Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

MOLLY

Molly sat in her small office, staring at the worn desk, the phone pressed against her ear as her mother’s voice murmured on the other end. Her hand trembled slightly, clutching the receiver tighter as she whispered, “I don’t know what to do, Mom…” Her voice was shaky, an emotional undercurrent bubbling just beneath the surface.

Before her mother could respond, the creak of the office door opening startled her. She looked up, her breath catching. Coach Mike stood there, a broad figure filling the doorway. His face was marked with a deep frown, a rarity on the typically composed man. He froze when their eyes met, the hesitance clear in the way he started to back out of the room, attempting to give her privacy. But it was the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and weariness—that kept her from brushing the moment aside.

That frown told her something was wrong.

“I’ll call you tonight, Mom,” she murmured hastily, cutting the call short and setting the phone down with a soft click. She straightened in her chair, forcing her voice into a semblance of normalcy. “Coach Mike? Were you looking for me?”

He stepped fully into the room this time, his movements deliberate. The door shut with a soft, ominous thud behind him. “I didn’t want to interrupt your call,” he began, his tone measured, though his shoulders carried the weight of something heavier. “But we need to talk.”

Molly nodded, trying to mask the growing unease clawing at her stomach. “Of course.” Beneath her desk, her foot searched for the trash can, a subconscious preparation for the nerves threatening to overwhelm her. Closed-door conversations were rarely good news. They were either about something confidential or—worse—a prelude to bad news.

“What’s going on with Thierry?” Coach Mike asked bluntly, his gaze locking on hers.

The question hit like a hammer. Molly’s mouth went dry, and her heart kicked into a frantic rhythm. No beating around the bush, huh? She swallowed hard, buying herself a moment.

“He takes everything I say as an attack,” she began cautiously, choosing her words with care. “If I said the sky was blue, he’d accuse me of calling him colorblind. I don’t know what I’ve done, but…”

Coach Mike sighed, his massive frame sinking heavily into one of the chairs opposite her desk. “He asked about his contract today,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, as though he hated saying them. “I think he’s contacting his manager to see about a trade.”

The air seemed to leave the room.

Molly’s breath caught, her hands gripping the edge of her desk. “What?” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The thought was inconceivable. Gerard Thierry was willing to leave the team—his dream job—because of her? A knot of guilt and disbelief twisted in her chest.

“I know you’re trying, but something has to give,” Coach Mike said, his expression strained. Her mi nd raced, filling the silence with possibilities. Something had to give… as in her or Thierry . The team wouldn’t sacrifice a player of his caliber for someone like her.

She knew it.

Everyone knew it.

“Are you firing me?” The question tumbled out before she could stop it, her voice trembling with the weight of what she feared most.

“No,” he said, though his pause after the word was heavy. “But I need you here for Lafreniere. He’s finally staying on the ice and out of pain because of you. But I need Thierry, too. Do you think you can ease up on him? Try to…”

“I haven’t even spoken to him in two weeks,” she interrupted, her voice cracking as the frustration and hurt spilled over. “The man avoids me like the plague. He’s locked me out of rooms and taken my kettlebells, and this morning I couldn’t even get into the gym. What more can I do? He’s.. impossible.”

Coach Mike rubbed a hand over his face, the weight of leadership etched in every line of his features. “I’ll make sure you get your equipment back,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “But listen, Molly, when I took over this team, they were... a mess. I’ve worked hard to create a culture where everyone feels like they belong. I don’t want to see that fall apart.”

She nodded, even as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. “I admire that,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “And I’ll keep trying. I’ll kill him with kindness if I have to, but I can’t keep walking on eggshells around him.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Coach Mike said, rising to his feet. He lingered at the door, his hand resting on the knob. “If he ever extends an olive branch, make sure you take it. Gerry’s a great guy. He’s just not easy to reach.”

“So I’ ve heard,” she replied, her tone tinged with doubt.

Coach Mike hesitated, his voice softening as he added, “His circle isn’t big. Hockey is his whole world. Let’s try to give him a home here together. Okay?”

The words hit harder than they should have, striking a chord deep within her. She nodded, too afraid her voice would betray her emotions. She knew what it was like to feel out of place, to struggle with finding where you belonged. But how could she make someone like Gerry feel at home when he treated her like the enemy?

Later, as she stepped into the hallway, her thoughts churned. A group of players moved toward the rink, skates scraping lightly against the floor as they headed for the ice. Among them, Gerry’s towering figure stood out. His shoulders were broad, his movements fluid, but as if sensing her presence, he turned. His gaze locked on hers, his expression hardening into the now-familiar scowl.

“Thierry!” Coach Mike’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension. “Leave it on the ice. Whatever has you upset, let it go.”

“I’m not upset,” Gerry snapped, though his glare remained fixed on Molly. “I’m just skating.”

“She’s doing her job,” Coach Mike replied firmly, his unspoken command clear. “Molly, get down here by Lafreniere.”

