Good Guy: A Rookie Rebels Novel

by Kate Meader

  “Men who are more in touch with their feelings make better players. It’s been quite productive for us.”

  “I’m so glad I could help with player development, then.” Jordan plunked her butt on the sofa whereupon she slumped even more gracelessly than usual.

  “Levi’s an insanely private guy,” Harper said thoughtfully. “Right now, seeing these things he’s gone to such pains to hide splashed about for entertainment is all he can think of. That you’re the reason, whether it’s fair or not, is particularly hurtful. I take some responsibility here. I might have misjudged how a profile like this would impact him. But …”

  “But, what?”

  “He’s smart enough to recognize that what happened in that interview wasn’t entirely your fault. I assume there was more to your interaction than orgasm, question, orgasm?”

  “Of course there was.”

  They’d connected on so many levels, and as wonderful as the sex was, it was a small part of it. Right now, her hurting heart brimmed over with memories. Snuggling on the sofa. Dogsitting Cookie. Laughing their heads off at Theo’s absurdity. His support ahead of the SportsFocus interview.

  Hell, the man went out of his way to that Vietnamese bakery to buy her mini-macarons.

  Maybe that should be a black mark against him.

  Something he’d said bothered her, like a nail over a raw wound. “He told me he’d always wanted me. And I think he meant from before, from when I met Josh.”

  Harper’s lips formed an O. “Poor guy.”

  “Poor guy? He was so …” Cruel. Yet she didn’t believe Levi was intentionally unkind. Hurt people tended to lash out. If he’d had deeper feelings for her while she was married to his best friend, it certainly put another gloss on his self-worth issues. Was this why the so-called betrayal appeared to be magnified in his eyes?

  “Listen,” Harper said. “You have some things to work out with Levi, but until then, there’s something else we can focus our efforts on.”

  Jordan tried to reel the threads of her mind back in. “There is?”

  Harper had a look in her eyes that Jordan envied: the expression of a woman back in control. “I think it’s time we unleashed a little hellfire of our own.”

  * * *

  AN ICY WIND whipped though Levi as he turned the corner onto the main thoroughfare in Riverbrook. He tried the door of the Empty Net bar.

  Locked.

  “We’re closed!” Elle’s voice called out in response to his pounding on the thick oak door.

  He should think so, it was 2 a.m. “Elle, open up.”

  Ten seconds later, she pushed the door ajar. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Figured I’d see you home.”

  Frowning, she took a long look at him as he stepped inside. “I need a few minutes to clean up.”

  The place was dressed for the holidays, red, green, and gold decorations sprucing it up from its usual dumpster dive decor. He took a seat at the bar, furious with everything. What kind of outfit gave key privileges to a rookie bartender?

  “You shouldn’t be closing up this place on your own. You just started working here.”

  Aaaand he sounded like an idiot. Elle was trustworthy, responsible, and could drop-kick any assailant into the middle of the next millennium.

  Rather than argue with him, or more likely knowing she’d already won, she placed a beer on the bar. “You groveled your way back to Jordan yet?”

  “Very funny.” He took a swig of the beer.

  “Is it?”

  “She made her position clear. I’m the subject of a story. A means to an end. A stepping stone in her career.”

  Elle mimed a bored yawn.

  “Found your own place yet?” he asked caustically.

  “Like you could get by without me. I’m keeping you flush in blueberry pop tarts and Cheetos.”

  He rubbed his brow, regretting his testiness. “I’m sorry. I’m being the asshole Jordan thinks I am.”

  “Want to tell me how you’re so sure you’re just a job to her?” With an elbow on the bar, she affected perfectly the cliché of the friendly bartender, ears open for her customers’ troubles.

  “Because I’m not her type. Always knew that.”

  “Aw, Hunt, are you kidding me? This whole business has been a Jesse’s Girl scenario?” At his blank look, she went on. “You’ve had a thing for your best friend’s girl forever?”

