by Kendall Ryan
“I was in the neighborhood when I saw the news,” she says, each individual word sounding like a miniature apology. “Are you doing okay?”
Part of me wants to laugh at that question. Of course I’m not doing okay. My budding relationship just got exposed on every sports blog on the internet, and pissed-off fans could come kick down my door at any second.
But I don’t even have the energy to call her on that bullshit question right now. All my brain capacity is currently dedicated to reminding me that I’m a complete and utter failure.
As we settle in on the couch, I blow the steam off my latte, blinking back tears as I explain to Gretchen the backstory behind the picture.
“We were at a player’s kid’s birthday party,” I say with a sigh. “And we were trying to keep the PDA to a minimum. But clearly, we weren’t trying hard enough. I mean, I thought we’d be safe there.”
Gretchen nods, her eyes narrowing, and I can practically see the question forming in her mind. “Do you know who took the picture? Maybe you could take legal action against them or something.”
I shake my head. “Any of Lucian’s friends or neighbors who were there could have snapped the shot and slipped it to a news outlet for a quick buck. It might have even been one of the catering staff he had there that day. Hell, for all I know, one of the news sites caught wind of a gathering of players and sent a drone.”
I sink deeper into the couch cushions, half hoping they’ll consume me altogether and I’ll never have to face the world again. “Do you think the witness protection program would turn me away for being too lame?”
“Drink your latte,” Gretchen says, gently guiding my cup toward my lips. “You always have a better perspective with some caffeine in your system.”
Without a counter argument, I take a hefty sip. It’s piping hot and burns my tongue a little, but at this point, it sort of feels like I deserve it.
“What you need is a killer PR team.” Gretchen clucks her tongue, folding her arms over her chest. “They can smooth all of this over. They’ll take the old-college-flame route, lean into the fact that Holt is an independent contractor for the team, not a direct employee . . .”
She rambles on like this for a while, spilling ideas about how to solve this mess that, come to think of it, she’s partially responsible for. After all, she’s the one who gave me that garbage idea about banging Holt out of my system.
But deep down, I know the truth. No matter what advice my best friend did or didn’t give me, what happened between Holt and me was inevitable.
If I were more of a romantic, I might call it destiny. However you label it, it’s not something I ever want to let go of. The late-night drives in his car, chasing highway signs and blaring grunge music. The sweet, quiet evenings alone on his balcony, trading bits of our pasts like rookie cards.
Every moment with him has been nothing short of perfect, but maybe all good things have to come to an end, just like they did back at Sutton. That morning in his bed, tucked in some dim corner of a fraternity house, my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and I chose flight. But I never thought I’d have to face that choice with him again.
“Um, hello? E? Are you okay?”
It’s not until Gretchen squeezes my hand that I realize I’ve been staring off into space like a sad, lost puppy who doesn’t know which way is home.
“I’m fine,” I lie, swallowing the tears gathering in my throat. “I think I just need a shower and a little more space to process this.”
Gretchen nods, her lips firmly pursed together as she reaches for her keys. “I get it. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, okay?”
Short of turning back the clock, or complete erasure of the world wide web, I don’t think there’s any saving me now.
28
* * *
EDEN
After two days of working from home, which really consisted of more panicking and doom-scrolling through comments sections than working, I finally decided to pick up the phone, but only because Les was calling.
His voice was so sweet and comforting on the other end of the line, and he didn’t even mind waiting while I took a break halfway through the call to cry. Somehow, after thirty minutes of back and forth, he convinced me to come back into the office today. Whether that was a good idea or not remains to be seen. Still, I’m as shaky as a toddler trying out her first pair of skates.
I’m no stranger to facing my fears. The past several months have made me an expert in that department. Angry crowds of protesters hardly faze me anymore, and I can confidently look a full professional hockey team square in the eye and speak my mind.
But as I stand in the hallway just outside the doors of the Titans corporate office, fear doesn’t even begin to describe the cold feeling that’s running through my veins. Terror, maybe, mixed with a certain grade of anxiety I’ve never known.
But I’ve made it this far. No use turning back. Les’s words echo in my head, keeping me from running back outside. “Hiding won’t help you.”
Of all the scary things I’ve faced since taking over the team, those four little words might be the most frightening of all. Maybe because I know exactly how true they are.
I can’t hide forever. Which is why I’m here, shaking in my black patent-leather pumps just a few steps away from facing my new reality, a reality where everyone in the office—in the city, even—knows about me and Holt. The owner of the Titans dating the head of security. How will everyone respond? Anger? Acceptance? Ambivalence, even? I won’t know until I step inside.
Over the last couple of days at home, I avoided calls from Lucian’s wife, Camille, as well as Reeves, Tate, and a handful of other players, which surprised me. Even though I wasn’t ready to return their calls, I doubted theirs were calls of condemnation. I imagined they were actually shows of support, which made me feel the tiniest bit better. Even if I was only imagining it.
Gretchen texted me constantly. My lack of response to her funny memes or encouraging notes didn’t seem to stop her. This morning’s note assured me that I was a badass with a cute butt. It made me smile, despite how miserable and alone I felt inside.
