by Amy Olle
“I think they can contribute to this team now,” Haven was saying.
“You think so, do you? And tell me, what do you think they can contribute?”
Jack risked a glance at her. Her mouth twisted in a determined frown, she snatched Coach’s whiteboard and marker off the seat in front of her.
Head down, she started to draw. “Put Kai on the wing opposite Jack. They’ll be one of the fastest lines in the league. Or put them on different lines and have two lines with above-average speed. We’ll be able to tire teams out early, and then grind them down late.”
Poitiers didn’t spare a glance at her sketches. “You need more than speed to play at this level.” He leaned forward in his seat and pointed at something on the ice. “You see that?” he asked Coach. “Donovan needs to come in on those routes so Lovejoy can take the shot.”
With a swipe to wipe the board clean, Haven sketched out a new formation. “Killorn is a tree. Plant him in front of the net and the goalie won’t be able to see the puck coming. That’s if anyone manages to get one past him in the first place, which they’ll struggle to do because he has eyes in the back of his head and anticipates better than most guys I’ve seen.”
“And how many guys have you seen?” Poitiers asked.
She fell quiet.
“That’s what I thought.” He leaned back and spread his arms wide over the chair backs. “He’s got tight hips. He needs more work.”
“Tight hips? Is that a joke?”
“He has trouble making the switch to offense.”
“Then put him on Bryce’s line and let him be a defensive specialist.”
Coach chewed the inside of his cheek, the way he did when deep in thought.
“Look, sweetheart, we’re busy here,” Poitiers said. “Why don’t you go check on that uniform order, would ya?”
A fiery blush bloomed on her chest and rushed into her face. “Will you at least think about it?”
“No. Now I’m done talking about this.”
She drew back at his rebuke.
A pang struck Jack in the center of his chest. “You know, I’ve seen those guys play,” he said casually. “They’re pretty good.”
Surprise beat a swift path across Haven’s features, while Poitiers groaned and Coach turned his head to look fully at Jack.
“She’s right,” Jack told Coach. “Killorn has incredible vision, and Okalik’s speed is elite.”
Coach chewed on his cheek some more. “I’ve seen them in camp. Good, coachable players. Was close to grabbing them both earlier this year.” A light danced in his gray eyes as he looked out over the ice. “We could probably get Killorn stretching to work on those tight hips.”
Jack bit back a smile and rested his arms on the blunt end of his stick. “Both guys give us a lot of options.”
Poitiers shoved abruptly to his feet. “They’ve got until Nashville to prove themselves or I’m sending them back to Madison.”
As Poitiers stalked away, Jack’s gaze found Haven’s warm brown eyes. At the unmistakable glimmer of gratitude brimming in them, a sliver of softness sloped through him.
Until he caught Coach watching them.
On Tuesday, the team left on a three-day road trip, and Haven assumed Darby must have traveled with them because he wasn’t in the building to pester her. The Renegades dropped both games before returning to Milwaukee Friday, and around noon that day, Darby swept into her office, an ugly glower on his round face.
“You fired the ice girls?”
She sat back in her chair. “Yes.”
“You can’t fire the ice girls.”
“I can do whatever I want.” The line, borrowed from her dad, was fast becoming her favorite. “I’m the owner of this team.”
“Your dad—”
“My dad isn’t here, and those girls are ridiculous. This is hockey, not football.”
“The fans love those girls.”
Haven snorted. “The old horndogs love them. If they want to ogle half-naked women, they can stay home and do what one does on the Internet when they want to ogle half-naked women.”
A lethal iciness came into his eyes. “They sell tickets.”
“Can you prove that?”
His thin lips disappeared behind a tight line.
“I didn’t think so.” She folded her arms over her abdomen. “Our ticket sales are dead last in the league. You know what sells tickets? Winning. Not pretty girls. Not T-shirt cannons or dollar beers. Okay, the beers might, but we’re going to get some data on that before we give away all our alcohol.”
“Look, doll, I know you think you’re helping, but you’re taking this whole thing way too seriously.”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “You do realize men stopped talking to women like that in the workplace about three decades ago, don’t you?”
“You don’t have a clue about how to run a professional sports organization. Those girls do more than clean up ice shavings.”
“What are you talking about? What else do they do?”
Did they peddle beer and hot dogs in the stands during the game? Perform maintenance on the Zamboni? Keep the water coolers filled for the players?
In the uncomfortable silence that greeted her questions, a splotchy redness crept up Darby’s neck to flood his face.
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re sleeping with one of those girls, aren’t you?”
His mouth remained clamped tight.
“Are we talking one girl or more than one?”
“It’s not only me—”
Haven lifted a hand. “Don’t say another word. I might puke.”
“Oh, c’mon. There’s nothing wrong with it. We’re all consenting adults here.”
Her anger bubbled just under the surface.