“Yes, Coach,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. Pulling on her gloves, she headed toward Dustin Lafreniere, who gave her an encouraging nod. But as she stepped closer to the ice, she hesitated, the memories of past teasing surfacing. She’d never skated before. Her balance was atrocious, and stepping onto the slick surface felt like stepping onto a battlefield.

The icy chill of the rink crept through the thin soles of her sneakers as Molly stepped cautiously toward the boards. Her breath fogged in the crisp air, her ne rves tightening with every second. The faint scrape of blades cutting through ice filled her ears, punctuated by the occasional thud of a puck meeting a stick. She glanced around nervously, wishing she could disappear into the shadows of the arena.

“Where are your skates?” Gerry’s voice rang out sharply, slicing through the background noise.

Molly flinched at his tone, her eyes darting to him. He stood in the center of the rink, his lean, powerful form illuminated under the bright overhead lights. Even from a distance, his disbelief was palpable, his gaze locked on her like a predator sizing up its prey.

“I’ll be fine,” she mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear, inching her way closer to the ice. Her heart pounded harder with each step, the air thick with the weight of her own uncertainty.

“You can’t come out in sneakers!” Gerry’s voice was louder now, carrying above the faint hum of the rink. Heads turned, a few players pausing mid-stride to glance their way.

Before she could defend herself, he was already moving. His powerful strides sent ice chips flying as he skated toward her, closing the distance with an intensity that left her frozen in place. When he reached her, his towering frame loomed over her, casting her in shadow. His gloved hand clamped around her upper arm, firm but not cruel, though the frustration in his grip was unmistakable.

“What are you thinking?” he hissed, his green eyes narrowing as he looked her over. “Nobody goes on the ice without proper protection. It’s a rule. Do you even understand the risks?” His voice rose slightly, his frustration spilling out in sharp, clipped words. “You could lose a toe, a finger—get sliced open by accident!”

Molly swallowed hard, the sting of embarrassment rising in her chest. She tried to nod, but his gr ip and the heat of his words left her throat tight. She bit her tongue, resisting the urge to snap back.

Instead, she flicked her gaze away, trying to keep her pride intact as Coach Mike skated by. He gave her a knowing look, his calm words cutting through the tension. “Olive branch?”

Molly blinked.

Seriously?

This was an olive branch?

“GET OFF THE ICE IN THOSE SNEAKERS!” Gerry’s snarl jolted her back, his voice ricocheting off the empty stands. His temper flared, his grip tightening just slightly before he abruptly pulled her off the ice, nearly dragging her to the boards. Molly stumbled, the smooth surface of the ice beneath her feet betraying her shaky balance.

“You could get hurt,” Gerry continued his voice a low growl. “Do you have any idea how sharp skates are? This isn’t a game, Molly.” He gestured toward his own blades, their edges gleaming menacingly under the lights. “One wrong move, and it’s like a knife slicing through skin. You need to take this seriously.”

Her cheeks burned, shame prickling under her skin.

“I wasn’t going to—” she began, but his glare silenced her.

“Not smart,” he shot back, his voice hot with exasperation. He yanked off one of her gloves, holding it up like evidence in a courtroom. “These? Useless. They don’t protect anything.”

“Gerry…” she started, softer this time, but her words faltered under the weight of his stare. She tried again, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve done this before, and?—”

“Not here,” he cut her off, his tone hoarse but unwavering. “Not with me, not with my team, and not on my ice. You don’t step out here without the right gear. Got it?”

She hesita ted, the words on the tip of her tongue, but his glare left no room for argument. “I can’t ice skate,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible. The confession hung in the air between them, vulnerable and raw.

Gerry stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a bark of laughter escaped him. It wasn’t cruel, but it stung nonetheless. “That’s not my problem,” he said, flinging his hands up as he skated away, his stick clattering to the ice. “Figure it out.”

Her stomach twisted, the weight of humiliation pressing down on her chest. She wanted to sink into the floor, to be anywhere but here, but instead, she stood frozen in place.

A shadow approached, and she glanced up to see Lafreniere skating toward her. He stopped just short of her, his eyes kind but tinged with curiosity. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than Gerry’s had been.

“I—” She faltered, unsure how to explain, but he gave her an encouraging smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Thierry has a way of making his voice carry. Everyone already knows.” He chuckled, lightening the tension. “You’re not the first to need a little help out here. We all start somewhere. But he is right – you need to have proper protection. Everyone does, and that’s the rules. You can’t have little Timmy losing a finger at a media event – and we can’t have an employee do the same.”

Molly bit her lip, her insecurities bubbling to the surface. “But they’ll all think?—”

“They’ll think you’re trying,” he interrupted gently. “And that’s more than most. Now, go get some skates and gloves. I’ll grab something to help you balance.”

She hesitated, but his reassuring tone nudged her forward. “Okay,” she murmured, finally turning toward the locker room.

As she walked away, her head high despite the lingering sting of embarrassment, she resolved that this wouldn’t be the end of her story on the ice. If she wanted to belong here, with them, she’d have to find her footing—literally and figuratively. And maybe, just maybe, Gerry Thierry wasn’t as immovable as he seemed.