Page 21

Chapter 21

Cyn

I push through the glass doors of the Blades facility with a smile I can't seem to shake. My body aches in the most delicious ways, tiny reminders of last night with Garrett scattered across my skin like invisible tattoos. I check my reflection in the window of an office – professional ponytail, crisp white polo, no visible evidence of the fact I fell asleep wrapped in the arms of the team's assistant coach.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Garrett: Morning, beautiful. Missing you already.

I bite my lip, fighting back a ridiculous grin. Yesterday was perfect. Long Grove with its little shops and romantic covered bridge. Garrett in a plaid shirt, looking nothing like a former NHL star as he carried bags containing treasures we found. His shoulder pressed against mine while we sat on the bench eating ice cream and watching the leaves fall around us.

Before I can reply, he texts again.

Garrett: You sure your neighbors didn't hear us last night?"

Heat crawls up my neck. Last night. God. The way he'd pressed me against my apartment door the minute it closed. The way he'd carried me to bed. The way he'd...

"Cyn? Earth to Cynthia!"

I nearly drop my phone, fumbling it back into my pocket while spinning around.

"Down here," says the voice again. Adam stands at the junction of two corridors, waving impatiently. "Come drink coffee with me before we start sessions.”

"Yes! Five minutes."

He nods and disappears. It’s been too long since we’ve properly caught up.

I exhale slowly, check my surroundings, and pull my phone back out.

Me: Neighbors definitely heard. Don't care. See you later?

I press send and continue down the hall, nodding at a few staff members I pass. This building has become a second home over the last few months. My first real job after certification – physical therapist for an NHL team. Some days I still can't believe they hired me.

I round the corner toward the PT offices, my mind still half-tangled in bedsheets with Garrett, when I spot him. He's coming from the coaches' suite, tablet in hand, talking with Coach Martinez. Professional. Distant. Nothing in his posture suggests he was whispering filthy things in my ear twelve hours ago.

Our eyes meet. His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in those deep brown eyes. Something just for me.

Martinez claps him on the shoulder and veers off toward the executive offices. Garrett glances around, then takes a few casual steps in my direction.

"Morning, Ms. Lockhart," he says in his very professional voice.

"Coach Hughes." I match his tone.

He stops beside me, not too close, and pretends to show me something on his tablet. Anyone watching would see a coach consulting with the PT staff.

"I can still taste you," he whispers, his eyes still on the screen.

My knees nearly buckle. "Garrett," I hiss, checking the hallway. It’s empty.

"Supply closet. Now." He tilts his head toward a door a few feet away.

"We shouldn’t?—"

"Thirty seconds. I promise."

The rational part of my brain screams this is stupid. The part of me still drunk on last night doesn't care. I walk casually to the supply closet and slip inside.

Darkness. The smell of cleaning supplies and paper. I've barely oriented myself when the door opens again, letting in a sliver of light before closing behind Garrett's broad frame.

His hands find me immediately. One at my waist, one cupping my face. His body radiates heat, even through his clothes.

"I couldn't wait until tonight," he says, his warm lips finding mine.

The kiss is quick but deep, his tongue sliding against mine. His hand tightens at my waist, drawing me flush against him. I can feel his huge cock against me, just begging to come out and play.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he breathes against my lips. "About us."

"Me neither." My hands play with his hair. "But we need to be careful."

"I know, baby." He kisses me again, softer this time.

He steps back, and I immediately feel cold where his body had been pressed against mine. Garrett reaches for the door, cracks it open, checks the hallway.

"Clear," he says. "You first. I'll wait sixty seconds."

I smooth my shirt, tuck stray hairs back into my ponytail. "I'll see you later."

His smile in the dim light makes my heart flutter. "Yes, you will."

I slip out of the closet and walk briskly toward my office, professional mask firmly back in place. No one passes me. No one saw.

My fingers brush against my lips. They feel swollen, electric.

This thing between us could cost me everything. My job. My reputation. Hockey is a boys' club, and I've fought to be taken seriously as a professional.

But when Garrett looks at me with those chocolate eyes, when his big hands hold me like I'm precious – I can't bring myself to care about the risk. Not yet. Not when it feels this good.

And we now have a plan in place. He’ll talk to Coach Martinez about what to do. Then, we’ll take it to HR or even to George Corso if we need to.