“There’s a lot wrong with it, and if you can’t see that, I can’t help you.” She cut him off when he began to argue with her. “I don’t care who you’re sleeping with, Darby. You say I’m taking this job too seriously. Well, if you ask me, you’re not taking it seriously enough. You should be figuring out what players we can pick up or deal away before the trade deadline next month, but instead, you’re in my office scolding me for firing your mistress.”
“This is important. We need to stay competitive with the other teams in the league, and that includes in the PR department.”
She snapped. “Detroit doesn’t have ice girls. San Jose doesn’t have ice girls. Montreal doesn’t have ice girls. We want to be one of the best teams in this league, we might as well start acting like them, because we sure as hell don’t play like one.”
“If you think—”
She held up her hand. “The ice girls are gone. If you want, you can bring them back in forty-nine days.”
Darby made a noise in his throat.
With a scowl, she filched a spreadsheet from the wreckage on her desk.
Running her finger along the column, she located the number she’d factored in the margin. “Now, can you tell me why we’re paying 70 percent of our salary cap to eleven players who have never gotten us into the postseason?”
Later that day, Haven poked her head into the arena sound booth.
“Hi, Bob, do you have a minute?”
The elderly gentleman who worked as the emcee for the Renegades’ home games peered at her through thick bifocals. “What can I do for you, young lady?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the music.”
Frown lines appeared alongside the deep creases of his craggy skin. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, nothing’s wrong.” She moved farther into the booth. “It’s just that I’ve given away a crap-ton of tickets to a bunch of kids for tomorrow night’s game, and I wondered if you might, you know, maybe consider playing a few songs they might like.” With an eye roll, she shook her head. “You know how kids are these days. I mean, who knows what they’re even listening to.”
Bob grew uneasy. “Oh. Well, Mr. Poitiers already gave me the song list. I’m pre
tty sure he wants me to stick to it.”
Haven pointed at something on Bob’s desk. “This list right here?” She snatched the sheet, crumpled it into a tight ball inside her fist, and crammed her hand deep into the front pocket of her coat.
Oversized eyeballs blinked at her.
She smiled. “Oops.”
Bob’s chair creaked as he scratched the back of his head.
Worried he might freak out on her, Haven pressed forward. “Do you think you can you play something that isn’t teenage pop music from the eighties? Don’t get me wrong, I love eighties music, but these kids are so young I doubt they can appreciate the genius of the genre. Would you like me to put together a new list for you? I don’t mind.”
Haven held her breath while Bob considered her words.
Then he gave his head a firm shake, which rattled his loose jowls. “No need for that.” A glint entered his ginormous eyes. “I have thirteen grandkids under the age of twenty. I think I got this covered.”
A startled laugh burst from her. “You’re the best, Bob. See you at the game.”
“Go Renegades.”
Haven left the sound booth and started for the exits. Voices carried up to her from the ice rink and she looked down to see Jack and another player shooting pucks at an empty net. The other man breezed by and Jack laughed at something he said.
An answering smile teased its way to Haven’s face, and she couldn’t resist moving closer. Near the glass partition, she perched on the armrests between two seats to watch them practice.
At one point, Jack caught sight of her. His gaze lingered on her face and he inclined his head, an infinitesimal nod that in no way betrayed the heat in his eyes.
She was about to head out when Coach settled into a nearby seat.
Other players joined the two men already on the ice, and they started to run through warmup drills.
“I like the new guys,” Coach said.
A wave of relief washed over Haven. The Mayhem players had joined the team two days before, and she’d been worrying about their development since then. She’d won the battle with Darby to get them there, and now she wanted to prove she’d been right.
Did that make her a bad person? Maybe, but Haven never claimed to be above a little vindication.
Coach turned to her. “I was thinking we could put Killorn on the third line and bump Avery to the fourth line with the twins.”
The twins. Haven recalled two identical men from the bar and searched her memory of the team roster. There were two Donovans, Eli and Ezra, maybe?
Coach must’ve taken her silence to mean she required more information. “Or we could flip Nolan and Tierney around and put Killorn with Nolan’s line. If you think that’d work. I’ll talk to Darby about it, of course.”
Haven leaned back and propped her elbows on the chairs’ backrests. “Coach, can I ask you something?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Do you think my hair needs more highlights?”
A beat of stunned silence greeted her question. “Um….”
“Because I had a girl give me some caramel highlights a few months ago, but I don’t know, I’m feeling like I need a little something more. Like, maybe I should add some honey tones? Or would that be too much? Too out there? I am a brunette, after all.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’m just so torn. What do you think?”
“I think… you should… do… whatever you want.”
“Do you? That’s good to hear.” She sat forward. “Because the thing is, I know as much about coaching hockey players as you know about adding highlights to dark hair. That’s diddly squat, isn’t it, Coach?”
Coach managed a nod.
“Why don’t you do your job and we’ll let my hairdresser do hers, shall we?” She stood, but then another thought struck her. “Oh, and if Darby has a problem with that, you tell him to come see me, all right?”
Coach’s smile formed slow but held steady. “Will do.”
