Page 4 of Wrong Score

Before I can get close enough to hear anything, Reeve's phone rings. He glances at the screen, then back at Rowan, saying something I can't catch before answering the call and walking away, leaving Rowan standing alone in the hallway.

This is my chance. I stride towards her, my jaw clenched.

"Summers," I call out, my voice harsh and demanding.

She turns, surprise flashing across her face before it's replaced by a guarded expression. "Coach Bex," she says, her tone neutral, but the frown on her face says she isn't eager for another run-in with me.

Good.

I stop a few feet away from her. Now I'm the one crossing my arms over my chest. "Care to explain what that was all about?"

She raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't play dumb, Summers. You and Reeve. He played piss-poor out there today. He's one of my most solid players, right up until today. What were you two discussing?"

Her eyes narrow. "That's between Reeve and me. It's not my place to share personal conversations."

"You're affecting my player's performance on the ice," I growl. "So whatever you're doing, whatever angle you're working, back off Summers."

Rowan's eyes flare with anger. "It's not what you think."

"Then enlighten me," I challenge.

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Maybe if you were more approachable, Reeve would have already told you himself."

Her words hit me like a slap to the face. Before I can respond, she turns on her heels and storms off, leaving me fuming in the middle of the hallway.

If I didn't like her before, I really don't like her now. The nerve of that woman implying that I'm unapproachable to my own players. And what the hell is she up to with Reeve? Is she digging up dirt? Trying to stir up drama for her next article?

Frustration is coursing through me. This is exactly why I didn't want her around my team. She's causing problems, distracting my players, and now she's got secrets about them or with them—I'm not sure which.

I turn and stalk back to my office, slamming the door behind me —a rare occurrence with my open-door policy, but I'm doing a favor to anyone who unknowingly ventures into my office after the heated conversation I just had with Rowan.

I drop to my chair and rest the back of my neck against the headrest, staring up at the ceiling.

My phone dings with an incoming text from my oldest brother Leo who still lives in the same city we grew up in–Liverpool.

Leo: Camille keeps asking if Uncle Bexley is coming to her sixth birthday party this summer.

I haven't been home in two years and it would be good to go back but I don't want to promise anything unless I can make good on it.

Bex: I'll get back to you on that. Tell my favorite girl that I miss her.

Leo: Come home and tell her yourself.

Camille Townsend

Five years old, missing her two front teeth and the only female that holds my heart. Though I’d never tell my mum that.

I flop my phone onto my desk with a loud clunk. I know what will happen if I go home. My brothers Leo and Archie will spend every day hassling me to retire at the end of my contract terms next season and move back home.

Our mum is getting older and with our dad passing away a few years ago, I need to make family a priority.

I need to go home but can I walk away from hockey for good?

The one thing I am sure of, I need to talk to Sam about the issue with Rowan. I've worked too hard as the head coach of this team to let a reporter walk in and ruin our chances at a Stanley Cup victory this season. Sam will surely see my side.

Chapter Two

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