I hear the supply closet door open behind me just as I round the corner. He waited about a minute, just like he promised.

Thirty minutes later, I'm showing Dmitri, our rookie defenseman, how to tape his ankle properly when the training room door bangs open. Marjorie stands there, her face twisted into something between a sneer and a grimace. The once busy room goes quiet and I’m suddenly feeling like I'm back in grade school about to be called to the principal's office.

"Cynthia." She spits my name like it's something rotten. "A word."

I finish securing Dmitri's tape. "I'm in a session right now, Marjorie. Can it wait five minutes?"

Her nostrils flare. She steps into the room, her sensible shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The players exchange glances. Everyone knows Marjorie's reputation.

"No, it cannot wait." She plants herself in the middle of the training room, arms crossed over her chest. Her cardigan is buttoned all the way up to her chin practically. "Since you've decided your personal life is more important than professional standards, we might as well address it in front of everyone."

My stomach drops. My fingers fumble with the athletic tape, nearly dropping it.

Adam catches my eye across the room, raising an eyebrow. I give a tiny shrug, though I'm fairly certain I know what this is about.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, keeping my voice even.

"Don't play dumb with me." She stalks closer. "Did you think no one would notice you and Coach Hughes?"

The room goes dead silent. Even the usual hum of the equipment seems to pause.

"Marjorie, this isn't the place?—"

"I saw you." Her voice rises, turning shrill. "This morning. In the supply closet. Did you think that was appropriate workplace behavior, Ms. Lockhart? To be making out with a coach like some desperate groupie?"

Heat floods my face. I'm aware of everyone staring at me – Adam's mouth hanging open, the players shifting uncomfortably.

"That's personal," I say, my voice quiet by firm, holding on to whatever dignity I have left.

"Personal?" She laughs, a sharp bark with no humor. "There's nothing personal about it when you're employed by this organization. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Marjorie—"

"You've compromised yourself professionally. And the entire physical therapy department. You've created a conflict of interest that could affect player care!" Her face is getting blotchy, red patches appearing on her sallow cheeks.

"My relationship with Coach Hughes has not affected my work in any way," I say, my voice shaking slightly. "And quite frankly, it's none of your business."

"None of my business?" She takes another step closer, finger jabbing toward my face. "I am the head physical therapist. Everything that happens in this department is my business."

Behind her, I see Dmitri slide off the table and edge toward the other players. They're watching like it's a car crash – horrified but unable to look away.

"I'm going to make sure you're fired," Marjorie hisses. "I've worked here for twenty years. Do you think they'll choose some young tart who spreads her legs for the coaching staff over me?"

A collective intake of breath from around the room. Adam's eyes widen to saucers.

"That's enough." My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "You're being unprofessional and inappropriate."

"Unprofessional?" She laughs again, that same humorless sound. "You're sleeping with Garrett Hughes, and I'm unprofessional? You know what they call women like you in this industry? Puck?—"

"Don't." It's Adam who speaks, stepping forward.

She whirls on him. "Stay out of this, Chen. Unless you want to be next on the chopping block."

"Go ahead and try," he says coolly. "I'd love to have a conversation with HR about this."

She turns back to me, her face contorted. "The management will hear about this today. Start packing your things, Cynthia. Your little career with the Blades is over."

With that, she spins on her heel and marches out, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that follows feels like it lasts a century. I stand frozen, tape still in my hands, humiliation burning through every cell in my body.

Then, from one of the massage tables: "So...you and Coach Hughes, huh?"

It's Sorenson, a grin spreading across his face.

"Shut up, dude," says Wilson. "Not cool."

"What? I'm just saying...didn't see that coming." Sorenson shrugs. "Though come to think of it, coach has been in a much better mood lately."

"Guys, can you just..." I close my eyes, wishing the floor would swallow me.

"Everyone out," Adam says firmly. "Head to the ice. Session's over for today."

"But my hamstring—" Kasting starts to protest.

"Ice. Now.”

They file out, a few casting sympathetic glances my way, others clearly bursting with the gossip they can't wait to share.

Wilson stops at the door. "For what it's worth, Cyn, Coach Hughes is a good guy. And Marjorie's a witch. Nobody's gonna take her side."

