“So it must be nice to have some company right now.”
“It is, even though I wouldn’t wish it on any of them.”
“No. No, I’m sure you wouldn’t. Do you still want to play? Or are you over it at this point?” As soon as I asked the question, I realized I probably shouldn’t have. Especially if he was over it and wanted out. He was still under contract, so this wasn’t the time for that sort of honesty.
But he looked at me and said, “I’d give my left nut to be down on the ice with those boys right now. It kills me that I can’t play. That I can’t do much of anything right now. I used to know who I was and why I was here. Right now, all I have are questions.”
Down at ice level, they were holding a game of human bowling for the fans, to keep everyone entertained during the break between periods. For every pin a contestant knocked over, the arena set off the goal horn.
After a few of those, Jensen gave me an apologetic look and shook his head. “This is why I tend to stay home. Can’t handle this.” Then he got up and walked out, taking out a pair of sunglasses and putting them over his eyes, reminding me once again that these men were very much real men. They put their bodies on the line to play the game they loved, but sometimes it could have devastating consequences.
Those consequences didn’t stop many of them from playing, though. Or wanting to play, even long past the point when they shouldn’t anymore.
Like Andrew Jensen and his concussion that had left him alone in dark rooms for months.
Like Brenden Campbell and the string of injuries that had plagued his career and had his wife begging him to retire.
Like Nate, playing through a knee injury that would put the average person out of commission for weeks, at the very least.
After the tense few days in Chicago, I’d needed some perspective. About what I was doing with Eye of the Storm. About what I wanted to do with it.
Andrew Jensen had just given me a poignant reminder of my plan. The story wasn’t about black or white, gay or straight, good or bad, right or wrong. It was about life, in all its imperfect glory.
Now I needed to follow through with the plan.
THE STORM WON Game Seven against the Blackhawks, with Nate scoring the only goal in the game. That meant they would move on to face the Stars, who’d been waiting to learn their opponent for the better part of a week, in the Western Conference Finals. The Stars also had home-ice advantage, due to having a better regular-season record than the Storm, so we’d be starting this round on the road.
Despite the best efforts from Nate and his Storm teammates, the Stars won both of the first two games in their home building. We headed back to Portland with them behind two-to-nothing in the series, but full to the brim with determination to change that as soon as possible.
Once back at home, I spent hours on end holed up with my editor and the other guys on my team, making sure we shaped the next webisode to give exactly the message I wanted conveyed. It was painstaking work, particularly since there were so many big stories surrounding the team.
I didn’t want to tell the big stories, though. They’d already been covered ad nauseam by the mainstream media. I wanted to tell the little stories: the decision as to when it’s time to hang up the skates and retire; the loneliness of going from being a core part of a team to being stuck on the sidelines due to injury; the bond of brotherhood; the fear of acceptance faced by a player whose native language isn’t spoken by anyone else on the team; the hijinks that happen when a group of young men are away from their families with more money than they’d ever dreamed of having before; the joy that comes from fulfilling a lifelong dream; the mixed emotions that resulted from a phone call, when the family of the police officer Nate had carried through the streets of Chicago called to thank him for his efforts and, at the same time, let him know that the officer had passed away.
I’d already been telling this story throughout the playoffs, but the newest episode would follow that pattern more than ever before. There would be no coverage of the big issues, beyond delving into how they touched the personal lives of these men. Not only that, but I’d drawn a hard line. If a couple was struggling with something off the ice, unless they specifically invited me to delve into their struggles, it was out of bounds for my show. That meant no tackling the subject of Jamie and Katie Babcock’s fertility issues, and no exploration of whatever was or wasn’t taking place between Cody Williams and Dani Weber.
Making a decision like this was a big step to take, but, as I was already all too aware, I had nothing to lose.
I’d taken to going home with Nate each night instead of heading back to my place, and staying all night with him in his hotel room when we were on the road. In fact, I’d started to leave a few items at his house so I wouldn’t have to go without or borrow from him too much. I had a toothbrush that stayed there, along with a few other toiletries. A couple of times, I’d left some clothes there. He always pulled out one of his own T-shirts and a pair of shorts for me, though. He liked seeing me in them, and I couldn’t deny they were insanely comfortable.
I more than liked the way he looked at me when I wore them, too. He always appeared ready to devour me whole when he came into the kitchen while I was fixing a cup of coffee, wearing his clothes. And when he looked at me like that, I wanted to let him. It wasn’t uncommon in those moments for us to end up back in his bed for a while.
But the way it made me feel to find Nate looking at me with such intense desire only served as further proof that my mother had messed with my head in ways that I would likely be dealing with for the rest of my life. Especially since, following the shootings in Chicago, she was trying harder than ever before to convince me to go along with her plan. She had three more Indian doctors at her beck and call, each of them ready to marry me as soon as I came to my senses, stopped dressing like a slut, left my line of work, and agreed to the arrangement.
