Chapter Four

Rowan

The relaxing hum of the salon's pedicure massage chair vibrates through my body, easing away the tension from sitting on those stadium seats week in and week out. It’s a welcome distraction, especially with my first away game with the team looming just a few days from now.

Strings of Valentine’s Day twinkle lights and heart shaped cut outs fill the salon in every nook and cranny. The long rows of pedicure spa chairs are all full of clients getting their toes done for their holiday plans.

I might not have romantic plans for Valentine’s Day this year, unless you count the CSI marathon I have planned with my sister Jordan and my neighbors dog, Sherlock, but I couldn't pass up Autumn, Keely and Zoey's invite to get our pedicures before their dinner dates tomorrow.

I wiggle my toes in the warm, bubbling water of the pedicure bath, letting out a sigh of bliss. This is exactly what I needed after the last few weeks of insistent texts and emails from my boss wanting the Townsend story, and trying not to get caught talking to Reeve about Keely’s situation with her dad.

As far as I know, Keely still hasn’t told Phil or Sam about her dad, and if my boss ever finds out that I knew about that story and buried it, I’ll be looking for a new job. Even after putting my own ass on the line at work, I can't believe that Bex accused me of being the cause of Reeve’s performance issues out on the ice.

I thought after our non-interview success a couple of weeks ago that Bex and I would find ourselves in a better place. But his scowl in my direction has barely softened.

Which leads me to believe that the person who deserves performance issues is Coach Bex.

Unfortunately the level of concentration that Bex exudes as a coach, has me almost sure that he’s as intense in the bedroom as he is on the ice.

I wrinkle my nose and shake away the thought of Bex having sex. It's the last thing I should be thinking about.

To my left, Keely sits with her eyes closed, her usually cheerful face sporting an uncommon frown. On the other side of Keely is Zoey, who is trying to win a limited edition signed hockey stick on an online auction website for Brent’s Valentine’s Day present.

On my right, Autumn, the Hawkeyes in-house PR guru and Briggs Conley’s fiance, scrolls through a work email that just came up. Though it's technically a work day, Autumn and I both make our own schedules, and as long as Keely doesn't have a therapy session with a player for PT, she's usually free, too. For a weekday, the salon bustles with activity around us, the air filled with the scent of nail polish and chatter from the many conversations all happening around us.

"You okay there, Keely?" I ask, nudging her gently with my elbow.

Keely's eyes flutter open, and she gives me a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just that I can't stop thinking about the text I got from my dad yesterday. I still haven't responded back."

Zoey’s head snaps up from her phone. "Your dad? As in..."

Zoey’s is the newest of the Hawkeyes WAGs, now dating Brent Tomlin, Tessa’s older brother, but our girls group is the blood oath kind so she’s been brought up to speed, swearing to take all secrets to her grave.

Autumn leans forward past me to make eye contact with Keely. “You mean the one who just got out of prison last year for racketeering?"

"Yeah," Keely nods, her voice barely above a whisper.

I reach out and squeeze Keely's hand. "You don't owe him a response if you don't want to." She nods, staring down at her toes in the water. "What did he say?"

Keely shrugs and lets out a defeated sigh. "Nothing much. Just that he wants to meet up, catch up on lost time. But I don't know if I'm ready for that. And with everything going so well with Reeve and the team... I'm just worried, you know? I don't want to bring unwanted attention to the team or Reeve over this."

I understand her concern about the news outlets getting a hold of this story. Having a father with a criminal record for paying off players to throw a game isn't exactly something you want broadcast when you're dating one of the star players of an NHL team. And if Charles knew I was holding this story back, he’d probably fire me or at least demote me to Fact Checker.

If she weren't dating Reeve who plays for a professional team, this story wouldn't matter to any reporter anyway, but since it does, it’s the kind of click bait that The Seattle Sunrise would salivate over.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound reassuring. "The ties to your father aren't easy to find unless someone already knows where to look. And even if it does come out, it's the kind of news story that would barely make the front pages. The press would be onto something new by Monday."

Autumn bends forward in her chair on the other side of me, making eye contact with Keely and nods in agreement. "Absolutely. And with my years in PR, trust me, we could spin this story into a positive faster than you can say redemption arc ."

Keely's shoulders relax a bit. "You think so?"

"Of course," I say, giving her hand another squeeze. "You became a physical therapist to give back to the sports community, right? That's a beautiful story of overcoming adversity and choosing a different path. People eat that stuff up. And I think a lot of people can relate to wanting to excommunicate a family member."

A small smile tugs at Keely's lips. "Thanks, guys. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Speaking of your situation," I say, lowering my voice, "Reeve stopped me in the hallway to ask me if I had heard from you yet. I swear the poor guy still thinks you might bolt to protect him if a story gets out about your dad.” It's really sweet to see how much Reeve loves Keely. "Bex caught us in the hallway."

Keely's eyes widen. "Oh no, did Reeve tell him about my dad?"

I shake my head quickly. "No, no. Bex was just being Bex. He didn't hear our conversation but I think he’s so worried that it’s getting to him out on the ice a little. Just talk to him and let him know what’s going on."

