Want You to Want Me

by Lorelei James

  Other than having my new furniture delivered, I’d opted to move myself in, since my boyfriend, my sister and most of my hockey buddies were in Florida at USA Olympic training camp. It’d felt wrong asking my colleagues at Lakeside for help, so there I was hefting boxes onto a handcart, hauling them out of my truck bed and up the elevator to the third floor in building three.

  On the second-to-last trip, I heard a very annoyed, very British female voice yell, “Are you daft? Moving all those bloody boxes by yourself? Just wait a minute.”

  Then I found myself looking up at the lithe, lovely Liddy Eldridge, who I’d soon discover was the former national ice dancing champion from Great Britain. Not only did she help me drag up the rest of my belongings, she assisted me with assembling my IKEA furniture. Between the cursing over missing hardware, sharing two bottles of wine as I unpacked, and her gentle teasing about my sports-themed decorating style, we became fast friends.

  I also learned that Liddy had retired from professional skating after an ugly breakup with her skating partner/husband, and after a few years touring the world with Disney on Ice, she’d become a freelance ice dancing choreographer as well as a representative for a London-based athletic apparel company. She, in turn, heard about my assorted hockey triumphs, from winning back-to-back state championships at Fargo North High School, to accepting a full-ride hockey scholarship to UND with hopes of bringing a women’s hockey Frozen Four title to my college, to playing on the U.S. Women’s National Hockey Team, winning three world championships and two Four Nations Cups, to winning silver medals in 2010 and 2014 playing with the U.S. Olympic Women’s Ice Hockey Team, as well as my short-lived honor of being named the first female assistant coach to a college men’s hockey team at UND, only to resign in protest a few months later after that same college—my alma mater—eliminated the women’s hockey program entirely.

  With Liddy, I could be honest about everything going on in my life, when I’d taken to editorializing it for everyone else. After I’d blurted out the incident with Tyson and my sister, she’d kept pouring the wine while I’d detailed my fears about lack of direction and cohesion in my professional life. My position at Lakeside was supposed to be temporary, and as a part-time coach I wasn’t making much money, so I had to supplement my income by refereeing with the Minnesota Youth Hockey League. When I considered playing hockey professionally again, I had to weigh it against searching for a full-time coaching gig that’d pay the bills, but wouldn’t restrict my ability to travel and run hockey clinics. As if all of that “I’m not reaching my potential” wasn’t angst-inducing enough, Nolan Lund’s comment added another blow to my self-esteem.

  I wasn’t looking forward to revisiting that conversation even when I felt relief that Liddy understood those issues had not only become stumbling blocks for me, but were rapidly becoming a wall I couldn’t get past.

  Showered, hair combed, clothed, and pepped up from the Red Bull, I exited the bathroom.

  Liddy beamed her sunny smile at me. “There’s my lass. Fresh as a motherfecking daisy.” She pointed to the chair across from her. “Have a seat.”

  I fought a smile at seeing the “proper” way she’d staged the table. A yellow ceramic teapot was centered between two delicate teacups patterned with sunflowers, which were perched on matching saucers, then placed above and to the left of butter-colored dessert plates that each held a circular scone (no triangular imposters here), loaded with cream and curd. A tiny dish of sugar complete with a miniature spoon, a small silver pitcher of cream and a few lemon curls on another mini-plate rounded out the setting.

  I hadn’t owned many pieces of fussy dishware before meeting Liddy. And I could admit, looking at all of this, I felt sophisticated. Like a grown-up.

  “Now, while you eat, I’ll dash off a few observations.”

  “About?”

  “Everything.”

  I bit into the scone and moaned. These were nothing like the dry, tasteless cardboard scones I’d had previously.

  “First, I think you need something bold on that wall above the loveseat. The room came together so beautifully, it won’t do to have that area look barren. Even mirrored tiles in shades of rose gold would fancy it up.”

  Liddy had helped me personalize my space, banishing sports memorabilia to my office. She’d added shades of burgundy and blush pink to the gray, silver and black furnishings I’d chosen. While the room appeared softer, more feminine, it’d retained the comfort factor I wanted. And the best part? We’d done this shabby chic upgrade on a shoestring budget.

  She ignored her scone and studied me over the rim of the teacup.

  “What?”

  “You have great posture.”

  I blinked at her. “Uh. Thanks?”

  She snickered. “I meant you carry yourself well. And knowing that, I went online and watched some of the interviews you’ve done over the years. You’re very confident with a camera shoved in your face. In fact, you seem more personable, which I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen it. Luckily, that widened your scope of options.”

  I licked lemon curd off my finger and took a sip of tea. “Options for what?”

  “Your career.” Liddy leaned forward. “You’re knowledgeable and you’re intensely devoted to hockey, which are the two biggest plusses. The rest can be learned.”

  “What are you talking about, Lids? I’m lost.”

  “I’ve realized there are so many paths open that you haven’t considered, that I fully expect you to smack yourself in the head with a ‘why didn’t I think of that?’ when I suggest them.”

