Chapter 4

FOUR

Annie

"How is Ivan?"

"He's good." I'm on the phone with my mom as I grab breakfast before heading to the practice facility. "Why?"

"Just curious. I'm so happy you two are together again."

I narrow my eyes at the way she says "together."

Ivan's my best friend. My former figure skating partner. And now my roommate in New York. I needed a place to live and he offered me his spare bedroom which was perfect until I can find a place of my own.

When Ivan and I skated together, after we won a few competitions and got somewhat known, especially after our first (and only) appearance at the Olympics, figure skating fans started shipping us. People loved our chemistry together on the ice and fantasized about our relationship off the ice. We could never understand why they cared that much, but apparently we did a good job selling the "romance" of our programs. Even though we denied we were in a relationship and insisted to the media we were just friends, the shipping continued.

And one of our biggest shippers was my mom. In an interview, she once told a reporter that we were so close, our relationship was basically like a marriage.

She loves Ivan. I mean, looooves him. What's not to love? He's gorgeous, talented, charming, brave, disciplined, loyal, and respectful. I love him, too! Just not like "that." Not like my mom wanted me to love him.

"Mom…"

"What?" Mom replies.

"You're not getting ideas about us again, are you?"

"What do you mean?" The innocence in in her voice is clearly fake. She knows exactly what I mean.

"Just because we're living together doesn't mean there's any romance developing between us."

"Hmmm."

She doesn't sound convinced.

"Seriously, Mom."

"Living together in such close proximity can trigger other kinds of feelings. Romantic feelings."

"No. It's not happening."

"Well. We'll see. So, when can I come visit?"

I make a face that she luckily can't see. I love my mom, I do, I just can't handle a visit from her right now. "We only have two bedrooms here in Ivan's apartment. One bathroom. There's not even a bathtub!"

"Oh no! I know you love a nice long soak in the tub."

"Yeah." I sigh. "Anyway, there's not a lot of room for visitors."

"Oh that's okay! I can stay in a hotel. I don't want to barge in on you. I just want to see you."

I bite my lip. "I'm a little stressed, starting the new job. I've been super busy. I haven't even finished unpacking. Maybe next month sometime?"

"I could come sooner and help you!"

I laugh. She probably could. She's a diehard hockey mom. "Just give me a little more time to settle in."

She sighs. "Okay, fine. I don't want to make things harder for you. But I can't wait to see Ivan again!"

I repress a scream. "I'm sure he'll love to see you, too."

He will. He loves my mom as much as she loves him.

"Have you heard from your brother?"

"Which one?" I ask dryly. I've heard from all of them in the last couple of days, wishing me good luck at my new job, wanting to know how things are going.

"Jensen! You need to meet Bailey! She's absolutely perfect for him and he's so happy."

"I did talk to him the other day. And yeah…he does sound happy." And I'm happy for him. "Okay, Mom, I have to go to work."

"Well, call me later then. I want to hear more about the new job!"

I end the call as Ivan saunters out from his room, bare chested, wearing low-slung sweatpants. His thick, sun-kissed brown curls that are his trademark hang onto his forehead and cover his neck.

"Who were you talking to, Banger?" he asks around a yawn. He opens the fridge door and pokes his head in.

"My mom. She wants to come visit."

"Oh, nice."

"I put her off."

"Of course you did."

I frown. "What does that mean?"

"When your mom told you not to do something, you did it twice. And took pictures."

I snort-laugh. "That's not true."

"Oh, come on, it is. You've rebelled against your parents your whole life."

I pout. "Well, you know I couldn't play hockey, much as they wanted it."

"I know."

"They thought figure skating was ridiculous. They were wrong."

"They were. In that case. How about the illegal tattoo you got when you were sixteen? And the times we were traveling, and you refused to check in with them because ‘you were fine.'"

I roll my lips in.

"Smoking weed?"

"Oh, come on, everyone does that now."

"Not so much ten years ago. And your parents hated it."

I can't stop my smile. "Yeah."

"You painted your bedroom walls black without them knowing."

"Every teenager pushes boundaries. It's part of growing up."

"Okay, what about the time you almost got suspended by the figure skating club because you got drunk at a party?"

I drop my gaze. "Scared straight," I mutter. "My parents were so pissed, but the threat of getting suspended or kicked out scared the shit out of me." I sigh. "Okay, you have a point. But I'm not like that anymore. I'm all grown up."

"Okay."

