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“How soon do we need to pay the IRS?” Mom asks.
“I can negotiate it,” I tell them, relieved that at least that’s something I can do. “If we can show them we have a plan, they may give us a few months.”
“Okay. Then that’s what we need to do.” My dad nods. “I’ll work out how to raise the money.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I hate being the barer of bad news to them. Yes, they drive me up the wall but nobody wants to hear that your father’s team is about to fold.
“It’s not your fault, honey,” my mom says.
Yeah, but sometimes it feels that way.
CHAPTERNINE
ELI
After winning our next two games the atmosphere in the locker room has done a one-eighty degree flip. Everybody is smiling, turning up early for practice. Even I manage to crack a smirk when Goran comes in with coffee for everybody then insists on taking one upstairs to Mackenzie, because he still thinks he’s her best friend.
And yeah, I don’t like it. Not because I think there’s anything going on between them, but because I’ve been actively avoiding her and I feel like an ass about it. I saw her in the hallway after our first win and she smiled widely at me and I just nodded and walked away.
Yep. Asshole.
And now I’m annoyed with my twenty-one-year-old Swedish center half because he can go up and give her coffee and joke around with her and I can’t.
When he comes back down, he’s grinning and it annoys me even more. “Get your kit on and get out on the ice,” I tell him. “You missed some simple passes last night.”
The smile melts from his face. “Sorry. I didn’t…” He shakes his head. “What passes?”
I pinch my nose with my finger and thumb. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, seriously, what passes? Should I look at the recording first?” He’s so earnest and I feel even worse.
He’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve me taking my annoyance out on him. “It’s okay. You just need to spend a little less time in the offices and a little more time practicing.”
“Sorry. I was just giving Mac some advice about her clothes.”
When did he start calling her Mac? And why would she ask for his sartorial advice? It’s not as though he’s some kind of fashion icon. He wears sweats and hoodies to the rink every day.
“She has a date,” Goran adds, as though he can read my thoughts. “She wanted to know which dress looked the best.”
My brows pull in tight. “A date with who?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Some guy.”
“Did she try the clothes on in front of you?”
“No.” He looks at me as though I’m an idiot. “She held them up. They’re both pretty.”
I open my mouth to ask for more information. And then I close it pretty fucking fast. It’s none of my business. What do I care if she’s going out with another guy? She’s a free agent, she can do what she likes.
“Did she say where she’s going on this date?” I ask Goran.
He makes a face that tells me he has no idea. “I only want to know that she’ll be safe,” I tell him. The same way I’d want to know that about anybody in the backroom.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I should have asked her.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “Just go get on the ice,” I tell him. “I’ll be out in a minute.” The others are already out there warming up.
“Sure.” He flashes me a smile. The kid has the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. “You doing okay, boss?”
