputtered. “Hey!”
Someone restrained her, forcing her to release the turd. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Dawson? Are you really so pissed that I got this story that you’ll do anything to take me down?”
“Come on, honey. We all know how you got this story. Maybe you and Hunt recently reconnected. Maybe you’ve been banging him since your husband bought the farm. I don’t know and I don’t care. But don’t tell me that you got it from working hard”—he added air quotes—“and following the story where it leads. You opened your legs and the words started flowing.”
She suspected her gaping mouth made her look oxygen-deprived. What a vile, disgusting excuse for a human being. Should have trusted your instincts.
“I didn’t tell you anything about Levi. Where did you get that information?” It was far too specific to have come from anyone but her.
“A reporter can’t reveal his sources, Jordan. Even if it’s another reporter.” He winked and she threw up a little in her mouth.
Then it hit her. The DC game. She’d stepped out of the press box, and when she returned, her laptop was a few inches out of place while Coby “accessed” the outlet. Accessed her files, more like.
He must have seen those early, aborted drafts and read her take on the Harper/Stroger situation. She’d made notes of her recording, noodling about a strategy to bring the Rebels CEO into her confidence.
Then the icing on this shit cake: Coby Asshat Dawson had capitalized on the opportunity by dropping a juicy nugget of gossip about the acquisition of Gunnar Bond and flattering Jordan with an invitation to go national with the story of her heart. To maybe even get an on-camera gig at ESP-fucking-N. And she’d fallen for it like a dog in heat.
She was the reason Coby knew about Stroger assaulting Harper.
She was the reason he had the inside track on Levi’s deepest, most painful secrets.
She was the reason she’d be remembered as the reporter who tanked her career on live TV.
“Everyone can see what you did here, Dawson. You flashed your tiny dick because your ego got hurt.”
His smile was oily. “When we come back, Jordan, we’ll be running a story we did earlier on LeBron. I’d ask you to stay but I’d rather we didn’t get into a mud-slinging match that detracts from the important issues that you’ve raised today. Thanks for doing your part.”
He gestured over her shoulder to a pair of beefy security guys, on hand to escort her off the set.
Perfect.
25
Go @BigDogDawson! My man rips @HockeyGrrl a new one and shows why girls should stick to tennis and soccer. #TheMenAreTalking
* * *
One goal and two assists in a 5-2 win against Boston was undoubtedly the highlight of Levi’s so-far brief professional career in the NHL. Afterward, in the visitors’ locker room, he sat on the bench, breathing slowly and letting his body absorb the changes. He felt hopeful, like he finally knew where he belonged.
It might have something to do with his practices with DuPre and St. James. It might be the fact Coach had given him multiple shifts, and he’d honored that choice with his play. It might even be his progress with the pet program at the homeless shelter—Harper was considering making a donation on behalf of the team.
But deep down, he knew why hope was truly springing and his heart was brimming over.
This rookie was in love.
Hearing Jordan tell him that he was as deserving as anyone of good things had unraveled something, like a thread on a sweater. She hadn’t recoiled when he expressed his envy of Josh’s life, just understood that this ugliness was part and parcel of who he was. He’d always glossed over his shame at where he came from, assumed his God-given talent on the ice was accidental, taken for granted that a woman like Jordan could never accept him as worthy of love. Worthy of her.
As soon as that damn profile was done, Levi would be telling Jordan Cooke exactly what he thought of her. Until then, he’d love her on the down low, like he’d been doing for years. He could be patient a little longer.
First they had some locker-room press stuff to get through. He’d become better at this, which he credited to his regular grilling by his favorite lady of the press. He couldn’t wait to see how her interview went because damn, she deserved it after all her hard work.
The guy from the Boston Trib spoke first. “Care to comment on reports of your rumored relationship with sports reporter, Jordan Cooke, who was married to one of your unit mates in the Navy SEALs?”
Wait, what? He opened his mouth to respond only to hear, “It was the Green Berets,” in the dark voice of Dante Moretti. “Levi won’t be taking questions tonight.”
Scenting blood in the water, the rest of them descended.
“How has your stint of homelessness as a kid shaped you, Levi?”
“Would Sergeant Engineer Cooke have given his blessing to you and Jordan?”
“Is it true that’s how she got her job at Chicago SportsNet? Her connection to you?”
He turned at that last one, ready to answer in a way that would satisfy his gut, only to be led away by Dante.
“Come on, Hunt. Time to head to the airport.”
“What the hell was that about? How did they know about …?” Any of it?
Dante remained stone-faced. “I’ll tell you on the bus.”
Ten minutes later, Levi had watched Jordan’s SportsFocus interview on Dante’s phone and was trying to make sense of it. He peered up at their GM, the only other person on the bus. Apparently his teammates had stayed behind to draw the fire that should have been coming his way.
“What a prick.”
“Dawson? Oh, yeah, the guy’s a gabbagul.” Dante took back his phone. “I assume you gave her all that information?”
Levi’s pulse boomed, scrabbling to defend his woman. “The background stuff on me, yes. But she promised not to use any of it. She swore she’d only stick to hockey.”
“And you believed her?”
Of course he did. They were operating at a level of trust he’d only ever had with his team back in the Berets, but more than that. He trusted Jordan with his heart.
“Jordan wouldn’t do that.”
Dante looked skeptical. “I’ve had my fair share of dealings with the press. They’re not the most ethical bunch, so assuming anything is off the record is usually a mistake. When I came out, they were vicious. And as for Cade …” He shook his head, remembered anger setting his mouth in a grim line. “To be honest, what Dawson said about you is less of an issue than the story he has on Harper. It was before my time but the organization should have reported what happened to her and punished the player in question.”
In the heat of thinking how this affected himself, he’d forgotten about Harper. That must be related to what Remy had told him—how he’d smacked down Stroger for hurting his wife.
“Remy mentioned the Harper incident to me
, not in any detail. But I promise I didn’t breathe a word of it to Jordan.” Anger surged in his chest. What was more concerning is that he might have eventually told her. He’d felt comfortable enough with her to confide his deepest fears, his heartfelt dreams. Why not someone else’s pain and heartbreak?
He wanted so badly to believe that Jordan had been ambushed. “She sounded shocked when Dawson brought it up. My stuff. Harper’s.”
“Maybe. But then that could be a way to keep her hands clean in all of this. She slips him the information, acts like it’s being revealed without her knowledge. Next thing we see Jordan’s got a job at ESPN to atone for Dawson being a jerk and ratings are through the roof.”
That was a cynical take. But Dante’s job was to protect the team. He was understandably upset about how the Rebels were portrayed: protecting an abuser was never a good look.
Erik poked his head above the stairwell of the bus entrance. “Can we come in? It’s colder than a gorilla’s nut sac out here.”
“Yeah, come on,” Dante said with a final nod at Levi.
Soon the bus was full and on its way to Hanscom Field, about ten miles outside of Boston, to catch the chartered flight back to Chicago. All around him, the buzz of post-win happy was keeping the team in good spirits. Levi wanted to watch the interview again, so he put in earbuds and cranked it up on his phone. Less than a minute in and before it got combative, Theo sat beside him.
“So wanna tell me what the fuck happened on SportsFocus tonight?”
With a bud out of his right ear, Levi could hear Jordan’s voice humming through the bus on some of the other players’ phones.
“You need me to do a play-by-play?”
“So, is that what she’s been doing all this time? Spying on us?”
The poor guy sounded so wounded. “She’s a reporter, Kershaw. Her job is to prod, find a weakness, and exploit it.”