I hadn’t stopped taking her calls. I couldn’t seem to make myself draw that line completely, always hoping that somehow, someway, she’d realize she was causing more harm than good. She was my mother, after all, and she always would be. But I was still waiting for her to make the next move.
Back on home ice, the Storm pulled out a win in Game Three, largely due to Nate and Jezek playing like they’d grown up on the ice together. Which wasn’t all that surprising, I supposed, since they had done exactly that. No matter how much of a show those two put on in Game Four, though, it wasn’t enough for the team to come away with a win, setting up a do-or-die situation for the next game back in Dallas. Win and live to play another day. Lose and go home.
The day before Game Five, I gave my guys time off. There were any number of things I could have sent them off to film, but I wanted them all fresh, rested, and relaxed for the game the next day. Beyond that, I got the strong sense that Game Five might be the end for this season. There wasn’t a chance that any of the men on this team would throw in the towel, but they were exhausted—mentally, physically, and emotionally. This season, and in particular, the last couple of months, had drained them in any number of ways. I wasn’t sure how much more they had to give.
I was preparing to wind things down. Most of my crew hadn’t taken a full day off in well over a month. I hadn’t taken more than a few hours here and a few hours there to myself. I knew I needed it as much as anyone, even if I was likely to have more time off than I knew what to do with soon.
Nate and I spent the evening in his hotel room, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Some of the time, we talked. Other times, we made love. For a while, we lay in bed, each reading a different book. He was now reading Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell, and at Nate’s urging, I’d started The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Those books led both of us to getting weepy, so we set them aside and held each other instead, content simply to be together.
Less than twenty-four hours later, I was sad to learn I’d been right. The Storm just didn’t have enough juice left to beat the Stars.
> Watching Nate and his teammates skate out to shake hands with the Dallas players tore at my heart. These guys had all the motivation in the world, but apparently, in the end, it wasn’t their year. Or maybe they had too much motivation. Maybe there were simply too many other things going on, stealing away their focus.
If so, my crew and I had been part of the problem. Not a happy thought. But the silver lining in that idea was that any part I might have played in their demise was now almost at an end. This meant I could wrap up the introductory season of Eye of the Storm, officially be fired, and move on to whatever the next stop in my career might be. In the process, it would eliminate all the problems I was experiencing with presenting a biased view in my coverage of the team. I could be Nate’s girlfriend, hang out with the other WAGs, and not worry about any of them being concerned I might use something they say or do against them simply in order to further my own career.
I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
I headed for the locker room after the handshakes had been completed, but I still got there before the team arrived. My crew positioned themselves on their own, not needing any direction from me, so I stood off to the side to observe, as was my custom.
Nate found me as soon as he came into the room, though. And instead of heading for his stall to begin taking off his equipment and changing clothes, he headed straight for me. He had me off my feet and in his arms in no time, kissing me like his life depended on it.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on for all I was worth.
When he broke off the kiss, he asked, “Is that the end of it, then?”
I didn’t have to search my brain to understand his meaning. The end of my job. The end of the media being so hyper-focused on him because of events outside of his control. The end of all the things that had kept us under a microscope for so long.
I nodded, a laugh trying to bubble up within me. “I think so, yeah.”
“Thank God.”
My sentiments, exactly. Because now, we could just be us—whatever that ended up meaning. Now we had the time to figure it all out, in our own time and our own way.
Together.
“I DON’T SEE any reason to beat around the bush,” my boss said on the other end of the phone. And yes, he was doing this over the phone. He couldn’t even bother to have me come in so he could fire me in person. What a jerk.
It was the Monday morning following the final webisode going live. My crew and I were gathered around a box of Blue Star donuts and coffee, celebrating the conclusion of our initial season of working together.
“Despite repeated reminders that we wanted you to cover the big ticket events surrounding the team during their playoff run, you continued to avoid those subjects and focus instead on making Eye of the Storm into a soap opera. You knew this was coming, and now it’s here. You’re fired, Anne. You’ll have a month’s severance. We wish you well.”
“Understood,” I replied, feeling both relieved and disappointed at once. “Good luck to you and whoever you bring on for the next season. And thank you for the opportunity.”
Ben and Dave both rolled their eyes from across the table.
I exchanged a few more pleasantries, if you could call them that, and then hung up.
“Fuck that,” Dave said. “Thank you for the opportunity? That’s bullshit.”
“Even if we all knew I was only in this for the short term, they did give me an opportunity,” I pointed out. “And I got some great experience out of it that I can use in whatever’s next.”
“So, the rest of us give them notice today,” Ben said, looking around the table.
“Now hold on a minute,” I said. “You guys aren’t throwing your jobs away over me. We all knew this was coming, but that doesn’t—”
“We told them a month ago when they first threatened to fire you,” Bill cut in. “You go, we go, too.”
