Page 11 of Wrong Number, Right Player (Wrong Number, Right Guy #10)

Emmitt

I close the office door behind me and sink into the chair across from Linda’s spotless desk.

It’s seven-thirty in the morning, and I’m wearing yesterday’s jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt that smells faintly of day-old cologne.

The vanilla latte from Desert Bloom , a local coffee shop I’ve seen Linda with to-go cups from, rests on the desk between us like a peace offering.

She glances up from her computer, taking in the closed door and my disheveled appearance with the practiced eye of someone who’s counseled plenty of athletes in crisis.

“Good morning,” she says, casually removing the readers from her nose as if I regularly stop by, bearing gifts, at this godforsaken hour. She accepts the cup with a raised eyebrow and takes a small sip. I hope it does the trick, as I clench my jaw to keep from looking as wrecked as I feel.

Six hours of sleep over three days will do that to a guy. So will replaying every conversation with McKenna while staring at my ceiling, wondering if I’ve just destroyed the best thing to ever happen to me.

“Tell me, how can I help you today?” she says, as if she doesn’t know exactly why I’m here.

The ice machines rumble to life somewhere down the hall, and I hear Jorge, the head custodian, whistling as he strolls by. The facility feels different at this hour, quieter, more intimate.

“We need to talk.” My shoulders are wound so tight they feel as if they might snap. And this minuscule office chair seems like a poor choice of seating for an organization where at least half the guys are pushing two hundred pounds.

Linda’s expression shifts from morning pleasantries to HR-professional-who-takes-no-shit.

She sets down her coffee and leans back, fingers steepled.

“Let me guess. This conversation is going to require my undivided attention and possibly some creative interpretation of policy manual section twelve-point-four.”

My captain instincts kick in. I can’t help it. They’re ingrained in my bones after years of stepping up when the team needs leadership. Taking control when someone has to take responsibility for the hard choices. Taking the fall when we’ve failed.

Except this time, I’m not protecting my teammates. I’m fighting for the woman I love.

“Linda,” I start, clearing my throat. “I know you can’t discuss personnel matters, but—”

“Oh, honey.” She waves a hand dismissively.

“We’re well past the point of pretending this isn’t about personnel matters.

You show up here looking like you’ve been hit by a Zamboni, bearing my favorite coffee, after your girlfriend disappeared yesterday following my meeting with her?

” She takes another sip. “Either you underestimate me, or I’m dead wrong. ”

Girlfriend. The word hits differently when someone else says it. It’s more real. More terrifying. My shoulders drop. “How long have you known?”

“Known? That’s a strong word. Suspected?” Linda’s smile is sharp but not unkind. “Let’s just say, ever since the day McKenna settled into her office, I’ve been waiting for you to stop by to ask the exact question you’re here for now.”

Since the day McKenna started? Heat creeps up my neck, despite the building’s morning chill. “Was I that obvious?”

“Emmitt, you take scrupulous notes during her presentations. Every time. And you’re the only one. You’re the player who doesn’t bother to write down anything in any other meeting, but somehow, you can’t miss a word the woman says.” She shakes her head.

Christ. If Linda noticed, who else has? No wonder Coach called me aside the other night. My jaw clenches tighter, and I force myself to unclench it before I crack a tooth.

“The team’s talking,” I say. It’s not a question.

“The team’s always talking. It’s what teams do.

” Linda opens a desk drawer and pulls out a thin manila folder.

“But yes, your performance last night combined with McKenna’s sudden absence has people around here connecting dots.

And in my experience, when people start sniffing around, it’s best to get ahead of the news. ”

The sound of the facility’s main doors opening echoes down the hallway. Early arrivals, probably trainers or equipment staff.

“What can we do?” I lean forward, the office chair creaking ominously under my weight. “There’s got to be something…a precedent, a loophole, anything that doesn’t end with her getting fired or me getting benched.”

Linda studies me for a long moment, her fingers drumming against her coffee cup. “Depends. How serious are you about this woman?”

“Serious enough to be sitting here at seven-thirty in the morning in yesterday’s clothes, begging for your help.”

“And if I told you the easiest solution is for you to walk away?”

The question hits like a slap shot to the chest. “I’d tell you that’s not an option,” I reply without hesitation, my voice dangerously low at the suggestion. “Not unless she asks me to.”

Linda nods slowly, as if I’ve passed some kind of test. “Good. Because, as it happens, I do have an idea.” She opens the folder, revealing printed emails and policy documents. “Independent contractor status. McKenna could transition from employee to consultant.”

My pulse jumps. “How would that work?”

“She’d start her own sports nutrition consulting business.

Still work with the team, but would be free to take on other clients.

” Linda pulls out a document covered in highlighter marks.

