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Chapter Twenty-Eight

PIVOTING

~~Juniper~~

The guys win the next one in Florida. They’re down three games to one. Tonight, we play at home in game five. Every game is do-or-die in this best-of-seven series. One more loss, and it’s over for the Sockeyes.

As soon as I enter the bowels of the arena, the electricity in the building is palpable. Each arena employee has a spring in their step. The guys are smiling and confident. The coaching staff radiates an intense determination. We might be down, but we’re not out.

I’m planning a special after-game celebration dinner because I believe in these guys. There’s no quit in them, and they are going make every pundit who claims they can’t come back from a three-game deficit eat their words.

Levi and I are treading water when it comes to our relationship. We’re on the edge of either moving to the next level or seeing our bond crumble under the stress induced by our mutual fear of commitment. But we are committed, even if we haven’t verbally defined our direction as a couple. We’ll take it one day at a time until the season ends, hopefully in triumph. If it ends in defeat, I fear Levi will retreat into his den to lick his wounds and possibly be lost to me. But I won’t give up that easily if it comes down to it. We have something profoundly special together and worth fighting for. I hope he feels the same, and I believe he does.

It’s torture not to watch the game in person, and my eyes are glued to the television in the players’ lounge, which I can see from the kitchen if I’m standing in the right place, which happens to be the very place Milo and Maddie also want to stand. I turn the sound up so we can at least hear what’s going on.

The game is an offensive battle. By the middle of the third period, the score is three to three. Then a miracle happens. Florida stumbles, and Ice scores a laser from several feet out. Then Landon scores and lastly Wild scores. By the final buzzer, we’re ahead six to three. This win is a statement to our opponents and to the hockey world. We’re not giving up. We don’t care about history or impossibilities. We only care about playing each game as it comes and not looking ahead.

The postgame meal is a rowdy affair. Spirits are high. Guys have their eye on the ultimate prize and are feeling good about their chances.

Levi struts into the lounge, and his gaze goes immediately to me as if a thin silver thread connects us. He’s flying high not just from the win, but he assisted in Landon’s goal, and what a beauty it was.

I throw professionalism out the window and run from behind the counter to throw myself in his arms. He picks me up and spins me around kissing me until we’re both dizzy. I hear the catcalls and teasing remarks from his teammates, but I don’t care, and neither does he. He puts me down finally. And I gaze up at him, squeezing his arms, and grinning.

“Good game.”

“Fucking fantastic game.” He lights up with pure joy, and I’m beaming with pride. He took what I said to heart and forgot about his own game to concentrate on being a good team player and was rewarded. Levi has matured so much in the past few months, and I take a little credit for his newfound maturity.

Dinner is a huge hit. I went all out with shrimp or chicken fettucine with homemade pasta and cream sauce, along with homemade garlic bread and multiple meat choices paired with other healthy, but carb-loading, options. The guys rave about the meal. My pasta is almost as good as my bread.

I’m glowing with satisfaction as I accept their multiple compliments. The lounge slowly clears out as the guys head for a postgame party at the Place.

Ice comes up to me, and he’s sporting a rare smile. He’s a serious man who rarely softens his hard exterior except when he’s around his wife Avery. I’ve heard he also has a rogue horse that he’s rehabilitated. I find that hard to reconcile with his impenetrable exterior, but I barely know him.

“I’ve had my doubts about you, but I’ll be the first to say I was wrong.”

“Thank you.” I accept his words for what they are—the ultimate compliment—even if he’s not exactly touchy-feely in his delivery.

“You’re all right. I hope you’ll be back next year.”

“Let’s get through this year first.”

“Yeah, we should. But you have my support.” He nods and surprises me with a quick wink before heading for the door. I watch him go before I turn to Levi who, as usual, is the last person to leave the lounge.

“I have a few things to finish up here, and then I’ll meet you at the Place.” I lean in for a quick kiss.

“Are you sure? I can help if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. Go party with your boys. I’ll be there soon.”

He hesitates, reluctant to leave.

“Really. I’ll be there within an hour.”

“Okay.” One more kiss, and he’s out the door.

Maddie and Milo finish up their tasks, and I send them on their way, while I finish up a few loose ends. I should be out of here in about fifteen minutes. The arena is quiet with only a few staff lingering in the area. Almost everyone else has left to party either with the team or with friends.

An uneasy feeling shivers down my spine. I’m isolated, and it’s a little eerie to be virtually alone in this cavernous building. I’ll be one of the last to leave, which is par for the course. I should be used to it. Yet something is different and off about tonight, despite the big win. I hurry to finish up so I can get out of this currently spooky place.

The door opens. I glance up with a broad smile. Levi came back. He couldn’t leave without me. What a guy. I breathe a sigh of relief before I gasp in surprise.

Only it’s not Levi. The guy stalking toward me is somewhat overweight, balding, and has a scraggly beard and mustache. He’s unkempt, leaving me to wonder if a homeless person has managed to hide out in the building. It happens all the time. Only this guy doesn’t have the air of someone who’s been downtrodden by life. The intruder radiates sinister fury, and his obvious rage sets me back on my heels.

I back up until I hit the wall. There’s nowhere to go. My only choice is to face this lunatic and attempt to talk my way out of it. I rein in my panic. I have to remain calm and appear in control.

“You aren’t supposed to be here.” He’s as surprised to see me as I am him.

I don’t know how to answer that, so I stay quiet rather than risk his wrath.

“You’re the new head chef, aren’t you?”

I nod mutely.

