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“Oh, you wanted to fire me?” she asks, hands on hips.
“No, I . . . uh—” but I’m not sure what else to say. Coach mentioned it, unprompted on her first day. Why don’t I just say that?
So I do.
“Coach mentioned it the first day, so . . . I just figured.”
She looks at me, fake hurt, mouth open. “That cuts deep. I thought I had this big secret!”
No, Eloise. It’s me with a big secret.
We stand there for a few seconds, staring at each other, and when I realize I’m not going to win this contest, I raise a brow. “Why are you here?” I try to keep my tone light, but I’m not sure I succeed and worry it comes out accusatory.
If it does, Eloise doesn’t seem to notice.
“Oh, right,” she says brightly. “You got some fan mail!” She’s holding a stack in her arms and says this like it’s something to be excited over. She shuffles through the envelopes and drops half the stack on the floor. Instinctively, I kneel to help pick them up, and she does the same, a quizzical look on her face.
“Sorry,” I say, as if helping her was the wrong move.
She narrows her gaze and takes the envelope I’m holding, then gathers the rest and stands back up.
I turn away from her to find Burke watching us, smirking, amused at the exchange. I walk over to the stationary bike, mostly because I need some distance from her.
But she follows me. “Do you have a stack of autographed photos or anything?”
“Uh, no,” I say, wiping my forehead with a towel.
Eloise pulls out her phone and sends off a text. “Great. I just asked Beverly to set up some promotional shots of you in your Comets uniform.”
Her phone buzzes before I can respond.
“Oh! Great! She was already on it. I guess they need promo pictures for banners.” She looks up and pumps her eyebrows. “Your face is going to be on a banner.”
I don’t respond.
She draws in a breath, as if to reset, and says, “It’s scheduled for Monday, and once I have the photos, I can take care of these.” She holds up the stack of mail and shakes it. “You were also invited to be on a hockey podcast—” She is scrolling on her phone again.
“No podcasts.”
Her eyes dart up, and when they connect with mine, I look away. I feel like she has direct access to my thoughts when she looks at me right in my eyes.
“Okay, so a blanket ‘no’ for all interview requests,” she says.
“Yes.”
“No,” Burke says. “If ESPN calls, it’s a yes.”
She frowns. “Right.”
Coach Turnrose walks in on the tail end of the conversation. “Oh! Eloise, I’m glad you’re here.”
So, I guess she does work Saturdays.
“I’d like you to come to the game tomorrow,” he says to her.
My stomach dips. “Why?” I blurt, even though no one was talking to me.
He looks at me and makes a face. “Because I asked her to, and because there will be reporters, Hawke. We’ve all seen how well you handled them.” Back to Eloise: “Will this be a problem for you?”
