Page 4

Chapter 4

A paddle named Braydon Mitchell

Braydon

A mariachi band started jackhammering in my head when my roommate/teammate yelled in my ear.

“Shh.” I waved an arm at him, eyes firmly closed, hoping he’d lower his voice. Or even better, leave.

Luke did lower his voice, but it still rang through my brain. “Mitch, you have to get up. The Blaze want you at their office ASAP.”

I groaned and tried to bury myself in my pillow until the uncomfortable tightness of my jacket filtered into my brain. Shit . I’d gone to bed drunk and fully dressed. Why the hell had I done that? That wasn’t me. Two-beer limit, and I hadn’t broken it in years. The band pounded in my head and I swore, never again. Not drinking ever again.

Luke was still there, shaking my shoulder. “Come on, Mitch. You gotta get up.”

I moaned and rolled onto my side. Sunlight coming in the window made me rethink the idea of opening my eyes. Too late for my run, and how was I going to make practice today? But Luke said the Blaze. Everything came rushing back. Getting called up to play. Two periods, then Faith Devereaux in net. Big excitement. Calling my mother after the game.

My stomach rolled at that and I launched myself out of the bed to lurch to the bathroom where I upchucked an appetizing mess of alcohol and bile. I knelt, panting over the toilet bowl. Luke brought me water and ibuprofen.

“Thanks.” My voice was growly, my throat raw. I swallowed the pill and rinsed my mouth while I took stock of my body. The headache was still wrapped around my brain like a vise, but the painkillers would take care of that. My mouth tasted like I’d crawled through a sewer, but other than some sore muscles I was doing okay. Muscle ache was familiar after a game.

My eyes flew open, and I stared up at Luke, still patiently waiting beside me. “I fucking won a game in the NHL!”

Luke nodded, but he was holding back. Why? We’d joined the Inferno at the same time and roomed together the last two years. He shouldn’t be jealous—he’d get his chance. He was our best D-man right now.

“Yeah, congrats. We caught the highlights after the game. That shot in the first, when it hit the post? That made me worry, but once the nerves left, you had it. The guys want to come over tonight to celebrate.”

Of course they did. The team was a pretty good group, and they loved to party. I, however, would be sticking to nonalcoholic beverages. No drinking, no skipping practice. I had to get back to the plan. My dream was so close, I couldn’t do anything to risk it.

The memory of my conversation with my parents intruded again. Learning about my sperm donor had been the reason I’d found a bar and overdone it. I had a vague recollection of tequila shots and fought back the nausea again.

“What happened, dude? You never do this kind of shit.” He waved a hand at me still hugging the toilet. “What about the two-drink limit and working out before practice?”

I groaned. “Long story. Fuck, I feel bad.”

“There’s coffee on, and you should shower. You stink.”

I pushed myself to my feet. “You’re the best. Thanks. Wait, what did you say before? The Blaze want to see me?”

That was good news, right? Maybe they needed me for another game, and weren’t going with Faith? I pushed aside everything related to the Devereaux family and put my mind where it needed to be. Hockey was my first and only priority. If the NHL team who’d called me up to play last night needed to see me, I needed to get my hungover ass to their facility ASAP.

“Yeah. They couldn’t get you on your phone, so they called Coach Jones and he called me.”

Fuck. I felt through my pockets and found the phone, dead. “Shit.”

Feeling a little more confident on my feet, I went back to the bedroom, nose wrinkling at the smell. Time to do laundry. I plugged the phone into the charger and the thing lit up like a Christmas tree.

Well, I’d played my first ever NHL game last night. Despite the fact I’d been pulled before the third, people had noticed. I was tempted to look at whatever was on the phone. There were so many notifications.

First things first. The team wanted to see me. If I could just make myself presentable and get to them before they started to question my work ethic, I could do this.

“Shit, I gotta get to the Blaze arena. Could you drive me? Wait, you have practice.”

I’d left my truck at whatever bar I’d been at and Ubered home. Where had I gone? I had to have paid, right? It would be on my credit card record. If I mainlined some coffee and got a ride now, hopefully I’d be ready to face whatever the Blaze wanted. Then I’d find my truck.

“I told Coach I’d make sure you got there.” Luke paused. “But that video went viral.”

Video? “The goal?” I’d only let in one.

He grimaced. “Thought you might not know. No, later. In the bar. When you complained about Faith Devereaux.”

My stomach clenched and I scrambled to make it back to the bathroom. While my guts returned any contents still remaining, tendrils of memory poked at my brain.