  “I haven’t had a thing for her forever.” He winced at the dark look Elle shot his way. “Okay, I’ve had a thing for her forever. I saw her first, but she saw Josh and that was that.”

  “That’s kind of sad.”

  “It wasn’t, not for them. You didn’t know him, Elle. He was all teeth and dimples and such a good-hearted doofus—”

  “You loved him,” she whispered.

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t you talk to her first? The minute you saw her?”

  Because he’d hesitated. Too much head, not enough heart, but also … how to explain it? “There was something so bright and good about her, not just a physical presence, but an aura about her. And I didn’t want to dim that in any way.”

  Elle shook her head. “Hunt, what the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means that a woman who burns as bright as Jordan, with that laugh and all that joy exuding from her, needed to be with someone who could reflect that back on her. Who knew what to do with it. I knew what I was—what I am—and I could never have made her happy. And the thought that I might remove even one percent of her joy didn’t sit right. I didn’t expect Josh to actually marry her. But he did and every time I’ve seen her since confirmed what I’d always known: she was never meant to be mine. So I continued my schoolboy crush by glaring at her and being an all-round dick. Standard operating procedure.”

  “And now?” Elle spat the words out. “Do you still think she exudes too much fucking joy—whatever that means—for you to worry that dark, damaged Levi will dim her light or whatever?”

  He didn’t appreciate her take on it, probably because it was a little close to the bone. “That’s not what this is about. She’s not in the same place as me. You saw that interview—I’m just fodder for her career.”

  Elle passed right over his self-pity. “Looked like she didn’t expect to get her ass handed to her by that SportsBogus dude. Did she have an explanation for him knowing all that stuff about you?”

  Levi shrugged. “She said he looked at her notes on her computer one night in the press box.”

  “And you don’t believe her?”

  “I—hell, I don’t know.” Doubts niggled but he slapped them away like a puck to the boards. And just like a puck, they came boomeranging back. It was much easier to succumb to the darkness and assume that Jordan couldn’t possibly want Levi for himself. That her career was all that mattered.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed all the social media hate she’d been getting?”

  He’d seen it—the nasty comments on her CSN posts, the shitty responses to her tweets, all of it hateful, misogynistic, and red-misted rage-inspiring.

  He growled. “I want to reach through my phone screen and break the neck of every one of those tweeting twats.”

  “Still think she did it for her career? No job is worth that. No woman would willingly put herself in that spotlight just to get on some asshole’s payroll. Even I could see Jaw Turdson in a tie had an agenda! Instead of supporting her after that ambush on national TV, you focused on how it affected you. Typical man-baby.”

  “She’s made it clear she didn’t want anything real—”

  Elle raised the hand of STFU. “Sounds like standard guarding-of-the-heart stuff, if you ask me.”

  “Didn’t ask you,” he said under his breath.

  But a strong woman on a roll didn’t care, and Elle was one of the strongest women he knew. “So you had a crappy childhood that you didn’t want anyone to know about. You fell in love with a woman but were too chickenshit to go
talk to her and your friend reaped the reward. We’ve all got baggage. But you’d rather assume that this baggage makes you unlovable or some such male nonsense and that Princess Joy-in-a-Box couldn’t possibly be interested in the man beneath. And you know what, why should she be? You haven’t exactly given her a reason.” Wiping the bar down vigorously, she muttered, “Men.”

  He shifted in his seat. Squirmed, more like. “You done here?” He meant Elle’s shift, but he may as well be asking about the way she’d sliced and diced his balls.

  “Yeah. But think about what I said. I know you hockey superstars are VIPs around here, but it’s not always about you.” She smiled at him, both pity and affection in her grin. “I’ll get my jacket.”

  27

  LEVI LEFT the Uptown Mission dining hall, checking his phone. Traffic back to Riverbrook should be okay at his time, given that the flow from the suburbs into Chicago was generally worse.

  A familiar yelp caught his attention. Joe and Cookie were walking into the foyer.

