“Always the pet,” I mutter, knowing that’s what they say about me.

  “And she finally admits it.” Lennox laughs, to which I hold my hand up to the lens and flip her off.

  “So has Hunter been receptive to your advances?” he asks, and I cough in response to fight the smile on my lips.

  “We haven’t gotten to that part yet.” I bite my bottom lip as they all stare at me.

  “Hence the blank status report,” Chase mutters under her breath.

  “And why not?” Lennox prompts.

  “It hasn’t been the right time.”

  “In two-plus weeks’ time, you haven’t found a measly moment to corner him and ask if he’s happy with his representation?” Chase asks.

  “Look, I’m here because you guys feel like he’s a ticking timebomb you want me to manage. I have to use caution. His game is stellar, but he’s a disaster off the ice, so I’m trying to be the one to be there to fix his fuck-ups right now. He’s burned out, and I’m trying to help him see that. Trying to help him see what he fell in love with again.”

  There’s a snort in the conference room and they all glance to Brexton, and I can only imagine what she said.

  I clear my throat and continue. “I’m trying to show him I’m the one there when Sanderson’s not or is too busy with his other clients. I’m trying to make it be me who Hunter calls when he needs something. When he needs someone to understand him,” I say, knowing it’s so much more than that. To them, this is our career and business, but to me, it’s wanting to see him get over this. “I’m at the games with the praise, but it’s the off of the ice part that will win him to my side.”

  “Smart. Let him get comfortable—umm . . . more comfortable with you,” Chase says.

  “Knock it off, you guys. Hunter and I happened over three years ago. We’re both mature adults who’ve moved on,” I lie.

  “I hear Sanderson was there,” my dad says before a fight can start.

  “He was.” I nod. “His warning was delivered and ignored.” Their chuckles fill the room.

  “And you?” my dad asks. “How are you holding up?”

  How do I answer that with the four people who know me best? How do I mask my expression so they don’t see I’m kind of a mess this morning, torn by emotions I can’t even name myself?

  Because now that he’s asked, it’s ten times harder to pretend it’s not there.

  Now that he’s brought it up, all I want to do is crawl into his arms and get a fatherly hug that tells me it’s going to all work out in the end.

  “I’m good. Fine,” I reiterate. “My goal is to get Hunter alone this week between the next set of games and pitch our case.”

  “Rumor is Finn’s not happy with him,” Lennox says.

  “Rumor is a lot of people aren’t.” I pull my hair up in a clip, suddenly more aware than ever what I probably look like to them. “And I intend to exploit that to my advantage.”

  My father nods, his hands steepled in front of him, and lips pursed. “He’s our in to Sanderson, Dekk. He’s the influencer or whatever term you young kids use these days. He’s the one who sets the bar. Get him over and it’ll be easier to pull more hockey players who want to be him.” He leans back in his chair and, as he looks me directly in the eyes, I feel both his challenge and confidence in me. “I know you can do it.”

  DEKKER

  “THIS SEAT TAKEN?” I ASK when I spot Hunter in the hotel lobby Starbucks.

  He barely glances up from his iPad as he stands abruptly. “Now, it is. Have at it.”

  Ridiculously, I think he’s standing to pull out my chair. Instead, he starts to walk away.

  “Hey,” I say after him, surprised and dumbfounded by his reaction. “Hunter.”

  “What?” he snaps as he looks back at me.

  “I’ve texted and you haven’t answered. I thought maybe we could talk, you know—about—”

  “About what? Our mistake?” He scrunches his nose up and my insides twist at that stupid phrase. “No thanks. I’m sure Callum or another one of the guys will be along shortly, and I don’t want to fuck up your reputation with them because you slummed it with me.”

  “Jesus Christ. Are you kidding me?” I stare at him dumbfounded, hands out, head shaking.

  “Nope. I’m not kidding in the least.” He takes a step toward me and lowers his voice. “You wanted sex, you got sex. You want to take the temperature on a new client, then put your damn toes in the water. Sleeping with him and bolting for old time’s sake is a dick move.”

  His words sting and hurt and I stare after him, blinking. There’s obviously so much I don’t understand about last night.

  I walked away trying to protect my heart.

  He watched me walk away thinking I was using him?

  I’ve really screwed up almost every aspect of this.

  “You have this pegged all wrong. Me all wrong.”

  “Morning,” Katzen says as he strolls into the coffee shop and then stops and looks from Hunter to me and then back. “We still working on that coupling thing?” he asks obliviously. “Because if you are, I think there should be a lot more lovin’ and a little less fighting.” He holds his hand up in mock surrender and laughs when Hunter glares at him. “Just saying.”

  “Whatever,” I say with a roll of my eyes and a forced smile.

  “I’ve got a phone call with Sanderson,” Hunter says and holds his phone up as if that’s his answer to why he keeps walking and doesn’t engage.

  Or maybe to throw it in my face who his agent is.

  “Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?” Katz asks with an over-exaggerated flip of the bird to his teammate.

  “No idea,” I murmur.

  Me.

  I did.

