Page 12

S tephanie

48 hours remaining.

Stephanie fastened her seatbelt as the Charm City Chill's chartered flight began its descent into New Haven. Forty-eight hours remaining on Reed's deadline. The early morning departure from Toronto had left her functioning on caffeine and adrenaline after a night that had changed everything between her and Marcus.

Four hours of sleep after their hotel room encounter had her body pleasantly sore and her mind frustratingly distracted. She sipped the lukewarm coffee a flight attendant had handed her an hour ago, watching Marcus three rows ahead, deep in conversation with Chenny.

The left winger had his tablet balanced on the tray table between them, his stylishly cut black hair with its trademark blue streak bobbing as he gestured animatedly. Marcus leaned in, his focus absolute—the same intensity he'd shown last night when exploring her body.

Heat crept up her neck at the memory.

"Stephanie! You look like tomato ready for borscht."

Stephanie nearly jumped as Dmitri Volkov, the Chill's Russian winger, dropped into the empty seat beside her with his trademark gap-toothed grin. His pale skin made the light dusting of freckles stand out, and his spiky blonde hair seemed to defy gravity even after the early morning flight.

"I'm fine," she said, shifting into PR director mode automatically. "Just reviewing media obligations for when we land."

"Pffft. Is terrible lie," Dmitri proclaimed loudly, then immediately dropped his voice to a theatrical whisper. "You stare at Spreadsheets like he is last bottle of vodka in Siberian winter, yes? Is very obvious."

Stephanie nearly spilled her coffee. "Excuse me?"

"Team not blind as hockey refs, Stephanie," he said, waving his hands expressively. "We see how you look at each other. Kane says you two circle each other like bears fighting for salmon since training camp last year."

"There's nothing—" she began, then stopped at Dmitri's dramatically raised eyebrow. She sighed, glancing around to ensure no other players were within earshot. "It's complicated, Dmitri."

"Love always complicated. Like Russian novel," he agreed cheerfully, unwrapping a protein bar. "But team is very happy. Spreadsheets needs woman who sees past numbers, yes? You need man who understands value beyond words. Is perfect match, like borscht and sour cream."

Stephanie's jaw dropped slightly. "Does the entire team know?"

"Of course! What you think we talk about on bus rides? Only hockey?" Dmitri looked genuinely surprised she would ask. "We have group chat. 'Operation Calculated Risk.' Very clever name, I think up myself. Jax started betting pool on when you finally admit it."

"You're kidding."

"Never kid about betting pools. I have fifty dollars on 'before end of road trip.'" He looked at her hopefully, wiggling his eyebrows. "So today counts for Dmitri, yes?"

Despite herself, Stephanie laughed. "I'm not confirming or denying anything, especially not when money's involved."

"Fair enough." Dmitri took a large bite of his protein bar, speaking around it. "But team supports one hundred percent. Even Coach Vicky put twenty on 'already happened, just hiding it.’"

The thought of Coach Vicky participating in a betting pool about her love life was both mortifying and oddly touching. This team really was a family—albeit a nosy, boundary-challenged one.

Stephanie's gaze drifted back to Marcus and Chenny. The left winger was showing Marcus something on his tablet, both of them looking intently at the screen. There was no way to tell if they were making progress on tracking Reed's digital footprint or just reviewing game footage.

As Dmitri returned to his assigned seat with a theatrical wink, Stephanie went back to her tablet. The screen suddenly dimmed as a new email notification popped up. From an anonymous account, the subject line making her blood run cold: History Repeats – 48 Hours Remaining

With shaking fingers, she tapped to open it.

Still trying to spin stories instead of facing facts? Your defenseman's precious data shows what you tried to hide in Boston: manipulation and deception are your professional tools. The leak goes public in 48 hours unless you both resign from the Chill and send the 20K. Sometimes the only way to fix a problem is complete removal.

Attached was a document—analytics Marcus had compiled on communication effectiveness within the organization. Data showing how press releases were crafted to emphasize certain narratives regardless of underlying performance metrics.

Taken out of context, it looked like exactly what Reed had accused her of in Boston: manipulating information to hide failures.

Stephanie sat back, cold realization washing over her. This was pure revenge. Reed was trying to recreate what had happened in Boston—using Marcus's analytics against her, forcing a wedge between them, isolating her from her allies. She tried to respond to the email, but it bounced back undelivered.

Her gaze drifted to Marcus again. He and Chenny were still reviewing something on the tablet, their expressions serious and focused. Whatever they were looking at, she needed to share this new email with them as soon as possible.

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, jolting her back to awareness of her surroundings. She closed the email and tucked her tablet away, suddenly needing to be beside Marcus, to warn him about this new development. But approaching him now, with the entire team watching, would only confirm the gossip.

She pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching New Haven's coastline come into view below. Last night, in Marcus's arms, she'd allowed herself to believe they could beat this together. Now, with Reed's explicit threats and the knowledge that he was physically tracking them, doubt crept in.

What if their growing closeness was exactly what Reed wanted? A visible weakness he could exploit? The thought chilled her more than the deadline itself.

Her phone vibrated with a text from Marcus: Still working with Chenny. Nothing conclusive yet. Will talk when we land.

Stephanie typed back quickly: New email from the hacker. He wants more. I’m forwarding it to you now.

Across the cabin, she saw Marcus check his phone, his expression hardening momentarily before he gave her a subtle nod.

The plane began its final approach, the landing gear lowering with a mechanical groan. As they descended toward Connecticut, Stephanie felt as though they were diving straight into Reed's carefully laid trap. The only question was whether they'd spotted it in time to avoid being snared.

