Page 22

CHAPTER 22

ELLE

T he second I see Eric standing on my porch, my stomach all but slams through the floor. Of all the people and all the places, why does he have to show up here ? And on tonight of all nights. He’s wearing his usual smug expression, arms crossed like he owns the world, a duffle bag at his feet. He looks completely out of place in this neighborhood but stands there like he belongs.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping onto the porch and trying to block the doorway behind me. I can feel Dixon hovering at my back, his frustration practically radiating off him in waves.

“I figured since you’ve been hard to reach,” Eric says smoothly, flashing that smarmy grin I hate, “I’d save you the trouble and come to you.”

“Boundaries, Eric. Ever think you don’t have my address for a reason?” I fire back.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Eric says. “I have where you live because I had to send you that box of your college memorabilia I found, with some of your things I still had from when we”—he makes eye contact with Dixon—“were together.”

“What do you want?” I ask, crossing my arms to match his stance while Dixon mumbles under his breath beside me.

“I want to do my job.” He raises an eyebrow, his tone both laced with condensation while managing a hint of sarcastic sweetness. “Since you’ve been avoiding me, I thought maybe I could come and stand in front of you and plead for your help. An interview with someone on the team, please. It would be great to do a profile piece for the Renegades, plus I’m sure it will give you bonus points if the team owners find out you were the conduit.” He shrugs like he’s doing me a favor. “Campbell? Ollie? Sawyer?”

I glance behind me at Dixon, whose jaw is visibly tightening as he keeps his gaze leveled on Eric. The last thing I need is for this to escalate. “I told you no already,” I say, keeping my voice even.

But Eric ignores me; his gaze shifts to Dixon and his smirk deepens. “Don’t worry. I don’t need to interview you, the great Dixon Andrews. No, I’ve already read everything I need to about you.” His tone drips with insinuation, and I can practically hear the snap in Dixon’s patience.

“I swear to…” Dixon starts, taking a step forward. Faster than lightning, he slips in between Eric and me, his fist clenched in one hand while the other reaches around to grab me, like being tucked under a wing. I can feel protection radiating off this man, and it’s all for me, but I don’t want Dixon to do anything that could hurt his reputation or put him in the line of fire, not again. I place a hand on his arm to stop him, squeezing as I do, and then step around him so we’re standing together, one united front, like a wall blocking Eric from entering this sacred space.

“You need to leave,” I say firmly, raising my voice just enough to make it clear I’m not playing around. As I do, I feel the warmth from Dixon’s hand as it slips it into mine. “I’ll have someone from the media team contact you if there’s anything to discuss. But showing up at my house? Completely inappropriate.”

Eric huffs a laugh, but I can see through it. That he’s attempting to come off unfazed, but I clock it when his line of sight dips and he sees Dixon is holding my hand. “Fine,” he says, an edge to his voice as he throws up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll wait for your call. But don’t keep me waiting too long, Elle. Deadlines, you know.”

I stand my ground, crossing my arms in front of me to make it clear he’s not welcome. Eric picks up his bag, taking his sweet time. He glances at Dixon one last time, the corner of his mouth curling up in that infuriating smirk.

We stay here waiting for him to get into his car, needing the evidence that he’s left the area. Once he’s gone and I’ve shut the door, I only let go of Dixon’s hand so I can turn every lock I can, press my back against it, and let out a long breath.

“What was that about?” Dixon demands, his voice low but sharp.

“He wants help getting an interview with someone on the team for his new job.” I push back a few stray pieces of hair from my face. “He seems to think I owe it to him.”

Dixon narrows his eyes. “Has he always been a reporter?”

I shake my head. “He used to work at a newspaper, but he was in advertising. While we were dating, he switched paths, decided he wanted to be a part of the story and not just sell the ads for newspapers anymore.”

I glance at Dixon, who’s still standing with his arms crossed and jaw tight.

“Let’s please forget about him for now,” I say softly. “Come on, we were about to bake cupcakes.”

His brow eases slightly and he gives me a small nod. Together, we head into the kitchen where Hayden is already rummaging through the cabinets. She looks up and grins when she sees us, holding up a bag of powdered sugar like a trophy.

“Look what I found!” she announces.

“Wait,” I say, grabbing the small box Dixon brought. “Before we start, look what Dixon brought for you.”

Hayden sets the sugar down and bounces over to me, her curiosity piqued. When she sees the single red velvet cupcake inside, she freezes.

Her expression shifts in an instant, excitement giving way to something softer, more fragile. When she looks up at Dixon, her voice barely above a whisper, I see the tears welling in her eyes.

“This was Mom’s favorite,” she says, her fingers trembling slightly as she reaches for the box.

Dixon’s posture straightens, and I can see a flicker of vulnerability in his expression as he bends down to look at the cupcake with her and slings one arm around her shoulders. “I know,” he says quietly. “Elle said her birthday was today.”