  I’m the one who pissed him off and screwed this up.

  “Well, shit,” Katz says, sliding into the seat in front of me. “If he’s not going to sit with a pretty lady, then I definitely will. I’m around way too many jockstraps these days and not enough G-strings.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “If you’re looking for G-strings, you’re sitting at the wrong damn table,” I say but then shift in my seat, considering the black lace one I put on this morning.

  DEKKER

  THEY’RE BEING LITTLE BRATS, BUT their comments on the scouting memo give me a much-needed laugh.

  And then I hit send, leaving the status for Hunter Maddox blank. Serves those nosy little punks right.

  DEKKER

  I SIT IN THE PRESS booth in whatever damn city we’re in and answer my messages. One after another. Email and phone call after email and phone call.

  But I work through them as the Jacks practice on the ice below and work on a new defensive play that just might work in the coming weeks.

  It would be smarter to work in my hotel room, but I’m distracted. Not by work that desperately needs my attention but rather the man on the ice who has consumed my thoughts since he left the coffee shop the other day.

  Who am I kidding? He’s consumed it much longer than that, but I’m not counting that part.

  Maybe it’s because we’ve never had a chance to be alone since then, my texts have gone unanswered, and my phone calls sent to voicemail. I’ve even thought about sliding a note under his door, but just my luck, a teammate would find it and more shit would hit the fan.

  We really need to talk about why I left, about why I’m here, and about what his perception of it is.

  This could all be solved with decent communication—in fact, if it were one of my friends, that’s the first bit of advice I’d impart—but it’s not as easy as that.

  The minute I tell him why I’m here—whatever’s happening or has happened between us can be no more. Then he becomes a client. Then I must put professionalism before him.

  And the struggle between pleasing my father and owning what I want makes the path not so clear-cut.

  “You sure are spending a lot of time with the team.”

  I startle and look back to see Ian McAvoy standing with his arms crossed and shoulder leaned against the doorframe.

  “The same can be said for yourself,” I reply with a smile, hoping he’ll smile at my joke. He doesn’t. “Most GMs aren’t fond of road trips.”

  “And most GMs’ teams haven’t been pulled from the depths of the hockey dungeon to the top of the division within two years.”

  “True.” I nod, shut my laptop, and lean back in my chair to wait for him to talk about whatever it is he wants to talk about. Ian isn’t one to hang and chat without having an objective in sight.

  “Should I believe the rumors?” he asks.

  “Depends which rumors they are.”

  “Why you’re here.”

  “I have clients on your team. We’re heading into unknown territory for some of them, and I want their heads in the right place come playoff time.”

  “And what about those who aren’t your clients? Shouldn’t it be said I need them to be left alone so their heads are in the right place too?”

  “Let’s not beat around the bush, Ian. If you’ve got something to say, then say it.” I rise from my seat, never wanting to be at a disadvantage. Him standing over me puts me at a disadvantage.

  “What do you want with Maddox?”

  I purse my lips and watch the team practicing. Hunter moves with ease, and then something is said among them so their laughter floats up to Ian and me.

  “He’s not my client if that’s what you’re asking,” I finally say, wondering if Ian would be having this same conversation with me if I were a man.

  “I’m well aware he’s not your client.” His shoes squeak on the concrete floor as he takes a few steps past me and braces his hands on the desk the next row up. “It just seems like you’ve taken a special interest in him.”

  I draw in a deep breath and let the sigh of frustration be heard. “I have a vested interest in this team. Callum is coming off an injury, Stetson is trying hard to fight his way onto the roster, and Guzman is doing his thing. Like I told you when I cleared my being here beforehand, it was a good time to check on some clients. If something has changed, just come out and say it.”

  “I’ve known your father a long time, Dekker,” Ian says, looking back at me over his shoulder from behind his glasses.

  “So have I.” My response sounds like I’m trying to be funny, but I’m not. I already know where he’s going with this, and my guard is up.

  “I’ve never seen him doing something like this.”

  “Like what? Road trip with a team to check in on clients? Funny. He’s the one who insisted I come.”

  “It’s different,” he says.

  “How so?”

  “You’re a woman. The team acts differently with women agents around. They—”

  “With all due respect, Mr. McAvoy,” I say and step beside him as Hunter scores a goal and the rest of the team taps their sticks to the ice in response. “This is my job, not a bar where I come to hit on men. I’ve never been anything but professional. I don’t venture into the locker rooms to keep it that way, while male agents go in and out like a revolving door. Your implication is bullshit and unfounded,” I lie through my teeth.

  “Don’t fuck with our season, Kincade. Maddox is a huge part of it.”

  “He’s an old friend. I’m allowed to reach out and make sure he’s okay, considering it seems like he’s dealing with some shit. That’s just the person I am, so you can either appreciate the help in taming your out-of-control star, or you can tell his agent to do his job himself. While I may be able to heed your threats, they only succeed in pushing your star further away.”

  “I need the Cup.”

  “I have no doubt Maddox is going to lead this team and get it for you.”

