“I know,” I mutter, trying to think of something that will make this better. But, sometimes, actions mean more than words. “I’ll stop seeing Alex. Whatever it takes to fix this, Mick. Please don’t fire me. This job and my clients are all that I have. You know that.”
“I would never fire you, Charlie. You’re the best agent I have, and you bring too much money into this firm. Plus, you’re like family.” Mickey leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze intense, serious. “But make no mistake. I will not tolerate a relationship between you and Alex—or any of my clients, for that matter. This is your only warning. I’ll talk to Alex about the two of you doing interviews or a press conference to clear this up. You were never together. Those pictures were all a misunderstanding. Do you understand me?”
I nod. “Yes. Alex will be back in a few days. I’ll let him down easy.”
“You will do no such thing,” he snaps. “You. Were. Never. Together.” He pronounces every single syllable. “I will handle all communication with Alex from now on. I don’t even want your secretary speaking with him.”
“But…” The words die off in my throat.
He pushes out his hand in front of him to silence me. “No buts, Charlie. I don’t want to hear that you’ve spoken to him or that anyone has seen the two of you together. Am I clear?” The finality in his tone knots my stomach like a pretzel.
I can feel the bile rising up from the back of my throat because this means that Alex and I are through. “Crystal.”
“Good.” Mickey pushes out from the table and stands, motioning toward the door with his hand. “Now, get back to work, and do your fucking job.”
I never thought I’d see Mick the Dick ever again. After today, I never want a repeat.
Alex
After Mickey, of all people, broke up with me on Charlotte’s behalf three weeks ago, the hits have kept on coming. My game has gone in the fucking toilet, and after a string of brutal losses, my coach has decided to switch up the lines tonight. We’re down by four goals, losing in the most embarrassing fashion at home. With less than one minute left in the third period, we’re on the penalty kill after Moreau cross-checked a forward on the other team, leaving us shorthanded.
This is normally where I excel, considering I’ve had the best penalty kill record in the league for the last four years. Not that it would even matter with this kind of deficit. My heart hasn’t been into hockey lately. I’m stuck on the bench while Coach messes with our mojo, and I’m forced to watch as the Caps take possession of the puck.
They rush into the attacking zone with our guys trailing behind, leaving Donovan without any defense as they take a shot that goes wide, bouncing off the Plexi. Kane’s faster than the other forward and makes it down the ice but not in time to block a lateral pass to my former teammate, Tony, who takes the shot. The cohesion between the players on my old team is so on point, and the play happens so fast that my team doesn’t have enough time to react as the puck sails past Donovan’s skate and into the net.
The fans inside the Wells Fargo Center, or what is left of them, start to boo, and I have to wonder if they’re booing because we fucking suck.
Over the few months I spent with Charlotte, working on my mental and physical game, I was stronger and playing better. But the last three weeks have been rough, to say the least. I need her back.
But Mickey won’t let me near her. Charlotte got a new phone number, and when I call her office, she has her secretary serving as her gatekeeper. She’s never at her apartment anymore when I’m home. Her mail, which mostly consists of ads and flyers that businesses shove under the doors, is starting to pile up, and her box downstairs was overflowing the last time the mailman was adding envelopes to hers.
I’ve had more trouble than usual sleeping without her in my arms, and since I’ve kept the promise I made months ago and laid off the booze, I have to fall asleep the old-fashioned way and down half of a bottle of NyQuil to knock myself out. The loss of my appetite has been sucking my energy from me like a parasite, and I can hardly function. This is what my father warned me about when he said women and hockey do not mix. I finally understand his logic.
Once the game ends, we shuffle into the locker room, deflated by our loss. Kane tells everyone to shake it off, and as the team captain, he tries to sound positive, but I don’t believe a word of what he says. Judging by the looks of it, neither does he. Then, Coach follows up with what is supposed to be a motivational speech that would make my father laugh. No one gave a pep talk like my dad.