  “Hey, buddy!” Hunkering down, he hugged the pup’s warm body and gave him a friendly rub. “How’s your human?” He looked up to find a smiling Joe.

  “We slept here last night. I’m here to see a counselor about moving into a halfway house.”

  Levi stood. “That’s awesome. And your bronchitis?”

  “Almost cured. Staying inside has helped.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “They set up crates for the pets beside the beds. Cookie didn’t want to go in there, but as long as he can see me, then he’s all right. Lucy said you came up with that idea.”

  “Just a bit of research.”

  “More than that, I heard. They had to hire someone to watch the dogs when we’re eating.”

  And clean up after them, too. Lucy was adamant that would be part of the bargain.

  Not wholly comfortable with the implied praise, Levi changed the subject. “Tell me about this counselor.”

  “It’s the same as the army. Someone to talk to and help you figure out what might be preventing you from succeeding. Most of our obstacles come from in here.” He touched his head, then his chest. “Mine? I need to figure that out.”

  Don’t we all. Since Elle’s you’re-the-asshole-here pep talk in the bar, he’d been shooting for more introspection about how he’d handled the situation with Jordan.

  Why had he elected to believe the worst-case scenario?

  That kind of thinking was part of his training in the Special Forces. Analyze every way a mission could fail, so you were ready when it turned FUBAR. This approach had kept him alive in the desert, and certainly stood him well when shutting down an offensive play on the ice. But glass half-empty didn’t work with relationships. Assuming it was doomed before it began wouldn’t win fair maiden.

  “So, what are you doing tonight, Joe?”

  Joe opened his mouth, closed it again. He shook his head and laughed, like it was a question he’d never given much thought to.

  Serious again, he looked Levi right in the eyes. “You’ve been a good fellow serviceman, Levi. A good friend. I didn’t adjust so well on my return and let things get away from me, but I see the light now. You don’t have to keep checking up on me.”

  “I was going to ask if you like hockey. I have tickets to the Rebels game against St. Louis tonight.”

  “Really? I would, but I’ve got no car and there’s this guy to think of.” He looked down at Cookie, who was wagging his tail, friendly as ever.

  “How about I take care of transport? And you can bring Cookie.”

  Joe squinted, clearly not buying this scenario.

  “For real,” Levi assured him.

  Joe checked in with Cookie. “Hey, boy, want to watch hockey tonight? Don’t know why they’d let a couple of jokers like us in, but Levi says it’s okay.”

  The pup barked his approval.

  Joe grinned, ear to ear. “Guess we’re going to the game.”

  * * *

  LEVI WALKED into the locker room at call time to find everyone crowded around Jorgenson.

  “What’s go—” The words died on his lips as he caught sight of the iPad in Erik’s hands.

  Jordan. That was Jordan on the screen.

  For a moment he thought it was a rerun of her disastrous interview with Dawson until the camera cut to Harper Chase. “What’s happening?”

  “Chicago SportsNet interview,” Cade said. “Your girl and Harper.”

  “She’s not my girl.”

  Theo coughed significantly. “Tell it to the fucking Marines, Hunt.”

  “Green Berets,” Levi muttered reflexively.

  He recognized the backdrop—that blue sofa in Harper’s office, the one where he’d opened up to Jordan for the first time the morning after he kissed her. That kiss had peeled him apart. Beginning of the end, right there.

  But he’d also thought that kiss was part of some grand scheme of hers, to get him out of his comfort zone so he’d be putty in her hands. Now he was wondering if that was true, and if it was, was it so bad? If he didn’t need to be kissed and caressed and hell, loved into a space that wasn’t so secure because how else do we grow?

  The interview was moseying along in the expected manner. Questions about team acquisition strategy. Who was exciting the Rebels management. Hopes and dreams of the season. And then it transitioned from Harper as an NHL boss to Harper as the only female NHL boss, and what that meant.

  “I haven’t thought too hard about what I owe to this sport as a woman in charge,” Harper said. “I’ve been too busy worrying about what it owes me.”