The door closes behind them, and I finally exhale, collapsing onto the nearest stool.

"Holy shit," Adam says, coming to sit beside me. "Holy. Shit."

"Yeah." It's all I can manage.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay? That was unreal."

"She's going to get me fired," I whisper, my voice cracking. "She's going to go to management."

"Let her try." Adam squeezes my shoulder. "What she just did? That was workplace harassment. She publicly humiliated you and used sexist language. If anything, she's the one who should be worried."

"But what if she's right?" I look up at him, panic rising. "What if they think I'm unprofessional? What if I lose my job over this?"

Adam's face softens. "You really like him, huh?"

"Yeah." My voice drops to a whisper. "I really, really do."

Adam nods slowly. "Then the two of you will figure it out. But first, you need to get ahead of whatever Marjorie's planning."

"The whole team's going to know by lunchtime." My stomach churns at the thought.

"Probably." Adam shrugs. "But most of those guys love Hughes. And none of them like Marjorie."

I try to believe him, but all I can think about is Marjorie storming into the management offices, demanding my termination.

The fluorescent lights suddenly seem too bright, too exposing. I feel stripped bare, not just my secret relationship with Garrett but all my carefully constructed professional walls crumbling around me in real time.

"She can't actually get you fired," Adam says, rolling a stool over to sit in front of me. "That's not how this works."

"She's been here twenty years." I stare at the floor, counting the tiny flecks in the industrial tile. "Management trusts her."

"Management also knows she's a nightmare. Everyone does." He ducks his head, trying to catch my eye.

He gets up, walks to the door, and flips the lock. Then he goes to the small refrigerator in the corner and pulls out two bottles of water. He hands me one.

"Drink. You look like you're about to pass out."

I take a sip, then another. I feel all the emotion bubbling up in my chest when a hot tear escapes before I can stop it. Then another. "Adam..." My voice catches. "I'm…pregnant."

His eyes widen, mouth dropping open for the second time today. "Oh my God."

"Yeah."

"Does Hughes know?"

I nod my head. "Yea, I just told him a few days ago.”

"Oh, Cyn." He pulls his stool closer, takes my hand in his. "That's...a lot."

"I know." More tears come, and I don't bother fighting them.

“Are you...I mean, what are you thinking of doing?"

"I'm keeping it." My free hand moves to my still-flat stomach. "I want this baby."

Adam nods slowly. "I support you one hundred percent."

"I'm in love with Garrett," I whisper, admitting it aloud for the first time. "It's not just physical or casual or whatever Marjorie thinks. I love him."

Adam smiles. "I figured as much. You've been different lately. Happier."

"I have been." I wipe tears from my cheeks. "He makes me feel...seen. In a way I've never experienced before."

"Then tell him that." Adam shrugs. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could run screaming in the other direction."

"Do you seriously think he'd do that?"

I think about Garrett. The way he asks about my day and actually listens to the answer. How he looks at me in quiet moments, like he's memorizing my face. The way we laugh together about the silliest things.

"No," I admit. "I don't."

"Then give the man some credit." Adam stands up, pulling me to my feet. "Now, here's what you’re going to do. First, you're going to wash your face. Then you’re going to call a meeting with HR before Marjorie can. You and Hughes can explain the situation professionally, as two adults who are in a consensual relationship."

"And the pregnancy?"

"That's nobody's business right now except yours and Hughes'."

I nod, feeling a tiny spark of hope.

I throw my arms around Adam, hugging him tight. "Thank you."

"What are friends for, if not helping you navigate workplace drama and accidental pregnancies?" He hugs me back, then steps away. "Now go fix your face, girl."

As I walk to the small bathroom attached to the training room, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Garrett: Everything okay? Heard something went down with Marjorie.

News travels fast in this place. I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Me: You’re not going to believe it. Can we talk after practice?

His reply comes immediately.

Garrett: My office, 2pm?

Me: Perfect.

I look in the mirror. My eyes are red, my face is splotchy. I look like a mess, but underneath the fear and the tears, I feel certain that this can all be fixed.

I love Garrett Hughes. I'm having his baby. And whatever Marjorie throws at us, whatever challenges come next, I'm not facing them alone.

I fix my ponytail, splash cold water on my face, and straighten my shoulders. Time to fight for what matters.