  I made the “get on with it” gesture as I shoved another bite of scone into my mouth.

  “I thought about this—and you—all day Thursday and Thursday night. How to get my talented American friend to a happier place in her professional life. Friday rolled around and I continued to be distracted. I wasn’t really thinking about where my appointment was when I dropped off the requested set samples for an upcoming promotion, until I started yakking with a mother of one of my former students. As she’s conveying her frustration with her daughter Maddie changing her major from performance to journalism . . . it hits me. That’s what Gabi needs to do; leave the performance aspect of hockey behind and get into the broadcasting booth.”

  I choked on the scone, quickly grabbing my tea to wash it down. “That dry English humor. I bloody love that about you, Liddy.”

  “Gabi, I’m not joking. Not in the slightest.”

  “Okay. Let’s back up. This woman you talked to. She indicated she’s upset with her own daughter for wanting to get into broadcast journalism. And yet you somehow took that as a sign I’d be better suited for that kind of job? When I don’t have a degree in journalism or mass communications?”

  “Precisely. Because you have life experience. You’re a seasoned hockey veteran. A revered coach. And you do have a bachelor’s degree.”

  “In kinesiology,” I retorted. I didn’t tack on that I had a double minor in men’s and women’s coaching because she’d probably consider that irrelevant, as well as the fact I’d never done anything outside of hockey with my kinesiology degree.

  She waved off my response. “You’re missing my point. This woman is in the world of sports broadcasting. Her daughter mistakenly believes that because she skated on her high school team, won a state championship and competed for two years on the college skating level, that would give her a leg up over her peers in the job market.”

  “Might also give her an advantage because . . . oh . . . her mother works in the business.”

  “That’s where Maddie the major jumper—and you—are both wrong. Some cutesy twenty-two-year-old with a newly minted degree is no competition for a woman like you, with the accolades, experience and passion for the sport. That’s what they’re looking for.”

  “Who is looking for that?” I demanded.

 
“Wolf Sports North.”

  My jaw dropped. “What the hell, Liddy? You didn’t tell me that your appointment was at Wolf Sports North! They’re the biggest independent sports reporting network in the Upper Midwest.”

  “I didn’t?”

  Count to ten. “No, you did not. And yes, you absolutely should’ve led with that.”

  “See?” Liddy beamed. “You tossing out an official word like led just proves my point that you’d be a natural in the world of broadcast journalism.”

  “This person—what’s her job at Wolf Sports North?”

  “She used to be in PR, but now she’s production associate for Minnesota Weekly Sports Wrap-Up.”

  “Production associate,” I repeated. “For one of the most popular programs in their lineup.”

  “Yes, but she and I both agreed that subject matter is too broad for someone like you. She’d rather see you focused on the college hockey scene. According to her, her boss, head of all programming at Wolf Sports North, is looking to diversify the male-dominated commentator roster, specifically for winter sports.” Liddy cocked her head. “I know you, Gabi. You can hold your own with any of them. So please seriously consider it, okay?”

  “Consider what?”

  Breezily, she said, “Applying for the sportscasting job opening.”

  “What opening?”

  “The one we’ve been talking about. You do need to pay attention, darling.”

  Calmly, I lifted the lid off the teapot and peered in. Sniffed it for good measure.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking to see if you brewed cannabis tea, because clearly we’re both high right now since nothing you’ve said is making any sense.”

  Liddy snorted. “I don’t know which I dislike more, you questioning my tea-making skills or you questioning my method in finding an opportunity for you to advance your career.”

  “I’m not questioning you.” Yes, I was. I inhaled and exhaled slowly. Then I reminded myself that conversations with Liddy could read like CliffsNotes; she touched on the important points but left me to fill in the pesky details.

  But if what she’d alluded to was true . . . this could be the clichéd career “game changer” for me.

  I offered her a sunny smile when I noticed the pinched look setting in around her mouth. “For my own clarification, please let me start from the beginning. On Friday you dropped off promo at Wolf Studios North and ended up in a conversation with a production associate for Minnesota Weekly Sports Wrap-Up. She told you the entire cable broadcast company was looking for sportscasters, preferably women sportscasters with real athletic experience, to apply for an open position in their collegiate sports division. Specifically their collegiate winter sports division, with an emphasis on hockey.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell, Gabs, isn’t that what I said?”

  Not even freakin’ close. “My next question is: What—if anything—did you tell them about me?”

  “Give me some credit. I didn’t call you out by name. All I said after learning about the job opening was that a neighbor of mine from Snow Village had been considering a career change. I might’ve mentioned you were a former Olympic athlete, currently coaching hockey at a private facility.” She smirked at me. “My friend’s eyes positively lit up when I leaked that little factoid. Then she urged me to urge you to start the application process.”

  “Process?”

  “Oh, you know how corporations are these days. You fill out a basic application. If you make the first cut, then they’ll share the rest of their hiring process, which likely will involve multiple steps as they eliminate potential candidates throughout each stage.” She drained her tea. “You’d better get started since the application deadline is tonight at midnight.”