First, I lost him, and now, I’ve lost Charlotte.
The post-game interviews last much longer than expected while they take turns interviewing Kane and Donovan along with a few other players before a cute blonde makes her way toward me. I ignore her as she stands above me while I bend over to take off my skates.
“Alex, hi,” she says, holding a tape recorder between us. “I’m Kennedy Lockwood from Sports Buzz. Do you have a few minutes?”
I grunt in frustration. “Not really, but go ahead.”
Making herself comfortable, she takes a seat next to me on the bench and pushes her blonde locks over her shoulder with the recorder in hand. “After another devastating loss at home, what are some of the things you think the team needs to work on to get back on track?”
Get a new team or perhaps even a new coach?
I hate answering questions like these because I always feel like the reporter is trying to goad me into saying something stupid.
“We haven’t been playing as a unit,” I say, pressing my palms to the bench and meeting her gaze. “We’re giving away goals because of stupid mistakes. Once we find our rhythm, we’ll get back to winning games. It’s just a funk and a learning curve that we need to get through.”
She smiles and presses forward. “You’ve been with the Flyers for almost three months now. How do you think the fans compare to previous teams you’ve played for?”
This has nothing to do with the game, lady, I want to say, but instead, I mutter, “They’re great. Our fans are very passionate.” And I’m pretty sure they were booing us and not the opposing team tonight.
Kennedy moves closer and crosses her legs, revealing too much skin as her skirt slides up her thighs.
Charlotte had the best legs of any girl I’d ever been with, long and toned, and when she’d wrap them around me, my brain would shut down as she let me show her my appreciation for her body. Every day, I miss her more. What I miss most are our late-night talks and holding her in my arms until we both fell asleep. I miss the scent of her shampoo on my pillow and the way she purrs in her sleep. I cannot stop thinking about her. She invades my dreams, my thoughts, devouring every moment of my life.
“One more question, and then I’ll get out of your hair,” Kennedy says, diverting my thoughts. “Do you think your relationship with Charlotte Coachman has at all impacted your game?”
My head jerks in response to her question. Balling my hands into fists, I push down the anger as I try to formulate a decent response to get her away from me. The nerve of this woman. She has no right to ask about Charlotte.
“I don’t see what my agent has to do with my game, Miss Lockwood.”
“Kennedy,” she corrects, “and I beg to differ. Around the time you were involved with Coach, your stats went up, and the team was on an eight-game winning streak. We haven’t seen her at any of your games lately, and you’ve cut off all communication, which leads me to believe that Coach is the reason for your sudden…lack of inspiration, if you will.”
“How would you know if we’ve been communicating?” I say, pointing at the recorder. “And shut that thing off. This interview is over. I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Alex, wait,” she says, clamping down on my forearm when I try to get up. “I’ve been following your story for a while now.”
“What story?” I growl. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Kennedy flashes a knowing look in my directio
n that pisses me off even more. “Originally, after seeing the pictures of you two at Dilworth Park, I thought my headline would read ‘Successful Sports Agent Tames Hockey Bad Boy’ because you were playing so well, but then…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know; something about you and your game has been off, and she seems to be the common denominator.”
“Look, lady, you don’t know me or Charlotte. I have no idea where you’re getting your information from, but someone is feeding you bullshit.”
“It’s a lot easier than you think to dig up dirt on people when you know who to ask and how to get it. I have a reliable source that says you and Coach haven’t spoken in weeks. But you want her back, right?”
“Why do you care about either of us?”
Kennedy pretends not to hear me. “She acts like things are okay between you, but it’s obvious she still cares.”
“You’ve spoken to her?” I’m surprised, considering that Charlotte hates dealing with press and usually pushes them onto my publicist. “Is she all right?” I regret asking the moment the words leave my mouth.
“Let’s just say, I know a few things,” she whispers before holding on to my shoulder to stand, “and she misses you, too.”
