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The Zamboni finishes its last lap, leaving the ice glistening. A sudden burst of energy erupts as kids pour onto the rink. Olivia's among them, a dash of pink against the white. She looks for her place, sticking close to Sophia. The two girls are islands in a sea of boys.
"Olivia seems excited," Jessica observes.
"Yeah," I sigh, watching my daughter's cautious movements. There's a tightness in my chest, a mix of pride and worry. "I just hope we're doing the right thing here."
"Olivia's got this," Emily reassures me, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "She's a brave kid, takes after her mom."
"Thanks," I say, allowing myself a small smile. But deep down, uncertainty still gnaws at me.
I begin to look around, telling myself that I'm not trying to watch Victor Stone directly, but that I'm just curious about what he's going to do next. He hasn't moved, standing rigid on the sidelines, as out of place as a cactus in the Arctic. The kids buzz around him, strapping on their gear with eager hands, but he's like a statue, unmoved by the chaos.
"Thought this was a PR stunt," I mutter, leaning back. "He looks about as comfortable as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."
"Right?" Emily chimes in, her voice laced with amusement. "Like he's not sure what to do with all that... youthful energy."
"Definitely not here for his love of the game," Jessica adds, her eyebrows dancing with mirth.
My gaze sticks to him. It's clear he isn't here for the warm fuzzies—he's as detached as they come, and it irks me more than it should. I'm not one to care about the affairs of men like him, yet here I am, watching, analyzing.
As if on cue, the coach skates out onto the ice, slicing through the air with practiced ease. He's got an air of authority, the kind that comes from years on the rink. He makes a beeline for Victor, each stride confident andpurposeful.
"Looks like Coach Donovan's making his grand entrance," Emily notes. "Retired Railer, you know."
"Really?" I feign interest, my eyes darting between Victor and the coach. They meet at center ice, shaking hands—a photo op in the making.
"Big deal around here," she continues, her tone suggesting I should be impressed.
"Great," I say with a dismissive shrug, "so he can skate and Victor can buy good press. What a pair."
"Always the cynic," Jessica teases, nudging me with her elbow.
"Realist," I correct her, crossing my arms over my chest. "Just don't want Olivia—or any of these kids—getting caught up in some PR charade."
The flash of cameras punctuates my thought, capturing the handshake for tomorrow's headlines. Victor's stone-faced expression doesn't waver, even as the coach beams beside him. I can't help but wonder if anything genuine lies beneath that icy exterior.
"Let's just hope they remember there are actual kids involved," I add, my gaze drifting back to the rink where Olivia's now fully geared up, ready to take on the ice. "Anyway," I break away from the ice for a moment, turning back to Jessica. "We need to get those protest meetings on the calendar. If we're going to push back against this development, we can't drag our feet."
"Have you joined our Facebook group?" Jessica asks, her eyes sparkling with the kind of enthusiasm that'sinfectious. "It's for the parents with kids on the team. You could post the dates there. Get the word out faster."
"Good idea." I nod, a small smile creeping onto my face as I pull out my phone. I can almost taste the small victory, rallying the neighborhood, standing united, and beating Stone at his own game.
Olivia skating over to where Victor is standing pulls me back to reality, and I pocket my phone. There's an eagerness about her movements that makes my heart launch into my throat. I watch, hands clenching the cold metal of the bleachers, as Victor bends down to her level.
"Be careful, Liv," I mutter under my breath, knowing she can't hear me but saying it all the same. Victor's listening to her, but his face is unreadable, like he's analyzing every word.
Olivia points up at me, and suddenly Victor's gaze lifts, piercing blue eyes locking with mine. My hand raises in an awkward wave, a reflex more than anything. He doesn't wave back, just holds my gaze with an intensity that feels like a weight against my chest. What's he thinking? Is he judging me, us, like he judges everything else?
Then Olivia skates away, her laughter echoing in the chilly air. Victor's stare lingers a moment longer before he finally breaks away, leaving me wondering what just happened.
Chapter Eight
Victor
The loud thudof the morning edition echoes through my office as I throw it on my desk in disgust. Front page, and there's my face, plastered next to a headline that might as well call me Scrooge. I snatch up my phone. "Angela, get them back in the conference room. Now."
"Right away, Mr. Stone," she says, her voice a calm contrast to the storm brewing in my chest. She doesn't even have to ask who I mean.
I'm pacing when the PR team assembles in the conference room, their faces a mix of concern and anticipation. They know what's coming.