  HUNTER

  I SIT ON A FROZEN metal bleacher in the freezing fucking cold and stare at the players.

  My attention is rapt on the two kids on the ice. Two boys who are laughing as much as they’re practicing. Two boys who every now and again skate past each other and wrap an arm around the other’s neck in brotherly affection.

  My decision to come here to try and remind myself how it used to feel rewarding.

  You’re burned out.

  I watch them with tears burning in my eyes.

  Two kids having fun. Learning to play a sport and love a game that has been humming in my blood for as long as I can remember.

  Two kids pretending to be someone like me when all I want to do is go back and be like them. Innocent. Unjaded. With my brother back at my side.

  Fucking fried.

  What are you going to do, Maddox? Lie down and die? Walk away from the game?

  Or win the Cup for Jonah with the club he told you to play for? Win the Cup he should have won in a game he was always so much better at?

  My insides are a fucking jumbled mess. Shit stirred up I don’t want to acknowledge. Shit Dekker’s presence brought to light.

  Fuck.

  And thinking of her—hell, I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing is thinking of her—screws me up even more.

  I scrub my hand over my face and breathe out a huge sigh as the boys’ laughter floats over to me.

  “Nah-uh. Dad’s never going to let us be on the same team,” the taller of the two says.

  “Why not?”

  “Because then we can’t both be stars, silly.” He pushes his brother from behind so he’s shoved forward, and they both start giggling hysterically and look over to where their dad sits in his truck, engine running, heater probably on, as he eyes the crazy man sitting by himself in the bleachers to gauge if he’s a creeper.

  I don’t care, because all I hear is what the big kid just said: because then we can’t both be stars.

  Such a simple solution we never got the chance to figure out for ourselves.

  The loneliness hits me even harder watching them, but so do the memories. The laughter. The secrets. The bond we shared on and off the ice.

  It never mattered that he was the star and I was the second string. It only mattered that we were there together. It only mattered that we understood each other. It only mattered that I played the sport I loved with the brother I loved more.

  I lift my head to the clear sky and close my eyes for a beat.

  I’m so sorry, Jonah.

  I’m going to win you that Cup you deserved.

  I’m going to break every record in your name, because I know you already would have.

  I’m trying to be the star for both of us before one or both of us burn out. “You can’t go yet, J. Don’t go until I finish the job you asked me to finish. Don’t leave me yet.”

  When I rise from the bleachers half an hour later, I don’t have all the answers, but I have more determination and clarity.

  DEKKER

  “HEY.”

  Hunter stops midstride and glances over to my car where I’ve pulled up beside him. “Go away, Dekk.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I keep driving slowly beside him as he keeps walking.

  “Just what it sounds like. I don’t want what you’re selling.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m not offering anything,” I mutter. “We need to talk about the other night.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, still refusing to look my way.

  “There’s not?” There’s a whole host of shit we need to talk about.

  “Nope.”

  Nope? What the hell? I slam the rental car into park, hop out, and jog up beside him, but he still refuses to look my way.

  “Hunter? What the hell?” I grab his arm and he turns on me with confusion and anger etched in the lines of his face.

  “You’re wasting my time, Kincade. I’ve got practice to get to. You know, my job. I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been throwing myself into perfecting my game. As an agent, you should appreciate that in a client.”

  His smile is tight and his words are cutting.

  “I do, but I also know avoidance when I see it.”

  “What am I avoiding?” he asks and takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest, throwing the ball back in my court and of course now that he has, I just stare at him.

  Answer the question honestly and sound like a needy female. Lie and sound like a flustering idiot.

  “Me.” I choose honesty and feel so stupid saying it, but it’s true, and it’s better if we face this now rather than later.

  “Bullshit,” he sneers.

  “You’re not avoiding me?” I ask on the defensive.

  “Nope. Don’t think so highly of yourself. I have a Cup to win. I have a team to lead. I have consequences if I let them all down.”

  “You’ve always had a Cup to win.” I take a step toward him as he takes one back. “I don’t under—Hunter, talk to me.”

  “About what? How we got drunk. How we had a laugh or two. Then how we fucked.” He throws his arms out to his sides and raises his voice. “Just like old times, huh? No harm, no foul—mistake made and realized until the next time.”

  His words should hurt, but for some reason, they don’t. Maybe it’s because it’s been two days since we slept together and this is the first time I’ve been able to actually talk. It’s been two days of overthinking and wondering if the sex was just sex or blowing it out of proportion to second-guess every nuance of his and wonder if there could be more. But now that I’m standing here, he’s made it clear what the answer is, and I’m not exactly sure what to say.

  “I—I just thought we should talk about it.”

  His chuckle is raw and brutal. “About what? The snow angels? The shit I said in the bar? Or someone seeing us together?”

  “Because it could affect my job.”

  He chuckles and scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I expected more from you than that. I really did.” The disappointment in his voice is like a knife to my heart. Here he is handing me the key to the door I need. But I know the minute I unlock and open it, everything I want will fall out of reach.

  “I can’t give you more.” It’s the only thing I can think to say as my professional world wars against my personal one.