I’d been pissed, because of Frank Devereaux. And because of him, Faith. I knew it was stupid and childish but resenting her wasn’t something I could talk myself out of. My mom had kept the secret for twenty-five years, and as far as I was concerned she could keep it for another twenty-five. But enough alcohol and I’d spilled something. What?

I pulled myself upright and returned to the doorway of the bathroom. Luke was wearing a worried expression.

“I’m gonna shower and try to clear my head. Then you can tell me how much I fucked up.”

He nodded. “Sure. It was a lot.”

* * *

Showered, dressed, and with coffee in front of me, I was finally ready to face whatever I’d done last night. My phone was charging in my room but Luke suggested I wait to read whatever was on it. Instead, he pulled up a video on his and passed it over.

It was me, of course. Drunk. Stupid drunk. Slurring words, eyes unfocused, clothing rumpled and hair a mess. Just the image the Blaze wanted of one of their players. After years of never stepping out of line I’d blown everything I’d worked for in one night.

“Shuuur. They jusht put her in, fer a shtunt, after I do all the work. How come shee gets everthin’ handed to her, while I have to work for it? It washt my night. You know? It’sh not fair. It’s never fair.”

I was tense for an additional thirty seconds while past me whined, but then it ended. I didn’t tell the secret. That was the only upside. I did go viral, drunk off my face. Complaining about something my team did, and about a teammate. Saying it wasn’t fair, like I was a toddler and someone didn’t share a toy with me. Unprofessional, entitled, unaware of my surroundings. Fuck . I’d just sabotaged my career. My dream.

If I played really well, kept rigidly to my routines like I had, I might still make it to the NHL. But not with the Blaze. It would take time to come back from what I’d done. Who would want me after this? Not the people I wanted to work with.

Luke took his phone back and was kind enough not to replay it or tell me how viral it had gone. It didn’t really matter. It had gone far enough to bring the team in.

I held my head in my hands. “I’m fucked.”

Luke nodded. “But you played a good game. That has to count for something.”

Not that much. The Blaze already had two goalies. Those guys would be back in net soon. With no game tonight, they had lots of time to find someone to fill in if they were out longer than a couple of days. Maybe they’d put Faith in. Not me. I’d just thrown away this opportunity to impress them. At least in a good way. The trade deadline had just passed for this season, but come summer they’d ship me off before I saw any more NHL time. I’d still play on the Inferno till then. Right?

I rubbed my forehead. I’d rebound. I would. But damn it, how could the Devereaux family manage to screw with me like this?

Luke passed me another cup of coffee. “People will forget. Eventually. Drink that up and I’ll get you downtown. But still, you might not want to look at anything on your phone.”

I slumped in my seat. The Devereaux family might be the catalyst, but this was my mess. I’d done this to myself. Time to face the music.

* * *

Jayna

What an asshole.

This was supposed to be a great morning, one of the best days of my temporary career. Boosting Faith’s start would be the most meaningful thing I’d ever done in this job. Ignore the trolls and milk this moment for the groundbreaking event that it was.

But no, I couldn’t enjoy that. I limped into my office, tired from my late night, and sore and worried after my rehab session. My therapist had suggested additional sessions, but they weren’t covered by our medical plan, and they weren’t cheap. That, I could have shoved down to worry about later, to focus on what Faith had done last night. But no. Because Braydon fucking Mitchell had his nose out of joint that he’d lost all the attention on his first NHL start, and he’d been recorded, drunk, complaining about Faith. No wonder he hadn’t showed at the party.

I’d just settled in my chair when an office DM popped up. My boss wanted to see me. Three guesses what that was about.

The same investor group owned the Blaze and the Bonfire, so my transition from doing publicity for the Bonfire to filling in for Penny’s mat leave had mostly been organic. Fortunately, I had also been suitably recompensed because living in Toronto was expensive. I couldn’t do my usual offseason coaching because I was still off my skates, so I had to build up enough savings to see me through the summer. I’d already paid out of pocket for extra supplements that were supposed to help my body heal. It hadn’t got me back on the ice yet, so I was focused on the fall.

I had an office space—tiny—and while I mostly worked from home right after my knee surgery, it was easier to keep up with all the activity happening with the teams when I was at the arena. It also meant I needed to get to Kira’s office ASAP.

I threw my laptop in a bag and limped over to her office, leaning on my cane. Her space was much larger, and was currently occupied by the Blaze’s top PR guys. I knew Braydon had gone viral with his rant, but this was overkill, wasn’t it?

