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“Why would HR want you?” Coach started rotating the puck over and over again as he studied Cal, giving him the same what-kind-of-person-are-you scan that he had when Cal had shown up for his first day as the Rage’s goalie after getting called up. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
Cal tightened his grasp on the “World’s Greatest Grandpa” cup he’d taken from beside the coffee machine when he’d been in the bullpen earlier and clamped his mouth shut before he verbalized the questions rushing through his head. If the players were talking about him and Astrid, then the coaches were, too. And if they were talking amongst themselves, were they keeping their mouths shut? Or were they going to spill all to the one person who could either help Cal get back into hockey permanently (his only life goal, because it was the only thing he actually had the skills to do) or make sure he never saw the inside of a pro rink again?
Not that there was much to say. Astrid had been avoiding him since she’d snuck out of his apartment after bingo night, leaving only her Diet Coke and her scent on his pillow.
Yeah, he’d swapped his pillow for the one she’d used that night. It had a stay-cool side that was supposed to make it easier to fall asleep. And that was the only reason why.
“No, Coach,” Cal finally managed to get out. “There’s nothing I need to tell you.”
The other man let out a hmmm that didn’t sound convinced at all. “Well, then, you better get on up to the media office. I’m sure it will only be as painful as you make it.”
The top floor of the Ice Knights Arena was where the business of the team was hammered out. Numbers were crunched. Plans hatched. Brand partnerships developed. It made Cal’s skin itch—an uneasy feeling that didn’t go away when he was ushered into the director of communication’s office and found a no-nonsense redhead behind the desk instead of Jared Rhodes.
“Look, I’ll cut right to it,” said the crisis PR expert who introduced herself as Lucy Kavanaugh. “This is not what I normally do. Usually, I’m only here when the shit hits the fan, but a friend asked for a favor. Next time you see Fallon, be sure to tell her we talked. Now, please take a seat, and let me tell you how we’re going to make sure you have a career after this season.”
Almost as soon as he woke up in the hospital after his last game, there were people coming in promising Cal things. He’d be out of the hospital after this one last surgery. Rehab would bring back the flexibility he’d taken for granted. He’d play again. He’d get a coaching job. His leg would feel like it used to in no time, soon, someday, maybe.
He’d stopped believing anything anyone promised years ago. Hell, at first he hadn’t even believed Coach about the job offer to be a temporary goalie whisperer for the Ice Knights. And now this woman who he’d never met before and who he really doubted was a hockey fairy godmother was promising him the one thing in the world he wanted more than anything else?
He sat, but the countdown on this conversation was already ticking down. “You really think you can get me back in hockey permanently just by force of will?”
She wound her bright red hair into a knot and held it on top of her head as she fanned herself with a media guide even though it was sixty-eight in here max. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
A growly alien sound that was maybe a yawn emerged from the dog carrier on the floor next to the desk. A French bulldog burst out of it and headed straight for Cal. It launched itself up into the air and landed on his lap like a twenty-five pound bowling ball with tiny teeth and started howling.
“Gussie,” Lucy groaned as she got up and pressed her hand to the small of her back. She looked down at her rounded abdomen. “No, this does not mean it’s the perfect time to start kicking.” She gave her belly a couple of rubs, and then she came around the desk. “Sorry, my dad is on a honeymoon cruise, so we’re watching Gussie, and if I leave him alone, I’ll never be able to sit on my couch again.”
“Chewer?” Cal asked as he tried to rub the dog’s head, but the fuzzball was too excited and jumped off his lap and made a beeline for Lucy.
“Enthusiastic and chronic humper.” She picked the dog up and scratched the French bulldog between the shoulders, and the little dog’s eyes nearly rolled back. “I have to keep the door to Felix’s nursery closed at all times, or it will be unusable before he even gets here. You do not want to know about what happened to Freya’s favorite Elmo chair and Trey’s Spider-Man pillow.”
Cal definitely did not—imagining it was bad enough.
Once she’d given Gussie a chew bone she’d pulled out of the dog carrier and sat back down, he asked, “So what’s your plan?”
Lucy took a long drink of water, and then she handed him a sheaf of papers. The more he read, the more he understood why Coach had said it would only be as painful as he made it. The papers crinkled in his grasp, the memories of all the unreturned messages from people who’d said they would always answer and vague we’ll-keep-you-in-mind small talk still too fresh.
“Look, I know you avoided the press after your injury, despite the coverage being wall to wall, even in the mainstream media. You turned down every interview and told the documentary company that offered cold, hard cash when none was coming in to fuck off. So this plan isn’t even close to your ideal,” she said, all just-the-facts attitude. “However, this media push is going to be the best way for you to continue your career in hockey past the season. You’ve made amazing strides with Tig. According to what Coach says about how he’s been playing in full practices, he’s starting to perform like he used to. No one thought that would happen. Everyone had written him off already. You know what that’s like.”
Cal didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Lucy already knew it was true.
“We’ll start off with this one profile that will get millions of eyes on it and grab the attention of all the hockey front offices and the drive-time sports folks. I know you’re not thrilled, but this will help build your reputation and expand your story beyond that last game.” She paused and held up a finger as she took another long drink. “Sorry. Felix is not happy about the enchiladas I had for lunch.” She took another drink and let out a sigh of relief before hitting him with that bullshit-free look of hers. “You do want to move beyond that last game and show the hockey world you’re ready for more, don’t you?”
Moving beyond his final game as a player was pretty much all he wanted to do since he woke up in that hospital room. He should know better than to trust in what Lucy was saying and yet…
God. He was twelve kinds of a fool for what he was about to say.
“Yeah. I want that. I know I won’t ever get in the net again. But I’m not ready to walk away from hockey.”
Hockey was all Cal had ever wanted and the only thing he’d ever thought about. It was the only career he’d ever wanted. And after having everything stripped away from him, he wasn’t gonna walk away a second time.
“So what do I need to do?” he asked, steeling himself for the worst.
“We start with the interview,” she said. “You’ll need to be candid. You’ll have to go into detail—not about everything, but enough. And you’ll need to get your family on board so they can give their perspective and make this a full-picture profile.”
Cal had never been less excited about having his hockey dreams come true.
Chapter Twenty-Four