Autumn leans in, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Oh? And how exactly was Bex being Bex?"

I roll my eyes, recalling our confrontation. "Oh, you know, the usual. Accusing me of distracting his players, demanding to know what Reeve and I were talking about. He even suggested I was 'working an angle' or something."

Autumn's eyebrows shoot up. "Sounds on brand with how you two have been coexisting the last several months. Now that you mention it, I've been hearing some whispers around the office about a huge blow-up in Sam's office two weeks ago. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

I groan, sinking lower in my chair. "God, is nothing sacred in that place? Yes, there was a... disagreement in Sam's office. Bex isn't thrilled about me traveling with the team for away games. I sort of thought we got past it over lemonade and British wieners, but I guess we didn’t."

“Weiners?” Zoey gasps.

“It sounds more exciting than it was, trust me,” I tell them as they gawk at me.

Keely doesn’t miss a beat, she’s far too used to me by now. "But the travel arrangements have been set since the beginning, right? So he has no say?" she asks, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Exactly!" my voice coming off a little too loudly. A few heads turn in our direction, and I lower my voice again. "It was all arranged and approved by Phil Carlton himself. But apparently, Coach Grumpy Pants thinks I'm going to be a 'distraction' to the team."

Keely's face softens. "Aw, Bex isn't that bad. He was really supportive when Reeve was in the hospital after that terrible hit."

I can't help but scoff. "Yeah, well, he has a funny way of showing support. You should have heard some of the things he said. He practically accused me of being some tabloid vulture out to ruin his team's chances at the playoffs."

Autumn hides a smirk behind her hand. "And what exactly did you say in response?"

I feel my cheeks heat up, remembering my sharp response. "I corrected him on some choice words I used to describe him in an article last year."

Zoey gasps. "You didn't!"

"Oh, she did," Autumn chuckles. "I remember that article. What was it? Something about a bridge troll?"

I groan again. "Don't remind me. That article is coming back to bite me right on the tuchus."

Autumn bursts into laughter, while Keely looks torn between amusement and sympathy.

"Oh, Ro," Keely sighs, shaking her head. "No wonder he's been extra grumpy lately."

"But that's just it!" I protest. "He's always been grumpy. I'm not the first reporter to point it out, and I doubt I'll be the last. I just don't understand how everyone seems to love him despite his prickly personality."

Our estheticians return with hot wax and Saran wrap for our pedicure spa treatment, and I get a moment to check the text that pinged in my purse earlier when we first arrived.

"How's the temperature of the wax?" my esthetician asks as she places one foot at a time in the wax and then wraps my feet.

"It's perfect. Thank you."

There's no better time for warm wax to squish between your toes than on a rainy April day in Seattle.

As Keely and Autumn confirm the wax temperatures of their own, I pull out my phone and glance at the message my sister just sent me. A picture from social media that she screenshot of my ex, Drew and his newly minted fiancé… by the look of her holding out her hand in the photo and the caption "Forever Mrs. Lansbury."

Jordan: He should have captioned it "Mrs. What-a-fucking-tool".

She means that about Drew, my ex, and the man who broke up with me after dozens of doctors' visits and one round of IVF confirmed the prognosis—I won't ever carry my own children.

Rowan: I'm happy for him.

Jordan: You shouldn't be. He doesn't deserve it.

I remember the moment I stared down at a positive pregnancy test sitting on the bathroom counter of our shared apartment. It's crazy to think that the surprise wasn't one I was instantly excited about. Drew and I had met while I was interning right out of college for ESPN, my dream job, and he was an affiliate journalist.

We bumped into each other one day in the halls of ESPN and he asked me out almost immediately. We moved in together three months later and the pregnancy test came six months after that. We hadn't even been together a year. So when I saw the test, I cringed at the idea of having to tell Drew that we hadn't been as careful as we thought. Now looking back at how it all turned out, I wish I wouldn't have regretted the possibility of being pregnant for even a second.

Two weeks later, I went to see my OBGYN expecting to get an ultrasound to confirm the gestational age and left finding out that not only was the test a false positive and I was never pregnant, but that the ultrasounds of my uterus left my OB wanting more tests. A month later, it only came with worse news. My doctor estimates that my chances of ever getting pregnant are near one percent.

"But miracles happen, Rowan," she told me.

Drew was optimistic at the time, and we decided that less than one percent means there's still a chance. We tried for nine months and then went on to try IVF. My body didn't handle the injections and hormones well and the transfer didn't take. I missed too many days at work because of feeling ill, and when it came time to offer me a full-time journalist position, they went with a different candidate.

Almost a year to the day that I found out that I wouldn't likely ever have kids, Drew moved out, stating that we'd both regret it if he stayed. But what he meant to say is that he'll regret it one day if he stays with a woman who can't give him children.

It doesn't help that Drew and I still work in the same circles. I still have to see the man at least once a month, usually in a press box.

We're cordial, and now, after so many years, I don't even flinch when I see him at an event we're both invited to.