Standing here, ready to face the consequences, I take a deep breath to steady myself.
Pushing my shoulders back, I focus on taking one step at a time. Click. Clack. I steady my breath to the slow click of my heels against the floor as I push open the office doors. Les is the first to spot me from his desk. His unruly gray eyebrows are like two eager caterpillars leaping up his forehead.
“Eden. You’re back.” Surprise fills his tone until he schools his eyebrows back into place. “It’s great to see you.”
“Great to be here,” I manage to say, reaching into my purse to finger my key ring, a reminder that my car is right outside if I need to get away fast. I run my thumb against my key fob like it’s a Buddha belly I’m rubbing for good luck. Let’s face it, I’ll need it.
I turn away from Les for a moment to assess the office. It’s not even eight o’clock yet, so it’s only the early crowd so far. The general manager’s door is open a crack, a low rumble of discussion leaking out. A meeting is going on in one of our glass-walled conference rooms, and I spy Aspen scuttling around the table, clearly focusing a little too hard on not spilling the tray of coffees she’s delivering.
It’s business as usual here. No major fires or catastrophes as a result of my recent press. Maybe this won’t be as big of a disaster as I worried it would be.
“Your grandfather would be proud of you, you know.” Les speaks in a hushed tone, but even spoken quietly, those words bring a lump of emotion to my throat.
“You think so?” I ask, but I truly doubt it.
“I know so. In all the years I worked for Pete, not once did I see him back down from a challenge. Right up until the very end. He didn’t go down without a fight.” A small, sad smile pulls at Les’s lips. “I knew you were just like him.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, ignoring the ti
ngling sensation building in my throat. “I sure hope I am.”
With a smile, I excuse myself and head to my office, desperate to be out of sight before I get too emotional about my grandpa. But the universe has other plans, because as I pass by the general manager’s door, it swings open. Price St. James steps out, smiling and oblivious to the fact that I was close to tears mere seconds ago.
“Hey, look who’s back.” A huge smile breaks out on his face. “I knew you wouldn’t be out for long. In fact, I made a bet with one of the D-men about it. Thanks to you, I just won fifty bucks.”
I force a smile, unsure of how to feel about the players betting on my return, but thankful that Saint was on the right side of that bet. “Thanks for your confidence in me, I guess?”
“No sweat, Eden. I mean, um, Miss Wynn.” His face scrunches up as he shoves a hand through his messy brown hair. “I forget, can I call you Eden in the office? Or only when we’re hanging out as friends?”
I blink up at him, temporarily rendered speechless. If you would have told me two months ago that one of the players would refer to me as a friend, I would have bet a lot more than fifty dollars that you were lying, that’s for sure. “Eden is just fine.”
“Well, Eden,” he says, emphasizing my name with a wiggle of his brows. “I just wanted to say I think it’s cool as fuck that you and Holt are together. He’s a good dude, and you’re a cool chick. Perfect match, I say.”
I stiffen, all too aware that three days of ignored phone calls may have changed my status with Holt, but I’m not about to fill Saint in on that. Instead, I just murmur, “Thank you.”
“Of course. But seriously, fuck the media. Those buzzards will rip you apart for anything, but it never lasts. Teddy King from the Seattle Ice Hawks had a freaking sex tape leak last year, and that dude is still playing. Plus, he’s married to some hot lawyer now. Seems like everything worked out for him.” Saint scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “A whole damn sex tape. What do you have, one picture with Holt’s hand on your ass? You’re fine.”
My lips pull into a tight frown. “I think that only works when that person in question is well liked to begin with, and isn’t a woman working against a double standard.”
Saint only nods. “I can’t say anything about the whole being-a-woman thing, but what I can say is the team is behind you. We like you, and we like what you’re doing for the Titans. We’ve got your back no matter what, okay?”
His words mean more to me than I can say. I only manage a grateful smile while I try not to tear up again.
After an awkward side hug, Saint heads for the door, and I finally make it back to my office, sinking into my leather executive chair with a long sigh.
I never thought Price St. James would be the one to make me rethink this whole situation, but he made some valid points. I certainly have a lot to consider, not the least of which being where Holt and I stand.
It was wrong to ignore his calls, but I needed space to process. Now that he’s no longer calling, I wonder if he’s given up on me altogether.
The thought is almost too much to consider, so I turn my focus toward my email, hoping for a distraction, but it’s no use. There’s only one thing on my mind. Well, two, if you count both his stormy gray eyes and those big, comforting arms that, when I’m wrapped up in them, I feel like nothing could hurt me. Not a hundred hockey blogs or gossip sites. Nothing, so long as I’m with him.
That’s not something I can let slip away. Not for a second time.
With my mind made up, I shove up from my desk, but before I can take even a single step, a familiar figure appears in my doorway and freezes me where I stand.
“Good morning, Eden.”
The sound of Holt’s low, deep voice sends an electric current from my chest to my fingertips. Just the man I was about to go looking for, and now he’s here before I could even decide on the right thing to say.