  “No pressure.”

  “No, darling, more like ‘no guts, no glory.’”

  “Thank you, Liddy. This is . . . above and beyond.”

  “You’d do the same for me, I’m sure.” Then she shooed me off. “I’ll clean up here. You go clean up your résumé.”

  Then I became so engrossed I didn’t hear her leave.

  There weren’t many changes since I’d submitted my résumé to Lakeside Ice Arena more than a year ago.

  Except now I could list Jaxson Lund, former NHL player with the Chicago Blackhawks, three-time winner of the Stanley Cup, as my boss and mentor.

  I just hoped they’d keep the application confidential. While I doubted Jax would fire me over applying for another job, I didn’t want to put either of us in the awkward position of admitting I needed to explore other career options, even when technically, I hadn’t signed an employment contract with him.

  After I finished the résumé, I tackled the actual online application. That took several hours but I managed to submit everything by nine P.M.

  I’d just settled in to watch an ESPN sports highlights show when my phone buzzed. I glanced down at it to see a message from my sister.

  DW: Can we talk?

  What was I supposed to say? I didn’t intend to let this silence go on forever, but she could give me longer than five damn days to deal with my thoughts and feelings.

  So I simply responded: Not yet.

  Four

  NOLAN

  Did I see Gabi flip you off?” my brother Jax asked after he plopped beside me in the spectator seats at Lakeside Ice Arena.

  “You win our conversation starter contest this week,” I said dryly.

  Jax shoved me with his shoulder. “Not everything has to be a competition. Anyway. What’s up? Surprised to see you here.”

  “For some reason I thought Mimi’s game was tonight. I got here and realized I had the wrong day. Meems saw me so I can’t bail until she’s done with practice or she’ll text me a dozen times to ask if I’m mad at her.” As if I could ever be mad at my crazy-sweet niece.

  “True.” Jax propped his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been scarce.”

  I shrugged. “Happens when I’m working seven days a week.”

  “That much? Why?”

  “Acquisitions, potential acquisitions, oh and more potential acquisitions.”

  “In other words . . . just another day at the office for you LI bigwigs.”

  “I am so not a bigwig at LI.”

  Down on the ice, Mimi volunteered to go first for skill training and I actually saw Coach Welk send her an amused smile.

  Had Gabriella ever given me anything close to a smile like that?

  Have you ever deserved it from her?

  “Nolan?” Jax prompted.

  I looked at him. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “Is everything all right at LI? I thought the eighty-hour, seven-day workweeks were in the past for all the top executives.”

  “Ash and Brady both did their time getting up to speed in their departments, so I’m just following their lead. Wouldn’t want LI employees to think ‘the Prince’ is a slacker.” The Prince. I hated that nickname.

  “Speaking of our cousins . . . do they know how much you’re working?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  “It’s because of Dad that I’m in the office so damn much.”

  The coach blew her whistle and all her little charges gathered around her, attention rapt on her, which was a feat for a dozen nine-year-olds.

  “That didn’t answer my question, bro.”

  I blew out a slow breath. “No. Dad doesn’t know. During office hours I’m dealing with a million day-to-day things. It’s only when everyone is gone that I can take a deeper look at proposed acquisitions.” I kept my gaze on Mimi lining up for a skating race. “I absolutely don’t need another monumental fuckup, Jax.”

  He sighed. “No one blames you.”

  “I blame me. My half-assed research into Digi
-Dong cost Lund Industries five million in legal fees and settlement costs. If I would’ve taken the time to dig deeper, I would’ve discovered that Digi-Dong didn’t own the tech they were pitching.” Still burned my ass every time I thought about it. Our subsidiary, LuTek, was set up to be a software manufacturing arm of LI, so we could’ve just bought out the other partner and taken the product to market ourselves, but it was cost prohibitive.

  “From my understanding, it could’ve happened to any investment group. A partnership goes bad and partner one files for a patent before partner two. Partner two was out to punish anyone who did business with Digi-Dong.” Jax laughed and nudged me with his shoulder again. “Come on. Admit part of the reason you recommended investing in Digi-Dong was because you snickered every time you heard dong in that stupid name.”

  “Yes, I believed that people in the market for security-based doorbells would get a kick out of the name, especially if our amazing marketing department put the right spin on it. We were projected to clear millions of dollars on that tech item in just the first year.” I sighed. “Instead it cost us money and face.”

  “And that was the final gong for the Digi-Dong corporation. May their dong finally be at rest.”

  I laughed. “Smartass.”

  “Feel better?”

  “Some.” But it wouldn’t stop me from doing my due diligence after hours on potential acquisitions.

  “Here’s what’ll put a skip back in your loafers. Saturday night we’re having a preview party for the barcade.”

  “Already? They got that done fast.”

  “Seems like a lifetime ago that Dallas brought me the concept. The speakeasy is still months out from opening for business. Annika believes having one ‘high-concept’ space open while building mystique around the second bar will be to our advantage.”