“But I don’t have anything lined up. I can’t promise you guys another job right away or anything. I don’t even—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dave insisted. “We’ve all been working in this business for a long time, and we won’t have any problem getting more work. We’ll be fine. They need to know that they can’t get away with that. They had Internet gold with the show you produced for them, and they’re tossing you for a bullshit reason. That’s not someone I want to keep working for.”
Ben held up his coffee, like he was making a toast, and the other guys followed suit.
“I’m going to be really pissed off at all of you if you don’t have jobs again within a couple of weeks,” I said. “You got that?”
They laughed, but they agreed.
A COUPLE OF hours later, I arrived at the Storm’s practice facility. I’d promised to meet Nate there so we could go out for lunch together to celebrate the end of my job and the end of his season. It was clean-out day for the team. They were all clearing out their lockers and having exit interviews with the coaches, things like that.
I walked into the locker room to find a few of them giving out what I called guy hugs—the sort where they were slapping each other on the backs. In my time working around this team, I knew that was normal for a day like today. Some of these men wouldn’t ever be back as members of the Storm. They’d retire or get traded or not be offered a new contract with the team. Changes were always taking place. It was hard to see, though, because I’d gotten really attached to all of them over the last couple of months. It felt like a part of my family was leaving.
In an effort to keep from getting teary-eyed, I looked around for Nate, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Ghost’s in Jim’s office,” Jezek told me. “You can go up. They won’t mind.”
I nodded my thanks and made my way up the stairs.
Rachel grinned at me when I came around the corner. “Another season in the books.”
“So it is.” In more ways than she likely knew.
She angled her head toward Mr. Sutter’s office. “Go on in. They’re expecting you.”
They were? I couldn’t help but wonder why Mr. Sutter would be expecting me, but it wouldn’t take me long to find out.
I knocked on the open door as I poked my head inside.
“Anne!” Jim said, coming to his feet. He smiled and took off his bifocals, folding in the earpieces and setting them on the desk in front of him. “Come on in. I was just going over some possibilities for a new contract with Nate, but we’re done with that for now, and I was hoping to talk to you.”
I crossed over and shook his hand before taking a seat next to Nate.
“I’ve been talking to Mr. Engels and the coaching staff about you and the work you did on Eye of the Storm this season.”
This couldn’t be good. I glanced at Nate, who gave me a reassuring smile and reached for my hand to squeeze it. I needed to explain that I’d just been fired before Mr. Sutter got much further. “About that, I—”
“We loved it,” he cut in, not letting me get any headway. “We loved everything about it, actually. When we first hired your production company, we wanted the show produced as an experiment, to see how it would help to bring the team into the public a bit more, before we decided on whether or not to take it on again. Now that we’ve seen the way it’s played out, though, we’re excited to talk about next season. Not only that, but we want to produce it in-house going forward. We’d post it directly to the Storm’s website instead of only linking to it, which will hopefully get even greater reach for your work. But we want you to come on board. Now, I know that would mean changing employers, and I completely understand if that’s not something—”
“Are you serious?” I interrupted, gawking.
“Completely serious. If you agreed to this, we’d give you complete creative freedom, as long as you comply with the rules and regulations the NHL has in place for these kinds of productions. I don’t think that should present any problem for you, though. And we’d need you to bring on a team to work under you…
Human Resources can give you all the specifics on that, of course. I’ll understand if you need some time to think about it. This would mean a big change for your future.”
It would mean the best change possible for my future. But I’d never been one to jump into things headfirst without knowing all of the details. “I’ll go talk to HR, then, and give you my answer next week.”
“Excellent. Nate, can you show her the way?”
“You’ve got it, Jim.”
We all stood, and Nate and I both shook Mr. Sutter’s hand. Once we were out in the hall together, Nate pulled me into a corner and kissed me like we hadn’t seen each other in weeks, even though I’d been in his bed with him this morning.
“How perfect was that?” he asked when he came up for air.
“Beyond perfect. Did you know?”
He shook his head. “No idea. But that’s not even all. He wants to offer me six more years. He’ll have to work out the money and other details with my agent, but seriously. Six years! That means I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”
“That’s fantastic news. We’ve got even more to celebrate than we thought.”
“Speaking of which…” Nate said slowly. “I know we were going to have lunch, but now you need to go talk to HR. And there’s something else I need to go do, anyway. Let’s do dinner instead. And is there any chance we can get your father to join us?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. He and Dad had gotten along well on the previous occasions they’d met, but I wasn’t sure why he’d suggest bringing my father to dinner when initially our plan had been a day of celebration involving only the two of us. In fact, I’d been hoping our festivities would end up in the bedroom sooner rather than later.
“I think he can probably come along. But why?” I didn’t do a darned thing to hide the suspicion in my tone, either.
“There’s just something I need to ask him, is all.”
“Something you need to ask him,” I repeated.
Game Breaker (Portland Storm Book 14) Page 23