I switched out of the text thread and went to a hockey blog. The video was the first thing on the home page. I tapped on it. Marcus and I circled each other as a voiceover sounded. “We’re used to seeing brawls on the ice, but not usually between teammates.”
The video showed me ripping off my gloves and decking Marcus. The footage had obviously been taken from security cameras at the rink. It was slightly grainy and had no sound, which meant you couldn’t hear the foul shit coming out of the asshole’s mouth before I decked him.
The voiceover went on to ask what had been wrong with me lately. And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? I’d love to have given them an answer, but I didn’t have one. All I knew was that the tips the press was getting weren’t helping.
Every possible slip-up seemed to be under a microscope. But worse than that was the made-up shit. Everything from me supposedly being rude to a server to accusations of me sleeping with anyone and everyone. And that crap wasn’t me. I wasn’t a saint, but I wasn’t a dog either. And being raised by two incredible women for the majority of my life meant I had a healthy respect for them.
Plus, if my mom or Grandma Lolli ever heard about me mistreating a woman, they would kick my ass.
I wasn’t sure who had it out for me in the media, but they’d combed through my trash, broken into my ex’s private social media accounts to steal photos, and now this.
My phone dinged again as a new text came in.
Linc
Ignore the video, and don’t fuck this up. If all goes right, this will give you a little of the good press you need.
I pulled my ballcap lower on my forehead as if that would shield me from all the attention headed my way. I was lucky as hell the owner of the Seattle Sparks had my back. He was more than a good boss;he was also a friend. Maybe because we read in each other that we’d both been through our share of hardships. Perhaps because we both had a love for the ice and the pure game without the bullshit. Either way, I was grateful to have him at my back.
Me
You got it, boss.
Linc
Fuck off.
My lips twitched but that hint of a grin quickly slid away at the reminder of the video. It was the last thing I needed when I was already on thin ice. I cracked my neck, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that always gathered there after a shoulder injury, and opened the door to the rink.
The moment the air hit me, a million memories came with it: my dad helping me lace up my skates, him and Mom and the rest of the Colson crew in the stands, yelling their heads off at my peewee games. I missed that. Missed what it felt like before I went pro, and all the bullshit entered the picture.
I moved through the facility, admiring what Arnie had created. There were two rinks, a restaurant and snack stand, multiple locker rooms, and even a gym. I wandered deeper into the space until I reached the skate rentals. A young girl who looked to be around fifteen stood behind the counter.
“Can you point me toward Arnie’s office?” I asked.
“Sure—” Her words cut off as her gaze locked with mine. Her eyes widened. “Copeland Colson?” she squeaked.
I winced. “Call me Cope, and let’s just keep my presence here between you and me.”
I knew it was a fleeting wish. Before long, word would get around that I was back. That I was volunteering with the kids’ camp here. But Arnie had promised he’d kick the lookie-loos to the curb. I just wanted to hold on to my anonymity a little longer.
The girl’s eyes only widened further. “O-of course. I won’t put you on blast. I just—I—” She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to center herself. “I play center like you. I’ve watched yourfootwork about a million times, trying to learn it. And your wrist shot? It’s killer.”
My brows lifted in surprise. By the look of her, I would’ve thought she was a figure skater. Possibly working the counter to pay for ice time. “Hockey player?”
She nodded. “Arnie’s trying to pull together a girls’ team for next year.”
“That’s sick. I’m coaching the kids this summer, so if you hang around after camp one day, I can give you thirty minutes of my time.”
The girl’s eyes lit up like I’d just promised her a pony. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “It’s no big thing. All I ask for in return is you telling me where Arnie’s office is.”
She blushed. “Sorry. Staircase is down that hall.” She pointed. “Head up, and he’s the first door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
The girl nodded, resembling one of those bobblehead dolls, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as I walked away.