The clock was ticking down, and for the first time since this began, Stephanie wasn't sure they could stop it.

***

38 HOURS REMAINING

Stephanie stood in the Chill's press box, clipboard clutched tightly in her hands as she watched morning skate unfold below. Players circled the ice in familiar patterns—stretching, shooting, running simple drills before tonight's game. Everything appeared normal. As if the organization wasn't teetering on the edge of chaos.

Her eyes found Marcus instantly among the defensemen. Even from this distance, she recognized the tension in his shoulders, the extra snap in his passes. To anyone else, he looked focused, professional. To her, he was skating with the weight of their countdown bearing down.

Below on the ice, practice shifted to special teams work. Marcus moved into position on the penalty kill unit, his focus visibly sharpening. Stephanie watched as he anticipated plays before they developed, his stick perfectly positioned to disrupt passing lanes. The team's rookie center attempted a cross-ice feed only to have Marcus intercept it smoothly, clearing the zone with a powerful sweep.

Coach Vicky nodded approval. Even under extreme pressure, Marcus performed. Compartmentalized. Executed.

Could she do the same?

She was meeting with Jack Westfield soon to give her presentation that she and Marcus had been working on before all this nonsense with Reed and the hacker happened. She had to go on as if nothing was happening. She could only hope that Chenny would find some proof or a way to stop Reed’s blackmail from happening.

With one final longing look at Marcus, Stephanie left for her meeting. She got her game face on and cleared her mind on her walk to the conference room. Jack was already there, waiting for her. She sat across from him, trying to project professional confidence as she set up her presentation.

"The road trip exceeded expectations," he said, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Three wins, positive media coverage, merchandise sales up twelve percent. Darby and Darby is pleased."

"The team performed exceptionally well," Stephanie agreed. "The chemistry is really clicking."

"Chemistry." His mouth curled slightly. "An interesting choice of words from someone who works so closely with our analytics department. I would have expected more data-driven terminology."

The subtle dig made her wonder if she was imagining things or if he was also trying to figure out if she and Marcus were dating. She wondered if he was involved in the betting pool as well. She maintained her pleasant expression as she took him through the PowerPoint presentation she and Marcus had worked up.

"Numbers tell an important story,” she said in conclusion. “but fans connect with the human elements. My job is translating one into the other."

"And how would you characterize your translation relationship with Adeyemi? I understand you've had differences of opinion in the past."

Stephanie kept her voice measured, neutral. "Marcus and I approach situations from different perspectives, which ultimately strengthens our messaging. Data plus narrative creates a more complete picture."

"Interesting." Westfield leaned forward slightly. "Reed mentioned your previous reluctance to incorporate analytics in Boston."

The casual mention of Reed sent ice through her veins, though she kept her expression unchanged.

"Media strategies evolve, just like the game itself," she replied smoothly. "What works in one market might not in another."

"Evolution. Adaptation." Westfield nodded, eyes never leaving her face. "Necessary qualities in changing environments. Speaking of change, I wanted to discuss the organizational restructuring Darby and Darby is implementing."

Here it comes , Stephanie thought.

"We're consolidating several departments for greater operational synergy. Communications and Analytics will merge under a single director, reporting directly to me." He slid a folder across the desk. "I'd like you to consider taking on this expanded role."

Stephanie's fingers stilled on the folder. That wasn’t what she had expected. Of course, if the blackmail information got out, she could kiss this promotion goodbye.

"It sounds interesting," she said carefully. "What’s the timeline for this transition?"

"Immediately. We'd announce after tonight's game." Westfield gestured to the folder. "All the details are there, including a very generous compensation package. You'd have complete authority to reshape the analytics approach to better serve your media objectives."

It was everything Reed had accused her of in Boston—manipulating data to fit narratives, suppressing unfavorable metrics—Westfield was now offering as a job perk. Was he involved in the blackmail? To what end? He didn’t need the money and if he wanted her out, he could just fire her.

"This is certainly unexpected," she said, buying time while her mind raced. "I'll need to review the details."

"Of course. But we'll need your decision by soon. Opportunities like this don't come along often, Stephanie. Especially for someone with your professional history."

Was Reed pulling the strings behind this? Setting her up for failure? Then he could sweep in and take over her position. She’d see him in hell first.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," she said, rising with practiced poise. "I'll let you know after the game tomorrow night."

As she left Westfield's office, laptop tucked under her arm, she bumped into Reed coming down the hallway. Adrenaline surged through her system.

“What are you doing here?” she snarled.

"Important meeting with Jack," he said smoothly.

"Is it about blackmail and sabotage?" she asked sweetly.

Reed's smile never wavered. "Direct as always. It's what I admired about you, before you decided to try and ruin my reputation."

"Your actions were doing a fine job of that all on their own.” Her voice remained steady despite the hammering of her heart. "You’re not going to get away with this.”

He looked down at his watch pointedly. "We’ll see."

If she quit instead of taking the new position, Reed could slip right into it. He was already cozying up to Jack about it. And with Marcus gone too, he could have his dream job and do whatever he wanted.

“You’re not going to win this,” she told him.

"Every sports journalist in North America is going to receive documentation of how the Chill's PR Director systematically misrepresents team performance metrics while a player compiles invasive personal profiles on his team mates." Reed leaned forward slightly. Stephanie refused to flinch back. "Your career ends. His ends. And I step in to clean up the mess, just like I did in Boston."

So no matter what, Reed wins and she and Marcus were out of a job. There had to be a way out of this.

“I’m so looking forward to this.” He brushed by her and went into the conference room

She would not let him win.