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“I’m not a misogynist,” I tell her, my voice strangled.
“Do you even know what it means?”
“Do you think because I’m a hockey player that I don’t have any brains? Yes, I know what it means.”
It’s her turn to look awkward. But she does it so much better than me. “I’m sorry. I just…” She shakes her head. “There’s nothing going on between Goran and me. I’ll make it clear he shouldn’t bring me coffee any more.”
How did we end up here? I just wanted to change the shitty towels back to our good ones. Not butt heads with the management consultant and imagine her…
No. Not going there.
“No. I’m sorry,” I tell her. “He’s a good kid. I don’t want him put off his game. Let’s just forget I ever mentioned it. Please.”
“Okay,” she breathes.
“You should still come to the game tomorrow night,” I tell her. “I’d like to see you there.”
Our eyes meet again.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
“You do that.”
CHAPTERSIX
MACKENZIE
“The damn nurses won’t let me watch the game,” Gramps complains to me over the phone. “I told them I won’t shout or swear, but they don’t believe me.”
“I wonder why that is,” I say dryly. I know for a fact that his nursing team has been explicitly told by the doctor not to let him watch because it always spikes his blood pressure. “And it’s not their fault so don’t give them hell for it.”
“Can I stay on the line?” he asks. “You can tell me what’s happening.”
“No.” I’m firm because he’s exactly like my dad. If he sees any chink – even if it’s tiny – in your armor he’ll push and probe until he gets what he wants. “I’ll call you afterward. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like I’m a prisoner in my own damn room,” he grumbles.
“But at least you’re recovering,” I tell him. “That’s good, right?”
“Hmm.”
I’ve been to visit him twice this week. And every time I’ve had to promise that I haven’t made major changes to the team. Which I haven’t, mostly because I’ve no idea what changes I can make to actually get this team into making some money rather than hemorrhaging it.
The IRS is breathing down the team’s neck. There are no savings to be made. And the one I tried caused so many problems I wish I hadn’t bothered.
Yes, I’m still kicking myself about the towels. I should have known that change wouldn’t go down well so close to the season opening game. I should have thought of it but I didn’t.
And Eli Salinger is pissed with me.
For some reason I don’t like it. Even though he tried to be nice afterward, I could still see the frustration in his eyes. I hate that he made me feel small. Like I’m not good enough. He might not have meant to do it but that’s what happened.
The same way I never felt good enough when my mom tried to teach me to skate or my dad urged me to try dribbling a puck with a stick. And I always ended up flat on my ass.
I let out a sigh.
“What is it?” Gramps asks. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no problem. I need to go. I’ll call you later.”