What if this is all a ploy to get me to open up and admit I had a relationship with Charlotte?
Maybe it’s time to sack up and do what I should’ve done to begin with. The only way to change Charlotte’s mind is to go behind her back to the people whose opinions she values most. If their validation is so important to her, then I’d damn well better go out and get it.
Coach
The gymnasium at the rec center is at max capacity with a sea of jersey colors as far as the eye can see, taking up every square inch of floor space. On weekends, we have to take turns with sharing the court, and with two teams already in play, I’m sitting on the bleachers with Jamie, my boys, and their families, waiting patiently for our game to begin.
Rico and Rosario are seated to my left, and Jamie is to my right, three rows up at center court. I can hardly remember the last time Rosario was able to get time off from work to attend a game. It’s nice to see them together. Rico smiles so wide, the dimple in his chin pops as he shows off for his mother by spinning a basketball on his index finger. He loves that trick even though it’s not practical in a game—not unless he grows up to play for the Harlem Globetrotters.
Rosario leans over and clamps her hand down on my forearm. “You’re doing an amazing job with these kids. Rico really loves you and this team. All he talks about when he comes home is how Coach taught him this or Coach is going to show him that.”
For the first time since I walked away from Alex, I flash a genuine smile. “Rico and the kids keep me on my toes. I’m used to dealing with pro athletes and all the drama that comes with them, so it’s nice to switch gears and have fun with the boys.”
“It shows.” Rosario scoots closer and raises her voice over the screaming fans around us, cheering on their teams. “You should come over tomorrow for dinner, if you’re free.” She leans over me, brushing her long dark hair off her face, and says, “You, too, Jamie. The more, the merrier. I’m making mofongo.”
“Ooh, my favorite. I can’t wait. Thank you so much for the invite.” My mouth waters at the promise of Rosario’s cooking. I never really had what most people would consider a home-cooked meal until Rosario invited me over for the first time.
“We’d love to come,” I say. Jamie agrees. “You know I’m not much of a cook, but can I bring wine or dessert?”
She shakes her head as the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the fourth quarter. “No, just bring yourselves.”
The crowd hums to life as the game ends, and I tell my team to get their gear and start heading over to the bench. Jamie helps me down the bleachers, slinging my gym bag over his shoulder. I love that we can share this together. But I also wish Alex were here as well. No matter what I said to him, I still care.
“Here’s your clipboard, Coach,” Jamie says. He drops the bag on the ground and kicks it under our bench.
I smile and take the board from his hand. “Thank you, Assistant Coach.”
While the boys practice their layups and free throws, we walk over to half-court to watch. Jamie rests his hands on his hips and shakes his head at Rico, who’s attempting the Coach Crossover on Tommy.
“That kid,” Jamie says with a grin.
“I know.” Pride swells in my chest. “He’s still not tall enough to perfect my move, but give it a few more years, and he’s going to be a star. I can already see the makings of a pro baller in him.”
“He wants to be like you, Charlie.”
“Oh, he will have every opportunity. I’ll make sure of it.” I turn to my friend and place my hand on his shoulder. “Talented players don’t come around very often. Rico’s at the age where I can take that talent and mold him into the player he’s going to become. My only stipulation is that he finishes college. Because what good is a pro athlete without an education if they get hurt and have nothing to show for it? That’s why I don’t sign players out of high school, only scout them.”
Being a good agent is all about cultivating talent. Most agents scout players from high school and sometimes even earlier than that. My dream is to coach players like Rico, so I can watch them grow.
“Speaking of talented players, have you heard anything more about Alex?”
“No.” I slide my hand off his shoulder and pull the marker from the clipboard to mark up a few plays before the game starts.
“I can’t believe you paid that reporter to keep tabs on him.” His disapproving tone causes me to look up. “Don’t you think it’s a bit extreme?”
