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Chapter Four

“Speculation begins. Who will replace Zacha if he doesn’t return? All eyes turn to Trent Beckett. The rookie had a good year out in Lynchburg, but does his lack-luster showing during the playoffs mean the Renegades should eye the trade market this off-season?” Renegades Rinkside Report

Novy

The second the door closed behind the two men, I aimed an accusing finger in Scout’s direction and shot back to her bedside. “What are you thinking? Are you even thinking? Those men are complete strangers! And you’d have me go live with the big one? Did you lose your mind when you hit that pole?”

Scout wagged her head in the middle of my rant and when I sucked in a breath to give her part two, she leaned forward, hand raised as though to block my words. “He’s a Renegade. Etienne wouldn’t approve of you staying with him if he presented any kind of actual danger. I might not be tight with my dad’s family, but if that guy wants to continue playing hockey in the National Hockey League, no way he’d do anything to endanger the owner’s granddaughter.”

“Yeah, genius, the owner’s granddaughter isn’t the one he’d be living with.”

“Same thing.”

The certainty in her words didn’t mask the guilt shining in her eyes, or the way her shoulders caved in. I rushed to reassure her. “We’ll find another venue. I know we will. Losing the lease is not your fault. Everyone’s working on leads and Richland is a big place. We’ll find something any day now.”

“We’ve got the rec center next week and then nothing. And we can wish and hope and try, but we don’t know when something else is going to turn up, or even if it will.” She flicked the hem of the blanket covering her legs. “I know how to fall. The first thing we learn in derby is how to fall. I’m so stupid. I screwed us all over being so damn stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid. We’ve all come close to nailing that pole a million times. Our luck finally just ran out. Not your fault.”

“And now I can’t even do much to help us find a new place trapped in this fancy prison of a hospital bed.”

The misery in her voice twisted through me. I’d moved to Richland from Georgia in fourth grade, the same year her parents divorced and her mother moved them to Richland from rural Virginia. She became my first friend and then my best friend when she offered her Fire Snapple as a trade for my boring Apple Capri Sun and we’d not looked back since. She’d talked me into volleyball in ninth grade, into going out with Danny Sweaty Palms in tenth, and to dye my hair purple ombre by the twelfth.

Not much changed over the years, though I had convinced her hair dye was wasted on me. So when she decided we’d tryout for roller derby two years ago, my weak protests fell on deaf ears. Good thing, since now I couldn’t imagine being without my derby girls.

But hard to run a derby team without a practice facility. And I absolutely hated the worry lines digging across my bestie’s forehead. “What do you know about Zacha? Was he at the Spring Picnic this year?”

She focused over my shoulder, not meeting my eyes. Yeah, something had happened at that picnic. I’d had to cover a shift at the last minute at work, a circumstance I’d avoided by pure luck my whole adult working life. She’d never had to go to one of her Pendleton family events solo before, but there’d been no way for me to get out of working.

“Should we call Etienne, just to double check?” I leaned to pick up her phone from the bedside table. Tapping the front to wake it up, I smiled at the huge head filling up her background. “And who’s taking care of Clyde while you’re in here? I should have asked about him before now, I’m a terrible friend! Do I need to go get him? But it’s the off-season now, right?”

Her continued silence had me looking up. Glassy-eyed, she kept a laser-focus on the abstract painting hanging on the opposite wall. Scout had taken care of the coach’s dog since he’d brought him home as a puppy. More recently, they’d come to some sort of shared custody that had them swapping weeks with Clyde as though he was their child and a judge had set a formal arrangement.

I’d thought she’d be happy. She’d crushed on the Renegades head coach since we’d both been silly teens, so a legitimate reason to spend time in his company had seemed like a gift, in my opinion. But since returning from her grandfather’s annual picnic several weeks ago, she’d clammed up when it came to talking about Etienne and I hadn’t wanted to push.

Her long-standing and unrequited crush on the head coach was the reason I’d never mentioned my interest in Boh, too. Honesty was important between friends, of course. But honesty didn’t mean sharing every little thought that passed through our brains.

But it did mean we could turn to one another when we needed to talk or needed help. “Scout?”

Her eyes darted to me and she blinked away the shine. “Clyde’s fine. And this guy is fine, too. I don’t know him personally, true, but you know we can trust Etienne. He’d say something if he thought it wasn’t a good idea.”