"Really! It's just not a good time for her to visit! And fair warning…she's getting ideas about us again. Because we're living together."

"Stella's so cute." He backs out of the fridge with a quart of milk in his hand. "Is this still good?"

"I don't know, it's yours. I hate milk. Unless it's in coffee."

He sniffs it. "Seems fine. So when is she coming?"

"Not until next month. This isn't a good time, in the middle of training camp."

"Okay. It'll be fun to see her again."

"She's excited to see you." I roll my eyes. "I think she wants to see you more than me."

He laughs and pours cereal into a bowl. "Doubtful."

I toss my orange peel, slide my dishes into the dishwasher, and wash my hands. "Okay, I'm outta here."

"This is the perfect job for you."

"Right?" I wiggle excitedly. "I loved coaching at Bayard, but this is the NHL! Finally, I'm at the same level as my brothers."

He cocks his head to one side and gives me a gentle smile. "It's not a competition. I've always told you that."

"Oh, come on. Everything's a competition." I jerk my chin at him. "Mr. Competitive."

He laughs. "Okay, yeah. But now my killer instinct is for the kids I coach, not myself."

Ivan coaches too, but it's figure skaters.

"I'm not home for dinner tonight," he reminds me.

"Right. Hot date."

"Let's hope." He asked out another figure skating coach for the first time.

"You need to have a girlfriend by the time my mom comes. That'll stop her."

He grins and reaches over to tug my ponytail. "Or you could have a boyfriend."

"Ha ha. Like that's going to happen. Okay, gotta go."

* * *

Heading to my office, eyes on my phone as I rush down the hall, I don't see the big body in front of me until we bash into each other.

"Oof!" I stagger backward and drop my phone. Luckily the cement wall is right here and I fall against it instead of the floor. "Jesus Christ!"

"Whoa!" The deep male voice has my head jerking up as large hands grab my arms. "Watch where you're going, there."

"What the—" My eyes fly open in outrage and I see Logan Coates standing before me.

"Mini Bang," he says quietly.

Oh God . Why did I ever tell him my family called me that?

Heat floods my veins as I stare at him, transfixed. My knees quiver. " You watch where you're going," I snap. "And don't call me Mini Bang." I bend and snatch my phone to inspect it for damage. Luckily the protective case is a heavy duty one, because my phone takes a lot of abuse.

Logan steps back, lips quirked. "But it's so cute." He pauses, one corner of his mouth lifting more. "But I guess I should call you Coach Bang."

Is he serious? Or yanking my chain? I give him a bright smile. "Coach Bang is perfect ."

And I step around him and march to my office.

Asshole.

I've got a little adrenaline rush going from that collision and in my tiny office I pace around, doing some deep breathing, talking to myself to settle myself down. Okay. Now we've run into each other. Literally. No big deal.

Mother of cake, he's still hot.

I close my eyes and go very still. It's okay. I can do this.

From the first time we met, that last day of the Olympics, there was a connection between us. We flirted. It was so easy and fun with him. He found out I was a figure skater and teased me about it not being a real sport. He looked at me like I was beautiful and fascinating.

I haven't felt that tug of attraction for anyone for a long time. I scrunch my face up, forced to admit I haven't felt that kind of magnetism since the first night I met him.

I didn't date much while I lived in Ridgedale. And when I was competing, I didn't really have time for boyfriends. My life was practices, competitions, and trying to keep up with schoolwork. Now, I'm trying to focus on my new job. And suddenly I'm derailed by thoughts of hot, sweaty, physical sex in the athlete's village.

He's the last man I can be attracted to, after what he did to Jensen.

I head to the ice, following the players as they make their way down the rubber mat from the dressing room. These practices are open to the public and a bunch of kids have gathered along the line control barriers set up. Some of the players tramp right by them, others slow down to acknowledge them. Logan Coates makes a point of fist bumping every kid who sticks their hand out. His smile is disturbingly engaging. The kids all notice it too, buzzing amongst themselves and their indulgent parents who also respond to Logan's grin.

He's a real charmer.

This pisses me off.

I glare at his retreating back with the big number 17 on it.

He took my brother down so hard he ended up in the hospital and was out for months. It looked bad. It looked dirty. Social media went nuts about it, vilifying Logan. I couldn't believe it was the same guy who'd…well, let's not go there. I was pissed that he'd hurt my brother and ready to do him harm if he ever came within punching distance of me.

The guy who did that shouldn't be blithely fist bumping and smiling at little kids.

