Page 35 of Pucking the Team

Ryan’s gaze drops to the paper placemat and he starts fiddling with the straw in his water glass. “Ah, no. My dad passed from cancer when I was in college. Mom’s remarried and living in Florida now. So it’s just me and my little sister these days.”

“I’m so sorry, Ryan.” Without thinking, I reach across and lay my hand over his. “I lost my parents young too. It’s really hard, being on your own like that.”

He meets my eyes, surprised and appreciative. “Thanks, Emma. Most people don’t get it. They think because I ‘made it’, I should be over it. But it never really goes away, you know?”

“Believe me, I know.” I squeeze his hand. A beat passes, filled with mutual understanding.

Then I take a breath and decide to open up to him. “Can I tell you something? My dad was a hockey coach.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up. “No kidding? Who?”

“Jack Collins.”

“Holy shit, the legendary Blizzards head coach Jack Collins was your dad?” Ryan gapes at me. “Why doesn’t everyone know this? It all makes sense now—why you love the game so much, why you know it inside and out…”

“I don’t exactly advertise it.” I shrug uncomfortably. “I want people to respect me for my work, not my name. Hockey is in my blood and all I’ve wanted my whole life was to work for the Blizzards, but I wanted to earn it, not be handed it because of my dad’s legacy or because people pitied me. You have to keep this between us, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” He mimes locking his lips and tossing away the key. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Ryan gives me an assessing look, one that I’m used to receiving once people learn about my dad. It’s usually followed by a look of pity—poor Emma Collins, orphaned when her parents died in a horrific plane crash. But to my immense relief, there’s no pity at all in Ryan’s eyes. In fact, I feel like I’ve grown in his esteem.

I feel myself relax. Somehow, I know I can trust Ryan. Under that brawny exterior, he’s deeply principled.

The waitress appears to take our order, and the moment passes, but I feel like a wall has come down between us. Like maybe he sees me—just Emma, not the person who’s been sent by the PR team to manage him—for the first time.

“So you love hockey and are from a legacy family…why didn’t you want to work in strategy or coaching or something?” he asks. “Why marketing?”

I shrug. “Well, I wasn’t ever able to play women’s hockey because I have asthma. And yeah, I’ve seen more games than I could possibly count, and I have a lot of opinions on plays. But look around, how many women in coaching positions do you see? Maybe I could use my dad’s name to get my foot in the door but…” I grimace. “That’s just so not me. Marketing seemed like a guaranteed way that I could get myself into the industry on my own.”

Ryan nods thoughtfully. “I guess it’s probably tough to break into coaching when there aren’t a lot of women paving the path. And you do seem to like what you do.”

I smile. “I do! And I’m able to put those would-be coaching skills to work after-hours when I’m dominating my fantasy hockey league.”

He laughs. Our food shows up, but as Ryan digs into his chili cheese fries and I devour my Coney dog, we keep talking.

“So tell me about this sister of yours,” I say between bites.

Ryan lights up as he describes Rosie—a brilliant college student finishing the last year of her philosophy masters before moving to Chicago.

“No way, I was a philosophy minor!” I exclaim.

“Me too,” Ryan chuckles, and before I can stop it, I feel my eyebrows raise. “Crazy, right? Guess I’m not just a dumb jock after all…”

“I never thought that,” I protest, even as I kick myself internally. Because I’m realizing that I did assume Ryan was all brawn, no brain. God, I can be a judgmental ass sometimes.

We launch into a spirited discussion of Kirkegaard and Sartre, Nietzsche and de Beauvoir. Ryan matches me point for point, leaving me feeling unbalanced in the best possible way. Listening to him wax poetic about existentialism, I’m struck by a wave of attraction so strong it steals my breath.

I take a long sip of my root beer float, trying to cool the heat rising in my cheeks. As a silence stretches between us, I decide to broach the elephant in the room.

“Ryan, I have to ask. What’s the deal with you and Lukas?”

He tenses, his knuckles whitening around his glass.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” I backpedal quickly. “Not my business.”

“No, it’s fine,” he sighs. “Ancient history. I need to get over it already.” He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “Back in college, Lukas hooked up with my girlfriend at the time. I was visiting Slade at school and brought Madison with me…and she cheated on me. With him. I caught them in the act.”

“Oh, Ryan. I’m so sorry.” My chest tightens imagining a younger, even more earnest Ryan having his heart shattered.

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