  “In what way?” Jordan’s expression was curious, a look he recognized from sessions spent spilling his guts.

  “For years, I felt I’d worked my butt off to get where I was. Where I am. Sure, I had a leg up being Clifford Chase’s daughter.”

  “Some people might say it wasn’t such a huge advantage,” Jordan interjected.

  Harper gave a sardonic smile. “Making me share the team with two sisters I barely knew might be considered cruel and unusual. But then my father wasn’t an easy man. He didn’t think I was strong enough to make the team successful—and in a way, he was right. I needed Isobel and Violet because while I might own a team, it was going to take more than my name on the deed to make it work. Together we made it stronger. So, thanks, Dad, you old bastard.”

  She spoke that last sentence to the floor, leaving viewers in no doubt as to where she believed her father had ended up. That cracked the team up.

  On the screen, Jordan laughed, too. “And what do you think you owe hockey?”

  “To take it to the next level. And I don’t just mean creating a Rebels dynasty, though that’s one goal.”

  The boys in the locker room cheered.

  “What then?”

  “Next level in terms of who hockey embraces, who it includes, who gets to take part. I’m a woman in a predominantly male business. I have a seat at the table and I want more women to be involved in the front office, in the press box, in the coaching circle. I want to see a more diverse power structure and fan base. I have the power to make that happen, to change the rules about how this business, our sport, is conducted.”

  “You haven’t wanted to lead before in this more meaningful way. Why is that?”

  “I thought the example I was setting was enough. Women would see me, my sisters, and Dante in charge and realize that the sky’s the limit. Gender, sexual identity, race—nothing can stop you. But I realized it’s not enough to show, I also have to tell. My story. Our story.”

  Jordan nodded. “You had good reasons for resisting, Harper. There’s a double standard here and the patriarchal structure of pro hockey hasn’t always been kind to you.”

  “True. I’ve been pushed around, called names, disrespected. Told that being a woman disqualified me from doing what I was born to do. Neither was my father all that supportive.” She paused, then set her chin. “When a Rebels player hit me several years ago, my father blamed me for b
eing a distraction.”

  “Who was the player?”

  “Billy Stroger, currently with the New York Spartans.”

  Theo stood. “What the fuck? Stroger?”

  “Sit down, Kershaw,” Levi grated out.

  Theo glared at Levi, but did as he was told.

  The interview continued. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “I was dating him, against my father’s wishes, and Stroger had a temper. One time was enough. I’m ashamed to say I wouldn’t even have reported it except another player walked in right after and insisted my father be told. He traded Stroger out at the first available opportunity and the incident was swept under the mats of the Rebels locker room.”

  Harper’s eyes glistened with emotion, and for a moment, Levi thought Jordan would pull an Oprah move and reach out to comfort her. She didn’t. Just let Harper recompose before starting in on the next question.

  “Did you ever feel you had a duty to warn anyone else about Stroger’s temper?”

  “At the time, I was only thinking about how to get out safely and how to heal. My father preferred we keep it quiet and then used it against me for years as proof I didn’t have the mettle to run the team. I bought into that narrative for a while. Even imagined that it was my fault.”

  “Women often take that on,” Jordan said.

  “Yes, we do. We minimize, absorb the toxicity, blame ourselves because we smiled politely at someone in an elevator. Entered a locker room to see a guy we’re dating or to get that interview. Didn’t immediately block someone on Twitter.”

  “Ergo we must be willing to put up with your moods or be okay with that photo of your penis.”

  Harper laughed, cracking the tension. “Splotchy, weirdly-shaped ones, too! It’s ridiculous the mental gymnastics we perform so we don’t have to be rude or upset the status quo.”

  “Gotta stay nice,” Jordan said ruefully. “I know that strategy well.”

  “Well, we’re done being nice. Where’s nice ever got us?”

  “Where, indeed. We’re looking forward to what the not-so-nice owners of the Rebels do this season. Thanks for talking with me today, Harper.”