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It's been three days since our locker room tryst, and besides a few kisses, Ryan hasn't shown any indication of wanting more. Then again, it's not as if we've had many opportunities for sexy times. After our Easter fundraiser with the Boys and Girls Club, the team left for a quick road trip to Columbus.
They're flying home today after dropping another game on the road. They should be back in the city and landing anytime now, and I doubt they'll be happy with how they played.
On the ice, the team looks frustrated. Puck luck is not on our side. Our forwards can't seem to shoot the puck in the back of the net, and our goalies can seem to keep it out of our net. It's definitely not the way the team wants to head into the playoffs against Boston. With only three games left in the regular season, the team wants to end the season on a high note and bring some momentum into the playoffs. The last thing the guys need is to get into their own heads and start doubting themselves.
Playoffs are a weird beast. The best team in the league can be crushed in four straight games by a bottom-seeded team. A hot goalie can go on a run and steal games. Injuries happen. Clutch heroes rise from the ashes in quadruple overtime. It's a frenzy where anything can happen, and there's nothing else like it. Playoff hockey isn't as much about skill as it is about will. Ryan and the rest of the team need to be in the right head space if they plan to go on a deep playoff run.
I finish a few emails to sponsors while waiting for Holly to return to the office. She's organizing an end-of-season-pre-playoffs dinner with season ticket holders. The team will have a few days off before the opening round. It's the perfect time to let off some steam, team build, and relax before preparing for a gruelling and, hopefully, long post-season.
The rest of the office is quiet. Taylor went with the team to Columbus, and I sent Spenser home early. It's just me tapping away on my keyboard, looking up useless information and checking scores from around the league.
The two wildcard spots are still up for grabs. It's between Columbus, Montreal, and Carolina. Three teams are vying for two tickets for a chance to win Lord Stanley's Cup. If I had to guess, I would bet on Columbus and Carolina, but the points are so close it's a coin toss on who'll get in.
Across the hallway, I hear a knock on our door. Our office is open concept, with glass walls, shiny surfaces, and Apple gadgets. SASS takes up one floor of the building. When we were JPL, the space was bigger, but we've downsized since the rebrand.
I locked the door to our offices after letting Spencer leave. Holly usually uses her keys but tends to forget them at home or in her car. She better have brought me tea and a peanut butter cookie if she expects me to open that door.
"You better have baked goods, Holly," I start to say, unlocking and turning the handle. I stop short when I realize Holly's not the person standing at the threshold.
It's Randy Johnson.
Despite being dressed in an expensive black suit and tie, with his signature crocodile shoes, he looks like shit. There are bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his hair lacks the waxy polish it had the last time I saw him. Before I can close the door in his face, he lets himself into our offices.
"I'm not sure what you want, Randy, but I am sure I can't give it to you."
"I beg to differ," he snaps angrily. He walks around the office, taking in the furnishing and surroundings, as if he belongs here, which he most certainly does not. "I just want to talk."
"That's funny because I don't."
Randy leans up against the reception desk. I wish I hadn't let Spencer leave early. It's glaringly obvious we're alone.
"I need you to talk to Tyra. She's ignoring my calls, and I need her back."
"That's not for me to broker."
"Actually, it is. You and your little organization have been helping Tyra with her publicity, and I need to talk to her. Arrange it."
"No."
"Don't be stubborn, Ms. Avery. This was all just a misunderstanding. I can fix it if you'd tell her to call me. Tyra and I have been working together since her first commercial. I made her. I can unmake her."
Randy pushes himself off the desk and steps closer to me. He's trying to intimidate me, and I can't help but feel a tiny bit of panic set in. Randy has positioned himself between me and the reception desk, cutting me off from the phone I need so I can call security to have him removed. He knows he has me at a disadvantage.
"I can unmake you too," he hisses, taking another step closer. "You think you can step in and fuck up years of work. If you had just faded into the background like a good little girl and let Tyra and Ryan stay the course, all this would have blown over."
His logic is ridiculously flawed. It sounds like Ryan and Tyra's arrangement was over before I came back into the picture. They were never going to stay together, and Tyra has a right to live her life the way she wants. I had very little to do with this situation, and Randy is using me as the target for all his anger.
"Tyra is a person, not a thing. It's the twenty-first century. No one cares if she's gay. Don't you see? You dug your grave by trying to force her to be someone she isn't and paying off her lovers, Randy."
"And you're digging yours."
Randy backs me into a corner. My eyes dart around the office. I'm trapped. For the first time, I'm truly afraid. Randy has fixated all his failures on me. He's convinced himself I am responsible for his mistakes. He's unhinged, eyes wild and desperate. Is this office a magnet for crazy men? First Rick and now Randy. For one horrible second, I think he might hit me, but a sound behind us makes him hesitate.
It's the sound of a lock turning and a door opening, and it's the best sound in the world.
"What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is music to my ears.
I almost cry in relief when Holly, Luke, and Ryan walk through the door.