“Who did you fuck to get this job, you fucking bitch?” His demeanor is disturbing, and I’m no mental health professional, whose help he clearly needs. To my dismay, he pulls a gun from his pocket and waves it around carelessly.

“What? No, I—I—” My eyes are trained on his gun.

“I know all about you. You don’t have the credentials to be the head chef for an NHL team, therefore you found another way to get the job.”

Okay, that pisses me off, but I tamp down my temper. Only a fool would berate a man with a gun. If I want out of this in one piece, I’ll need to cajole and flatter, not alienate and attack. Besides, he’s armed, and I’m not, which gives him a distinct advantage.

“Who are you?” Before the last word is out of my mouth, I know the answer to that question. It’s too obvious not to be him. “You’re Chef John, aren’t you?”

He smirks, pleased I’ve figured it out. We stare each other down for what seems like a lifetime.

My brain grinds through my options, and none of them seem good. I need to defuse his anger and find a way to reach him, improbable as it seems.

“I’m sorry you feel wronged, but I assure you, I didn’t have a thing to do with it.”

“Fuck you. I’ve given you plenty of warnings, but you didn’t heed one of them.”

“Warnings? You’ve been doing all the sabotaging, haven’t you?” It’s so obvious. I can’t understand why I never saw it before. Of course he wants revenge on those he perceived wronged him.

“You should be gone by now. Your presence changes my plans.” He rubs his chin as he considers his options. His malevolent sneer strikes fear deep inside me. He’s not bluffing, and I’m in deep shit.

I hear the click of a door opening, and we both freeze. For a moment, he drops his guard and panic crosses his face.

Celeste calls from the lounge area. “Juniper! Where are you?”

Instead of answering, my gaze slides to Chef John.

“Find out what she wants and get rid of her. Don’t try anything stupid, or you’re both dead.” He crouches behind the counter.

“I’m—I’m in here.” My voice sounds shaky, off-balance, not at all like me. Hopefully Celeste will pick up on my distress.

Celeste enters, all business. “I have a list of items I’d like on the menu based on conversations with some of the guys.”

“Leave it right here. I’ll check it out later.” I point toward one of the shelves against the wall in an attempt to prevent her from seeing Chef John.

“Don’t you want to go over it?”

“No, I trust you.”

She studies me with an acute perception I don’t expect from her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?” I pointedly glance to the area where Chef John crouches behind the counter. Celeste’s eyes follow mine. She narrows her gaze, and I can almost see the calculating going on in her brain. She knows something’s up.

“I owe you an apology. Both you and Maddie,” I blurt in an attempt to communicate something’s wrong.

“Really?” She’s intrigued.

“I’m wrong, and I apologize. I know you had nothing to do with the incidents in my kitchen.”

She’s puzzled but curious and dissects me with an assessing gaze, as if I’m a rare bird she’s studying. I glance down again at Chef John crouched a few feet from me with that pistol pointed directly at my midsection. I lick my lips nervously.

“You seem strange. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

I want to scream, no, everything is fucking not okay. “It’s fine. Thank you for being such a concerned friend. I have to get back to work. We can chat later.”

Celeste’s eyes narrow in suspicion. We are not friends, and we both know it. I glance pointedly toward my crouching captor one more time. With a shaking hand, I try to wave Celeste out of the room. She hesitates and furrows her brow, clearly trying to figure out what’s up.

“And don’t come back until you have answers for me about that problem we discussed.”

“Sure. I won’t.” Celeste backs slowly toward the door. I don’t know if I got through to her or not, but I hope I said enough strange things she’ll send the cavalry. She’s my last hope.

Once the door shuts, Chef John emerges. “Lock all the doors. Now,” he commands, and I rush to comply. I consider leaving the lounge door unlocked, but he’s in sight, and he’ll notice.

“Back here now.” He points at the location where he wants me with his gun. I scurry back to the kitchen. “Sit down.”

I take a seat at the counter. He places a piece of paper in front of me and a pen.

“I need you to write a note.”

“A note?” I’m confused. Why would I write a note?

“As I said earlier—change of plans. Originally, I was going to completely destroy the entire kitchen beyond repair. Since you’ve ruined that with your presence, I’m forced to pivot. Sadly, you’re going to admit to sabotaging your own kitchen and the players’ meals in order to mess with the team’s mojo.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’re working for the other side.”

“No one will believe that. My best friend is married to a Sockeye and my boyfriend is a Sockeye.” I attempt to reason with him.

“That does make it a little difficult to believe, but you’ll be dead with your suicide note beside you stating how sorry you are, which will lend more credibility to your confession.”

I’m racking my brain for a way to talk him out of this. His plan is outrageous and probably not believable, but he’s not behaving logically right now. I think of Levi, partying it up with his buddies and waiting for me to arrive. He’ll start worrying soon when I’m late. I need to stall until that happens.

The electronic door lock clicks, and I blow out a breath of relief. Celeste did figure it out. The cavalry is coming. The kitchen door swings open. I prepare to duck behind the counter out of the line of fire.

Milo enters the kitchen and freezes. Chef John’s back is to him. He’s too busy with his rant to notice. I only have a couple seconds before my moment of opportunity closes. “Milo!” I shout. “Run! Get help!”

My captor whirls around but manages to keep his gun trained on me. Milo doesn’t move, nor does Chef John point his weapon at my assistant. I’m confused. What’s going on here?

“What took you so long?” says Chef John.

Only then do I realize that Milo has been his accomplice all along.