Hayden’s lips tremble, and before Dixon can say another word, she throws her arms around him. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice breaking. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Dixon looks a little taken aback, but then he pats her gently on the shoulder for a second before wrapping his arms around her and returning the bear hug. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” Hayden says, pulling back and brushing at her eyes. “It’s so kind of you.”

I don’t even realize I’m tearing up until I blink and feel the dampness on my cheeks. My heart feels like it’s going to explode, watching them. Dixon didn’t simply remember what today was for us, he did something about it. Something thoughtful, something kind.

“Okay, you two start on the batter.” Hayden sets the box on the counter, sniffling and giving me a watery smile. “Before I can help out, I need to blow my nose. I’ll be back.” She starts to leave but turns back and throws her arms around Dixon one more time before she heads down the hall, leaving us alone.

Dixon turns to me, thrusting his hands in his pockets. This giant, mammoth, amazing goalie who comes alive on ice is now standing in my kitchen, letting his guard down and looking super shy. Adorable.

“That was really sweet,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

He shrugs, but I can see a flush on his cheeks. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It was,” I whisper.

For a moment, neither of us says anything. I pick up the mixing bowl and start measuring flour, but my thoughts are spinning. I glance at him, and he’s watching me, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to figure something out.

“So,” I say finally, setting the measuring cup down. “While we have a minute, there’s something I should tell you.”

His posture straightens. “What is it?”

I take a deep breath. “I talked to Sutton today. About us.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I told her that I don’t want to sneak around or hide whatever this is. If we’re going to figure out where we’re going, I think people should know. I don’t want it to feel like a secret. But only if you’re okay with it.”

Dixon doesn’t hesitate. He steps closer and takes my hand again, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. “I’m okay with it,” he says firmly, leaning down and kissing my forehead. “You’re right. If we’re doing this, we should do it together. No hiding.”

The warmth in his touch and the sincerity in his voice make my chest tighten in the best way. I squeeze his hand, my heart swelling.

“Together, then?” I ask.

“Together,” he agrees, his hand still holding mine as we stand in the kitchen, staring into each other’s eyes like a couple of lovestruck high school seniors, the sweet smell of vanilla starting to fill the air.

* * *

Hayden leans forward, her elbows on the counter, grinning as she recounts her last hockey practice. “But, Coach said my wrist shot is getting really good. I even scored twice during the scrimmage!”

“Twice?” Dixon raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a teasing grin. He swipes a crumb from the corner of his mouth before adding, “And here I was about to start calling you ‘Hat Trick’ Hayden, but you gotta get that third!”

“Hey! Two is still good!” Hayden gasps, eyes wide with mock offense as she pauses mid-bite of her cupcake. “And anyway, I didn’t see you out there blocking my shot.”

Dixon chuckles, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it slide this time. But if you ever need a real challenge, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hayden says, smirking. “Just wait. I’ll go pro and crush you in a shootout someday.”

“Big talk for a rookie,” he teases, and she sticks her tongue out at him before taking another bite. “However, I look forward to it.”

I can’t help but smile at their banter. Seeing Dixon with Hayden like this, teasing her and encouraging her. It does something to my heart. Especially with the three of us here, conversation flowing, sharing cupcakes and laughter. It’s the closest thing to family there is and it feels nice.

And then my phone rings, jolting me back to reality.

I glance at the screen and my stomach twists. It’s the reporter I’ve been trying to get a hold of, Jim Wells. “Sorry guys,” I say, forcing a casual tone, “but I need to take this. Give me a minute.”

Dixon and Hayden exchange curious looks, but don’t skip a beat of their conversation, as I step into the hall.

“Jim, hi,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Hi, Elle. Sorry for the delay in connecting.” He pauses. “I was surprised to get a message that you were trying to reach me.”

“Well, I have an unusual request and I’m hoping you’ll be able to shed some light on something.”

“If I can help, I will.” He chuckles. “Maybe a little quid pro quo? I would love to be the first reporter to do a sit down with the new Renegades defense coach.”

“I’m sure we can make it happen.” I had a feeling it might come to this, but if it helps me get the info I need for Dixon, I’ll do what I need. “I’m trying to get some info about the article you wrote on Dixon Andrews a few years ago,” I say, jumping straight to the point.

There’s a weighted pause on the other end before Jim sighs. “Not my proudest moment, if I’m being honest.”

“What do you mean?” I press, my pulse quickening.

“Look, I didn’t want to write that piece,” Jim admits. “But my boss made it clear that either I wrote it, or I’d lose my job. The source who handed over that info? They’d already gone to my editor with it. I was just the poor sap who had to slap my byline on the story.”

I’ve been around long enough that I’d heard about this happening before. Editors need stories, right? Sometimes they go to extreme lengths to get what they want, not that it’s right nor condoned, but it is what it is. Now, when it’s laid out and put in front of me like this, as truth where there’s no denying it, I can feel my irritation bubbling.