“There are a few examples of this around the league. Especially when it comes to specialists. The Bearcats have a sleep scientist who contracts with both them and the Firebirds. San Diego uses a consultant for sports psychology who also works with the Waves and several college programs.”

The possibilities spin through my head faster than a powerplay. McKenna, running her own business, building something that’s entirely hers. No more employee handbook restrictions. No more hiding how I feel about her during meetings.

“This could be a good move for her career,” Linda continues. “More autonomy, higher earning potential, the chance to build something significant.”

“It’s perfect,” I say, grinning as if I’d just scored my first NHL goal.

“Slow down there, Romeo.” Linda’s voice cuts through my excitement like a ref’s whistle. “This isn’t your decision to make.”

The words stop me cold. She’s right. But the captain in me—hell, the man who loves her—wants to fix this for both of us. Because that’s what I do. I take care of things. I protect my people.

“McKenna has to want this,” Linda continues. “Career transitions like this are risky, even when they work out. She’d be giving up job security, benefits, and a guaranteed income. She has to make the choice for herself, not because it solves a relationship roadblock.”

I heave a sigh and sink back into the chair, my shoulders dropping as the stress of the last few days catches up with me. “What if she doesn’t want to take the risk?”

“Then you’ll know where you stand.”

The honesty in Linda’s voice cuts deep. Because she’s right, if McKenna won’t take this leap, if she chooses security over whatever this is between us, then I’ve read this whole situation wrong.

“There’s something else,” Linda says, her tone shifting to full HR-seriousness. “Timeline is critical here.”

My blood runs cold. “How critical?”

“It will take weeks, if not months, to make this happen, and until then, there can’t be so much as a whiff of anything between you two.”

“But—”

She holds up a hand to silence me. Then proceeds to count off on her fingers.

“Coach asked me about ‘team dynamics’ yesterday. Derek made a comment to Whitney, wondering where McKenna was. And according to section four-point-seven of the employee handbook, once an investigation begins, alternative arrangements become impossible.” She fixes me with a look that could stop a charging defenseman.

“The organization can’t be seen as creating convenient loopholes for policy violations. ”

Shit. The conversation with Coach echoes in my head—all those careful warnings about poor decisions and consequences. How long before someone puts two and two together and our options disappear?

“So let me get this straight,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I need to convince the brilliant, careful, methodical woman I’ve fallen for to completely upend her career, and take a massive professional risk, all while steering clear enough not to perpetuate any rumors?”

“That’s…” Linda pauses, tilting her head. “Actually, a remarkably accurate summary, yes.”

“Great. No pressure.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. This feels like being down a goal with thirty seconds left and your best player in the penalty box.

“For what it’s worth,” Linda says, her voice gentler now, “McKenna’s got the talent and drive to succeed at anything she sets her mind to.

We’ve all seen the positive way her work has impacted the team.

How she handles Derek’s attitude, manages Petrov’s dietary restrictions, and somehow, convinces half the team to actually read nutrition labels. ”

Pride balloons in my chest. “The woman could run a Fortune 500 company if she wanted to. But,” I add, doubt creeping in, “will she want to take the risk?”

“That, my hockey-playing friend, is the million-dollar question.” Linda closes the folder and tucks it back into her drawer. “Though, I will say, she seemed eager to learn of a possible option when we met yesterday.”

I stare at her. “You told her about this—”

She shakes her head. “I told her I’d look into something and some space between the two of you was advised right now.”

So that’s why she wasn’t answering my messages. Why she wasn’t home last night. She knew I couldn’t stay away, no matter what she asked. I stand, my legs unsteady. The weight of what I need to do—of what I’ll ask McKenna to do—settles in my gut.

“I’ll be speaking with her again today,” Linda continues.

“To share what I’ve just told you. But remember, she’s still on staff and will be through the rest of the regular season.

Her contract includes a built-in condition for extension through the post-season, so the earliest anything could officially change is after the playoffs. ”

I swallow hard. That’s so long.

“Linda?” I pause at the door, my hand on the handle. “Thank you. For researching this, for keeping it quiet, for…everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when McKenna’s signature is on a consulting contract and you two are free to make those heart eyes at each other during team meetings without giving me more gray hair.”

Despite everything, that gets a laugh out of me. “Deal.”

“Oh, and Emmitt?” Her voice stops me as I twist the handle. “For the record, McKenna’s lucky to have someone willing to fight for her like you are. But remember, sometimes, the best thing you can do is trust people to make their own choices.”

The words follow me into the hallway where the facility is alive with the sounds of a normal day.

Equipment carts rolling, conversations echoing from the training rooms, the distant hum of machinery.

But nothing about today feels normal. Because I’m going to ask McKenna Ryan to bet her entire career on us and then give her the space to walk away.

And I have no idea if she’ll think I’m worth the risk.