I nodded and let out a long sigh.

She tipped her chin down, but not before I saw her roll her lips together. We both knew the signs of me caving, but she’d humor the last of my resistance.

“I may not know him directly,” she added in a soft tone, “but I know he and another player were in a wreck in the middle of the first round of the playoffs. It happened during the picnic, actually. Probably where he broke his ankle. Neither of them could play the rest of the match-up. People are blaming them for ending the Renegade’s record-setting year through pure stupidity. Grandfather’s PR people tried to hush the publicity, but this town—shoot, the whole dang state—loves their Renegades too much to let things go when they feel they’ve been wronged.”

“Were they drunk?”

“No idea.”

Her voice sounded more like the Scout I knew and I smiled. “Foolish to be fools in the middle of the playoffs.”

“I heard one of the Florida teams lost their playoff run after they stayed out all night with a full contingent of strippers. I suppose a car wreck where two players were only slightly injured is less damaging than strippers, in the big scheme of things.”

“Suppose so.” I sat on the edge of her bed. “He’s so rude, though. You know he never even apologized downstairs?”

“The lawyer said he was sorry.”

“Like that means anything.”

“We could have a really nice place to practice until we get something permanent. We’ll all breathe a sigh of relief, especially you. I know you’ve been dwelling on the whole getting booted situation.”

“Only because I knew you’d shoulder the blame for us getting kicked out. But they were just looking for a reason to cancel our lease.”

“Then let’s get a good deal out of the lawyer and Grandfather so we can call the girls to celebrate.”

Scout spoke lightly. For my benefit. My best friend would know the thoughts ping-ponging through my brain. Could I really commit to living with a complete stranger for the sake of Scout and the girls? I could certainly be trapped with worse looking lunatics.

But nothing about him set off any red flags for me. Was he an asshole? Definitely. Ruder than rude? Absolutely. Did I think he would make trophies of my used chai tea bags or hide under my bed and listen to me sleep? Not even a little bit.

And despite what I’d said earlier, I did have the added security of Scout’s family connections. I’d grown up under their watch nearly as much as Scout, attending all the family events she refused to attend alone. Except the last Spring Picnic. Something had happened to shake my bestie, something between her and the coach she’d crushed on for at least a hundred years, but she had yet to reveal the nitty gritty details. A meaner friend would have demanded answers, but experience told me she’d tell me when she was ready.

A minute later, I let the two men back inside and the lawyer shoved his tablet into my hands. I skimmed the legalease, noting the address of this Fernbrook Center—not too far from our current place, so perfect. Taking in the length of the agreement—open ended.

“So a month-to-month lease as long as I am required to live with Mr. Zacha? How long do you expect to need a Designated Medical Guardian?”

“That’s currently undetermined. We’ll need you to agree to an open-ended arrangement. Medically, he’s stable and will be coming out of the cast soon, but he has a history of concussions and because of this, the team doesn’t want him living alone. Our original solution was Brightside, but this place isn’t working out as expected. Hence, the invention of a Designated Medical Guardian.”

“What does that even mean? What sort of legal obligation would I be taking on?”

“Essentially nothing more than to be present as a safeguard. The title was created by our legal team to basically cover the team in situations where the player might be a danger to himself. In this case, Mr. Zacha has concussion symptoms that are aggravated by his current lack of mobility. You’d be present to prevent and respond to any incidents.”

“Incidents.” The word suddenly held a whole new ominous meaning. Fingers clenched white around the tablet, I looked past the attorney to the man hunched over a pair of crutches. His mouth a compressed slash, lines of tension radiating out from his eyes. Nothing about him said “welcoming roommate”. He looked arrogant, impatient, frustrated and miserable, but he didn’t look dangerous.

“I want the first three months guaranteed and then month-to-month is fine. In exchange, you give us a year lease on Fernbrook Center.” We needed the breathing room three months would give us to find another place. But I needed an escape route, in case things went south. And besides that, it didn’t feel right to not make some sort of demand.

“No problem. I can modify the agreement now.”

An hour later, we’d discussed sleeping arrangements—I’d have my own bedroom—and I was headed home to pack and prepare to move into the player’s downtown apartment tomorrow. I’d lived with a roommate for most of my adult life, but something told me Bohdan Zacha was a whole new ball of wax.