I steady my gaze on the company logo stitched onto his polo, hopeful that focusing on something stationary will stop the dizzy feeling rushing to my head. It doesn’t, and soon I’m collapsing back into my chair, gripping the armrests.
Holt rushes to my side, crouching down to level his face with mine. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine,” I murmur, swallowing hard as I wave off his concern. “Just light-headed. I got up too fast or something.”
Emphasis on the or something.
He disappears for a moment to get a glass of water from the staff kitchen, and I gladly gulp it down. It makes sense that I’d be dehydrated—I was too nervous this morning to keep anything down. But now, with Holt’s big hand resting on my shoulder and his kind eyes watching closely over me, my nerves have subsided. Like always, I feel safe with him.
“How are you feeling?” he finally asks, still watching me with an expression of concern.
“Better,” I say. “I should probably eat something soon, but the water helped. Thank you.”
His laugh is a low, gravelly rumble in his throat. “I meant how are you feeling about everything else? And, you know.” He pauses, drawing in a breath. “About us?”
His voice is thick with emotion, and when I look up at him, his gray eyes are clouded with worry, waiting for my response.
I match his question with another. “Is there still an us?”
Holt’s dark brows draw together, his forehead wrinkling in genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? Of course there’s still an us. That is, if you still want there to be.”
“Of course I do. I just . . .” I chew my lip, searching for the right words, but nothing I say could fully encapsulate everything I’m feeling. About life, about this team, about him. With a shaky sigh, I finally manage some kind of response. “There’s just so much to process.”
He nods, seemingly understanding all the words I’m not saying. “I get it. I was shaken too, but I know this is a much bigger deal for you and your career. I want to respect the space you need, to let you handle it.”
He gives my hand a squeeze, and I squeeze back extra hard.
“I think I’d rather handle it together.”
The air between us lightens, and the tension in Holt’s shoulders eases.
“I think we can do it,” he says, his voice firm. “People have been accepting already. I’m sure we’ll get the fans on board too.”
My mouth quirks up, then quickly drops when a storm cloud of a thought rolls in. “What if they start protesting again?”
“Then you’re lucky you have a damn good security team.”
My heart squeezes, and the tiniest laugh bubbles past my lips. “Yeah? I heard the owner of our security company is a real tough guy.”
“Not as tough as he used to be.” Holt laces his fingers with mine and guides me to my feet. “I think he developed a bit of a soft spot for the woman he’s falling for.”
“Falling for, huh?”
His chin dips in a firm nod as he closes what’s left of the space between us. “I know what I said. I’m happier with you than I’ve ever been with anyone, Eden.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear, his fingers trailing along the tender skin on my neck. The simplest, smallest touch, and suddenly my heart is rioting in my chest.
“Are you happy?” he asks softly.
“Yes,” I whisper back. It’s the easiest question I’ve ever answered. “I’m so, so happy with you, Holt. I don’t want to have to give this up.”
“Then don’t. This bullshit will pass. We just need a little time.” He pauses, then adds, “And maybe the help of someone who knows something about public relations.”
I hold back a laugh. “That’s what Gretchen said too. I guess if my best friend and my boyfriend are saying the same thing . . .” I pause, catching what I just said. “I mean, not to imply—”
Heat spreads from my chest to my cheeks, but Holt just grins. A huge, proud smile that makes his eyes crinkle. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so wide.
“Boyfriend? I like the sound of
that.”
Before I can say another word, he tips my chin upward, lifting my mouth to his in a warm, delicate kiss. Soon, I’m dizzy for a whole new reason. The way this man kisses me—so sure and steady, like he’s making a promise with every brush of his lips against mine. And I’m promising right back, holding tight to his shoulders like I’ll never let go.
Several moments pass like this until I remember my reality, that we’re making out in my office. I pull away, my eyes wide and wild as I whisper, “Shit, we shouldn’t be doing this at work.”
But Holt just laughs and pulls me in again. “Who cares? It’s not like they don’t already know.”
29
* * *
HOLT
One month later
This was a terrible idea. The worst.
Eden and I moved in together a few weeks ago, and we decided to host a Thanksgiving dinner. Many players from the team are here—those without family in the area and the single guys, anyway.
Well, all except Braun.
Eden and I both bit the bullet and invited our moms because they hadn’t met yet, and frankly, it was something we wanted to just get over with. And so far, it’s a little awkward, but Eden and I are suffering through it together.
“Oh my God, the turkey,” Eden shouts from the kitchen.
Now smelling the smoke, I turn to head in her direction. After a quick glance around the room of our mingling guests, no one seems to notice Eden’s panic, so I quietly head for the kitchen to check on her. When I reach the kitchen, thick black smoke billows from the oven door before Eden snaps it shut.
When she turns to face me, I can see the frustration and disappointment written all over her face. Her lower lip trembles, and I capture her chin in my hands, touching my thumb to her mouth.
“It’s totally ruined,” she says with a sigh.