Kira waved me in. “Thanks for coming, Jayna. This is Vince Radner, VP of Media relations, and Brad Bouchard, Senior Manager of Media. I don’t think you met them when you started.”

No, I hadn’t. I’d never been important enough to catch their attention. I was just a mat leave replacement, and Kira, Manager of Media Relations, was the one I reported to.

Radner didn’t acknowledge the introduction. “We’ve got a situation, and we need to get on top of it. You’ve seen the Braydon Mitchell video?”

“Yes, saw it first thing this morning.” Notifications had lit up my phone like fireworks. I slid into the closest seat to the door and set my cane against the arm. I pulled out my laptop, my weapon of choice when I wasn’t on the ice. I always had my phone with me, but some things were better handled with the computer.

“Then you know what the problem is. You and Kira thought playing the girl would be a media hit, but now we’ve got this.” He waved at my laptop.

As if it was my fault that Braydon was a diva?

He looked me up and down, which was a little bizarre and definitely borderline inappropriate. “We have to undo what this video has done. We need the fans behind both the goalies we’re taking into the playoffs.”

That would take some doing. The obvious solution was getting rid of Mitchell and playing Faith instead, but these men, sitting here, weren’t willing to play that hand. Had they not considered that? “Why not use Faith?” The Bonfire would miss her, but this would be incredible for her, and for women’s hockey.

“No.” Radner didn’t even offer an excuse.

I opened my mouth to argue but Kira ran her finger across her throat in a slashing motion. I bit back the angry words and forced a smile. I’d have risked my jobs if I thought I could change their minds. But if they were blaming Faith for Braydon’s hissy fit? Yeah, not happening. Change was coming, but they weren’t giving any more ground today.

“We have to fix Mitchell.”

He’d been drunk, which was never a good look. He’d complained that someone had taken his moment of glory, which exposed him as a selfish brat. And since this had been a big moment in women’s sports, add misogynist to his con column.

There were people who supported his view, the ones who didn’t think women belonged in sports. But that was not where the future of the game was, and it wasn’t where the Blaze wanted to be. Since they couldn’t trade for another goalie, they were up shit creek with a paddle named Braydon Mitchell. I was now in the canoe with them.

“I can start looking for things to post about him—presumably he’s done something worthwhile in his past.” I flipped open my laptop, ready to start my to-do list. Reaching out to the Inferno publicity team was the first step.

“Jayna.” Kira had a note in her voice that told me I’d gotten something wrong. But if they didn’t want me to spin this, why call me into this meeting?

The senior manager of media deigned to explain it to me. “Despite what’s in that video, Braydon is a good guy. There’s never been any incidents to indicate the behavior we saw last night. The clip online was taken very much out of context.”

I couldn’t help the snort that escaped. Right. Oldest excuse in the books.

Radner glared at me and spoke to Kira. “If you can convince her, the job is done. I’ll let you sell it.”

The two of them walked out, leaving me with my mouth half open. I looked at Kira.

“Shut the door again. We have something to discuss.”

* * *

“Do we really have to do this?” I sounded whiny, but come on, this felt desperate. I understood what they were doing. Totally. I just didn’t want to be part of it.

Kira sighed. “If you’d thought of a better idea, you’d have already mentioned it. And you’re the perfect person to carry it off. If you’d been dating someone, well, that would have changed things, but as it is…”

It was such a crazy idea I’d never have dreamed of it: prove that Mitchell didn’t have an issue with female hockey players by having him date one.

And since I was handling social media for the Blaze, if I was dating him, I could make sure he didn’t do anything this stupid again. Until the playoffs were over and this could all go away.

“No one is going to believe I’m dating someone who would say that shit.” Because I wouldn’t.

“We have to give the media a reason for Braydon’s ranting. And you’re it.”

My beloved boyfriend was so upset that I went to the party with Faith last night instead of going out with him that he’d gotten drunk and complained about Faith. Not because she stole his thunder, just his girlfriend’s attention.

“He was invited to the party though. Cooper asked him.”

Kira paused. “Does anyone else know that?”

“I have no idea.”

She made a note. “Cooper will cooperate. As long as no one out there knows that he could have been at that party, we can make this work. We’re counting on you, Jayna.”

At least Kira had more faith that I could do this than the suits had. I was torn between thinking it was stupid and wanting to prove them wrong. “Okay, when do we begin?”

“He’s on his way. No time like the present.”