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But Mickey won’t let me near her. Charlotte got a new phone number, and when I call her office, she has her secretary serving as her gatekeeper. She’s never at her apartment anymore when I’m home. Her mail, which mostly consists of ads and flyers that businesses shove under the doors, is starting to pile up, and her box downstairs was overflowing the last time the mailman was adding envelopes to hers.
I’ve had more trouble than usual sleeping without her in my arms, and since I’ve kept the promise I made months ago and laid off the booze, I have to fall asleep the old-fashioned way and down half of a bottle of NyQuil to knock myself out. The loss of my appetite has been sucking my energy from me like a parasite, and I can hardly function. This is what my father warned me about when he said women and hockey do not mix. I finally understand his logic.
Once the game ends, we shuffle into the locker room, deflated by our loss. Kane tells everyone to shake it off, and as the team captain, he tries to sound positive, but I don’t believe a word of what he says. Judging by the looks of it, neither does he. Then, Coach follows up with what is supposed to be a motivational speech that would make my father laugh. No one gave a pep talk like my dad.
First, I lost him, and now, I’ve lost Charlotte.
The post-game interviews last much longer than expected while they take turns interviewing Kane and Donovan along with a few other players before a cute blonde makes her way toward me. I ignore her as she stands above me while I bend over to take off my skates.
“Alex, hi,” she says, holding a tape recorder between us. “I’m Kennedy Lockwood from Sports Buzz. Do you have a few minutes?”
I grunt in frustration. “Not really, but go ahead.”
Making herself comfortable, she takes a seat next to me on the bench and pushes her blonde locks over her shoulder with the recorder in hand. “After another devastating loss at home, what are some of the things you think the team needs to work on to get back on track?”
Get a new team or perhaps even a new coach?
I hate answering questions like these because I always feel like the reporter is trying to goad me into saying something stupid.
“We haven’t been playing as a unit,” I say, pressing my palms to the bench and meeting her gaze. “We’re giving away goals because of stupid mistakes. Once we find our rhythm, we’ll get back to winning games. It’s just a funk and a learning curve that we need to get through.”
She smiles and presses forward. “You’ve been with the Flyers for almost three months now. How do you think the fans compare to previous teams you’ve played for?”
This has nothing to do with the game, lady, I want to say, but instead, I mutter, “They’re great. Our fans are very passionate.” And I’m pretty sure they were booing us and not the opposing team tonight.
Kennedy moves closer and crosses her legs, revealing too much skin as her skirt slides up her thighs.
Charlotte had the best legs of any girl I’d ever been with, long and toned, and when she’d wrap them around me, my brain would shut down as she let me show her my appreciation for her body. Every day, I miss her more. What I miss most are our late-night talks and holding her in my arms until we both fell asleep. I miss the scent of her shampoo on my pillow and the way she purrs in her sleep. I cannot stop thinking about her. She invades my dreams, my thoughts, devouring every moment of my life.
“One more question, and then I’ll get out of your hair,” Kennedy says, diverting my thoughts. “Do you think your relationship with Charlotte Coachman has at all impacted your game?”
My head jerks in response to her question. Balling my hands into fists, I push down the anger as I try to formulate a decent response to get her away from me. The nerve of this woman. She has no right to ask about Charlotte.
“I don’t see what my agent has to do with my game, Miss Lockwood.”
“Kennedy,” she corrects, “and I beg to differ. Around the time you were involved with Coach, your stats went up, and the team was on an eight-game winning streak. We haven’t seen her at any of your games lately, and you’ve cut off all communication, which leads me to believe that Coach is the reason for your sudden…lack of inspiration, if you will.”
“How would you know if we’ve been communicating?” I say, pointing at the recorder. “And shut that thing off. This interview is over. I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Alex, wait,” she says, clamping down on my forearm when I try to get up. “I’ve been following your story for a while now.”
“What story?” I growl. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Kennedy flashes a knowing look in my directio
n that pisses me off even more. “Originally, after seeing the pictures of you two at Dilworth Park, I thought my headline would read ‘Successful Sports Agent Tames Hockey Bad Boy’ because you were playing so well, but then…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know; something about you and your game has been off, and she seems to be the common denominator.”
“Look, lady, you don’t know me or Charlotte. I have no idea where you’re getting your information from, but someone is feeding you bullshit.”
“It’s a lot easier than you think to dig up dirt on people when you know who to ask and how to get it. I have a reliable source that says you and Coach haven’t spoken in weeks. But you want her back, right?”
“Why do you care about either of us?”
Kennedy pretends not to hear me. “She acts like things are okay between you, but it’s obvious she still cares.”
“You’ve spoken to her?” I’m surprised, considering that Charlotte hates dealing with press and usually pushes them onto my publicist. “Is she all right?” I regret asking the moment the words leave my mouth.
“Let’s just say, I know a few things,” she whispers before holding on to my shoulder to stand, “and she misses you, too.”