I clutch the phone tighter. “Who was the source?”

Jim hesitates. “You know it’s not ethical to share sources.”

“Well, Jim, it’s not ethical to cause harm when a source could have misled you,” I say, keeping my tone friendly but firm. I’ve had my moments with the press over the years, so I know what’s right versus what’s wrong. “Right now, we’re talking about your credibility.”

I swear I can hear Jim’s gears beginning to turn as he thinks about any repercussions this could have on his career. Thankfully I don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“My editor said that some guy had given him the info when he was trying to show he was worth taking a chance on. He showed up out of nowhere with a bunch of dirt on Dixon and a couple of other players. His story was he’d gotten it from someone on the inside, but I always had my doubts. The information we had was too detailed, too personal.”

“Some guy? I know it’s been a hot minute since you worked on this, but maybe you can remember a name?”

“Oh, I remember his name,” Jim says, choking on a half-laugh. “I had to confirm his information. His name was Eric Handleman.”

My blood runs cold as the hairs on my neck stand on end. How did I never guess this? How have I not put two and two together?

“And you’re sure that was his name, Eric Handleman?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Positive. That guy thought he was slick, acted like he was doing us a favor. He brought up that his girl had access to these guys. At that time, I had my own issues and I needed the win, so I didn’t press it.” He sighs. “I had a feeling this would come back and bite me in the ass one day.”

“Sounds like lessons were learned, but I do appreciate your honesty,” I say tightly. The sound of a horn blaring in my ear, followed by Jim swearing doesn’t even shake me. All I can think about is Dixon and how this situation affected him. It’s fair to say that my blood starts to boil at this moment.

“Hey, Elle, I need to go, I’m driving and have to focus,” he says, his tone a little quieter, worried. “But, I’m happy to pull up the notes I’ve got based on the info this Eric guy provided if you need them for something.”

“That would be great.” I rattle off my email address as he gives a rushed goodbye and hangs up, leaving me standing there with my thoughts racing. The pieces click together in my mind like a virtual puzzle falling into place: Eric read my notes, stole the ones that could be interpreted as negative in nature without context, and then quite gleefully used it to ruin Dixon so he could get something he wanted.

I march back to the kitchen, where Dixon and Hayden are mid-laugh.

“You done with your call?” Dixon asks in between bites of his cupcake.

“Yes, but give me a sec. I’ll be right back,” I say, my voice unsteady as I head for my office, trying not to sprint.

Once I cross the threshold of the office, I fly to the filing cabinet in the corner and tear into it, yanking open drawers and rifling through old files until I find what I’m looking for: a notebook with handwritten notes from years ago. It’s an old habit of mine to keep any notebook I’ve filled for future me, in case I need to refer back to anything.

My heart pounds as I flip through the pages, scanning my own words—details I’d gathered about Dixon back when I’d been preparing a profile on him and his imposter syndrome that was never to see the light of day.

“Elle?” Dixon’s voice startles me, and I look up to see him standing in the doorway, concern etched on his face. “Everything good?”

“Yes. And no.” I hold up the notebook. “It was Eric. He stole my notes and used them to feed that article, about you, to the reporter.”

“No.” Dixon’s jaw tightens, and his eyes darken. “Are you sure?”

I nod, flipping to a page and holding it out to him. “Look at this. I used to keep notes on all of the players I would work with for coaching. Skills camp, teams, even those I played alongside. It was the best way for me to get my thoughts wrapped around a player. To see what they were dealing with here”—I tap my head—“and here,” I say as I put a hand on my heart. “I think he realized this and started going through my notes looking for dirt. Something is ringing very familiar to me now when I think about that article.”

“Luckily I have it bookmarked on my phone,” he says.

“The article?” He nods and I shake my head. “Why keep it around, Dixon?”

“To remind me to be wary.” Dixon crosses the room and pulls out his phone, opening the old article. “Let’s compare.”

We stand side by side, matching the words on his screen to the notes in my notebook. It’s all there. Facts, phrasing, even personal anecdotes. When I scan the article and compare it to my words, some of it is verbatim. It’s undeniable.

I turn to him, my throat tight with emotion. “I told you I didn’t do it, at least not on purpose,” I say softly, “but I kind of did by letting that monster get close to me.”

Dixon sets his phone down and cups my face in his hands, his eyes fierce. “No, you cannot take any blame here. He tricked you, Elle, and he was fine leaving you to take the heat. That’s on him, not you.”

I swallow hard, but the guilt doesn’t ease. “What do we do now?”

“I have an idea,” he says, his voice steady. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips, sending a wave of warmth through me. When he pulls back, there’s a determined glint in his eyes.

“Leave it with me,” he says. “But first I need to know that you’re game?”

“Why?”

“Part of my plan involves you.”

I nod, trusting him completely.