Chapter Sixteen
An hour before puck drop, Haven paced in the owner’s box. She’d spent the first half of the week concocting a plan and the second half helping the marketing team carry it out on such short notice. Working with the Milwaukee area schools, they’d offered any child under the age of fifteen and one accompanying adult per child a free ticket to the game, plus free soda pop and popcorn.
Now she waited to see if anyone bothered to show up.
An hour and twenty minutes later, she had her answer.
People poured into the arena from the concourse, their arms loaded down with popcorn and fountain pops. A buzz built in the building, and when the team took the ice, a huge roar carried up to the rafters. Haven made a mental note to thank Jennifer in marketing for her brilliant idea to give away sugary beverages.
Music Man Bob made sure the enthusiasm remained high throughout the game. Rock songs with driving beats blasted from the loud speakers, and for penalties, he played catchy old tunes with singers crooning about hooking and holding and fighting the law.
The crowd’s energy seemed to extend to the team. They played faster and hit harder than their opponents did. With a one-goal lead in the third period, they even looked for a minute as though they were having fun.
As the clock ticked down and the Renegades closed in on the win, Haven’s heart raced. She wanted this win for them. When the horns blared at the end of regulation, she let out a yelp in the empty owner’s box.
She flipped off the lights when she left the suite and worked her way through the arena. When she arrived outside the locker room, a crush of bodies blocked the door and she hung back to wait for them to clear.
Instead, one of the reporters recognized her. “Ms. Callahan, do you have a few moments to talk?”
As one, the crowd surged toward her. She shrunk back against the wall while they all began talking at once.
Finally, one question rose above the din and the other voices quieted. “Ms. Callahan, where were the ice girls tonight?”
Haven ground her teeth. “Going forward, rink management staff will be responsible for maintaining the condition of the ice.”
The barrage of questions swelled once more. “But why?”
“What about fan engagement? Who’s going to do that?”
“It’s my hope the hockey game being played on the ice engages the fans,” she bit out.
“Will you reconsider in the future?”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? The Renegades win for the first time in ten games and all you want to talk about is the ice girls?”
“More like the lack of ice girls,” someone quipped. “Look, it’s a fact the fans enjoy the girls. They’ll want to know what happened to them.”
Haven released a slow, steadying breath, but it was no use. The words started to pour out of her. “Here’s a fact,” she said. “I am a woman. I like hockey. I used to really like it. A lot. Like, as much as you do. But then the league and the teams go and do things that really piss me off, like shove half-naked women in my face and coddle players who beat up their wives and girlfriends. Or worse.”
A camera flashed in her face.
“They’re always talking about growing their audience and pushing into new consumer markets, but then they ignore half of the fan base they already have.” Over the hum of soft murmurs, she rushed on. “This sport needs me. You need to hear what I have to say. You need to hear from other women, but I’m all you have. For now. You ought to consider inviting more women to the table, not because you want a pretty face to throw to commercial break or a gimmick to titillate intoxicated fans in between game action, but because we’re fans. Real fans, who happen to have breasts, but who love the game of hockey, who have valid thoughts and opinions about it, and who have really good ideas about how to make it better.”
Wyatt stepped in front of her. “All right, that’s gonna do it, folks.”
Oops.
Jack spent a few minutes talking with reporters while he waited for the halls to clear. Over the t
ops of their heads, he spotted Haven loitering by the door to the employee parking ramp.
Their gazes tangled, and a soft, secret smile touched her lips. She slipped through the exit.
He rushed through the next few questions, giving overly simplistic answers so he might hurry after her.
In the parking ramp, he found her waiting beside his SUV. They climbed inside and he started the engine, letting the car idle while the interior warmed.
“That crowd was great tonight,” he said. “Did you do that?”
She couldn’t hide her pleasure. “Just a little PR trick.”
“Well, it was nicely done, Callahan.”
She gifted him with a smile he’d never seen from her before. Slightly cautious, but full of unmistakable pride.
Putting the SUV in gear, he passed through the winding ramp toward the exit. He kept a watch out for teammates or reporters, despite the fact that he and Haven weren’t even sleeping together.
At least, not yet.
He’d been around long enough to know the suspicion of an affair might be all it took to blow up their lives, and the team’s season. Once he’d maneuvered out onto State Street and merged into traffic, he breathed a little easier.
At a stoplight two blocks from the arena, a crowd of revelers in Renegade jerseys danced through the crosswalk. Cars honked at them, taking part in the celebration.
His low laughter mingled with hers.
Her dark eyes shimmered when she smiled at him. “Okay, that has to feel good, knowing you made their night.”
The light changed and he eased the SUV forward.
“I’m not gonna lie. Some days, it’s the only thing that gets me to the gym or through another workout.”
“Really?”
He shifted in his seat. “I know what kinds of things people are dealing with from one day to the next. A game might be their only escape from the shitty day job or a chronic illness. If what I do, if what I love to do, somehow makes their day a little less shitty, then all that work was worth it.”
She was quiet, so he snuck a glance at her.