After licking my wounds on Jordan's couch for four months, I applied for an open position with The Seattle Sunrise . They were impressed with my internship with ESPN and my time as the editor-in-chief for my college paper, which turned from paper to digital during the time I was in charge. It was a large undertaking but one of my greatest accomplishments. The Seattle Sunrise hired me on the spot, and I've been working my way up ever since.

I decided the day I got off my sister's couch that if I'm doomed to never find a man who won't accept me without a baby, then at least I can climb to the top of my career ambitions.

I stare at the picture again, seeing the smile on her face—seeing the smile on his. My heart tightens in my chest as I feel a rush of old pain surface—the familiar ache that never quite goes away. Not the ache for him, but for what won't ever be for me.

Rowan: He was bound to move on someday.

Jordan: You're letting that asshole off too easy.

Maybe so but I just want to move on too and stop thinking about what I can't have.

I blink back the sting of tears, refusing to let them fall. Autumn and Keely are still laughing, oblivious to the inner turmoil attempting to rise to the surface. I take a deep breath and force a smile as I put my phone back down, my mind swirling.

"As I was saying. Coach Bex is harmless," Keely protests.

This isn't the first person to try to tell me that Coach Bex isn't all that bad. Reeve referred to him as a pissed-off T-rex because of his short arms, though Bex has long muscular arms so the analogy never made sense. Even Adele tried to sing his praises as he decided to take the emergency stairs instead of riding down the elevator with me after the meeting with Sam.

"Harmless? You tell that to the dozen or so players whose noses he's broken in his long career that Bexley Townsend is a docile creature, and I can guess what they'll tell you," I scoff. "The man is as harmless as a trigger-happy skunk with irritable bowel syndrome."

Autumn's smirk grows wider. "Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye. You know, Pepe La Pew was a skunk too."

I lift a confused brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs innocently. "Oh, nothing. Just an observation."

Before I can press her further, our nail estheticians return to remove the wax and start on our pedicures. As she begins working on my toes, I can't help but mull over Autumn's words. More to Bex than meets the eye? Unlikely. The man is as transparent as they come – grumpy, stubborn, and seemingly determined to make my job as difficult as possible.

I shake my head, dismissing the idea that something runs deep in that man. No, Coach Bex is exactly what he appears to be – a thorn in my side and an obstacle to overcome in my quest to prove myself and pave the way for me to make a name for myself.

"So," Keely says, breaking me out of my thoughts, "What's your game plan for dealing with Bex on the away games?"

I sigh, watching the esthetician start to apply a base coat. "Honestly? I'm not sure. I was hoping to keep a low profile, you know? Just observe, take notes, maybe get a few quotes here and there. But now..."

"Now you feel like you have something to prove," Autumn finishes for me.

I nod. "Exactly. I can't let him think he's intimidated me into backing off. But I also don't want to overstep and give him a real reason to complain to Sam or Phil."

Keely reaches over and pats my arm. "You'll figure it out, Ro. You're smart and talented. Just... maybe try to stay on his good side to make it easy for you to get what you need."

I laugh. "Me? Stay on his good side? I think you've got it backward, Keely. He's the one who seems to have it out for me."

"You know, sometimes when two people clash like this, it's because they're more alike than they realize," Zoey says with a raised brow.

I nearly choke on air. "Excuse me? I am nothing like Bexley Townsend."

"Are you sure about that?" Autumn challenges, her eyes twinkling. "You're both passionate about your work, dedicated to your respective fields, and from what I've seen, equally stubborn."

I open my mouth to protest, but no words come out. As much as I hate to admit it, Autumn might have a point. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"Even if that's true," I say finally. "It doesn't change the fact that he sees me as the enemy. How am I supposed to do my job if he's constantly trying to shut me out?"

Keely leans in, her voice low so that no one else in the salon can hear us. "You know, Reeve once told me that the key to getting through to Bex is to prove your dedication. Show him that you care about the game and the team as much as he does."

I consider this for a moment. "So, what? I should start reciting hockey stats and showing up to every practice?"

Autumn shakes her head. "He thinks you're a reporter that only cares about the story and not about the game, right? Then show genuine interest and respect for what they do. And he's obviously reading your articles. So, show him that you're not just there for bridge troll headlines but to tell the real story of the team's journey."

As much as I hate to admit it, their advice makes sense. I've been so focused on defending myself against Bex's accusations that I haven't really taken the time to prove him wrong. Maybe a change in approach is exactly what I need.

"Alright," I say, a fresh new outlook settling over me. "I'll give it a shot. But if he still acts like the grumpy honey badger that I know he is deep down inside, all bets are off."

Keely and Autumn laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating.

"That's the spirit," Autumn says, raising her hand for a high-five. "Now, let's focus on more important matters. What color are you thinking for your toes?"

I send one last text off to my sister.

Rowan: We’re still on for Valentine’s?

Jordan: Yep, see you tomorrow night.

As me and the girls dive into a heated debate about the merits of 'Ballet Slippers' versus 'Bikini So Teeny', I can't help but feel grateful for these moments of girl talk. In the whirlwind of hockey drama and journalistic challenges, it's nice to remember that sometimes, the biggest decision you have to make is what shade of pink looks best on your toes.