“He’s my client. It’s not uncommon to make sure a player is staying out of trouble. I have other reporters on retainer in different states. How do you think I know when Dante Fisher or Clay Barker steps out of line? Rebecca Stone and I made deals with them to come to us first before they go blabbing about our players.”
“Having someone call you when Dante doesn’t show up on time for practice isn’t exactly news, Charlie. He could stop going to practice for the rest of the year, and his coach would still roll out the red carpet for him. You have the girl from Sports Buzz following Alex around because you miss him, and you want to know what he’s doing. Stop torturing yourself.”
Scanning the court, I check off the names on my roster and clip the pen to the board, avoiding Jamie’s judgmental gaze. He never liked the idea of me dating Alex. Hell, I never liked the idea for this exact reason. I knew it would get messy and complicated. But I never expected to care for him this much.
“You know me too well, Jameson.” I frown. “I don’t want to like Alex Parker, of all people, but I do. At first, I thought he was just another player I needed to help, but it turns out, he was also helping me.”
“You miss him.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I nod.
“Do you want him back?”
I nod again.
“You should talk to him then.”
Surprised, I raise my eyebrows at Jamie. “Since when do you think that dating Alex is a good idea? You can’t stand him.”
“Not true,” he says, defensive. “I might not be his biggest fan, but I don’t have anything against him other than the fact that your relationship with him is the reason you’re hurting so much.” Jamie places his finger under my chin and lifts it so that our eyes meet. “Talk to Mickey. If Alex is causing you this much pain and he feels the same way about you, then maybe Mickey will make an exception.”
“If only that were possible.” I sigh. “You’ve known Mickey for almost as long as I have. Have you ever seen the man make an exception for anyone? My feelings have no room in sports. I’ll get over him. I promise. Time heals all wounds, right?”
Jamie shoves his hands into his pockets, deflated. “I hate seeing you unhappy, Charlie. We had so much misery and pain growing up. Why can’t you allow yourself to be happy?”
“Just because you’ve found a sexy secretary to make out with in the copy room doesn’t mean all business relationships are meant to be. You didn’t see the look Mickey gave me. He trusted me. I took that trust and ripped it to shreds, and if I even think about going near Alex, I’m finished. People in the office have been whispering about me behind my back since the news broke. Things have just started to settle down.”
“You can’t sleep in my spare bedroom for the rest of your life, Charlie. At some point, you will need to go back to the apartment and stop acting like you don’t care. Every night since you’ve been with me, you’ve woken up screaming and crying. How can you pretend like you don’t give a shit about him?”
“They’re nightmares about my parents. You know that,” I lie.
He shakes his head. “No, they’re not—not anymore, at least. You’ve been calling out Alex’s name in your sleep for the last five nights. It scared the shit out of me the first time I heard it because I thought he was in my apartment, hurting you.” Jamie hooks his arm around my back and pulls me tight against his chest, squeezing my side. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re full of shit. You’re in love with Alex. Go talk to Mickey and explain that it wasn’t just a hook-up. I’m sure you can find a way to make it work.”
I don’t even bother to deny my feelings for Alex because I miss him more each day. Jamie always sees through me.
“I wish it were that simple. We’ve got a game to play.”
Bringing the whistle around my neck to my lips, I blow on it to gather our team. The boys spin around and come running toward us.
“All right, Gladiators. Let’s get those hands in here,” I say, holding mine in the air.
They layer their tiny hands on top of mine, bringing a smile to my face. This moment, where I am together with my players, brings me pure happiness. I am their coach, and this is my team. Coaching is what I do best. I love this game.
Unlike my apartment, Rosario and Rico’s home is so warm and inviting. Rosario has beautiful Spanish artwork on the walls and sculpted glass and figurines on the tables, and her house smells wonderful. She makes the best mofongo I’ve ever tasted, even better than what I had when I visited Puerto Rico for vacation last year.
Parker (Face-Off Series Book 1) Page 18