I was worried sick about my brother and furious about what had happened, and I was even more pissed off because it happened the same day I was competing in the Four Continents event in Seoul. I considered withdrawing, but my family and Ivan and our coach convinced me to stay in the competition. I didn't know how I was going to go out there and focus on our routine when my brother was in the hospital in Los Angeles, but somehow I did. It took every bit of discipline and focus I'd learned over the years. We didn't win or even medal and we probably wouldn't have anyway, but I always wondered if that had impacted my performance.

Jensen got better and did play again, with no permanent damage from that ugly hit.

But now here I am face to face with the man I now consider a monster. And that old rage and resentment are gouging at my insides again.

I have to get my emotions under control. This is my job. I have to prove myself. I can't do that hating on one of the players. I have to be able to work with this guy.

* * *

After a few days of training camp, the exhibition games begin. Not every guy plays in every game, so I'm watching all of them. By this point, we have a good idea which players will make the cuts, and that starts formally happening the day after the first game, when three players are released. A few days later, eleven more guys are cut. I think they did what they needed to—they got on our radar, showed us what kind of player they are, and then when we need to call someone up, we'll know who.

I have to say I'm reluctantly impressed with Logan. He's not a rookie, he's got a few seasons of experience, and is probably a lock to make the team. But he gives his all out there every time he gets on the ice. I can't fault his work ethic.

Now it's time for the tough decisions. We're all in the big meeting room at the practice facility, sitting around the long table. Some of the guys are old school with papers strewn in front of them. I've got my computer with all my notes.

"He's played center and right wing," Gary says about one of the young guys who has been playing in the AHL. "He did some great things with the puck."

"Do we think he can be a full-time center?" Brad Julian asks.

"I think so," Gary says.

"Yeah, I do, too," Viktor says. "He's got confidence with the puck and a nice set of hands."

"But if we needed another winger, he could go there," Scott says.

I nod along with this, in agreement.

We move on to another player, Jack Wasylyk, who was given a professional tryout.

"I've been impressed by his—" I start.

"He doesn't have a lot of experience," Scott interrupts me.

I blink at him, then glance around the table. Everyone's listening to Scott. Ooookay.

I try again. "I think with a little?—"

"I like him," Brad says. "But what about Lavoie?"

They debate the two players and which one should get a chance.

"I think Wasylyk has the advantage?—"

Brad cuts me off again.

Frustration is an expanding balloon in my gut. I inhale a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and make eye contact with Brad. "Brad, I'm going to finish my point," I say firmly, leaning forward. I'm not apologizing for talking. I'm not asking if I can talk. I'm telling him. "These two players have different skating abilities and based on what I've been learning, I can see Wasylyk fitting in with our vision a lot better than Lavoie. He's relentless pursuing the puck, he has great stick skills, and with a bit of coaching, his skating skills could make him a really great forechecker."

Silence descends. I catch Tag Heller's raised eyebrows, then Jase Heller's lip twitch.

"Go on, Annie," Tag says.

I make my point, outlining my observations, sounding confident, and this time nobody interrupts me.

* * *

"How did today go? Did you axe people?"

"There was a lot of manterrupting." I twirl my fork into the spaghetti Ivan made for us for dinner. "Ugh."

He laughs. "Manterrupting?"

"Yeah. I'm sure I don't have to explain that to you."

"I guess not, no."

"For some reason I didn't expect to have to deal with this here. They knew they were hiring a woman. Why wouldn't they listen to me?"

"Fuckers," he says. "They should totally listen to you."

"Right?" I stab a piece of tomato in my salad. "Eventually I did get them to listen. I had to learn to deal with it at Bayard. You have to be assertive. Use strong body language. Sound confident." I roll my eyes. "Men."

"Yeah, men suck."

I laugh. "Also, we don't ‘axe' players."

"Fire them?"

"We release them," I say.

"Wow, that sounds so much better."

I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh. "It's hard because all these guys want it so bad. There's one guy I really feel for—he's young but a couple of years ago he got cancer and couldn't play."

"Oh, wow. That's awful."

"Yeah. He beat cancer, though. He's on a PTO."

Ivan tips his head.

"Professional tryout. It's for unsigned players. It gives them a chance to show their skills and hopefully earn a full-time contract."

"Is he going to make it?"

"I think so." I smile. "He seems to have really worked hard to get healthy. I really feel for the guy."

"You have to make decisions on their ability though, right? Not on how bad you feel for them."

"That's true. It's a business." I make a face. "And that meeting was all business."