Page 36 of Wrong Score

“It’s interesting you bring that up, Drew,” she says, setting a calm and cool gaze on him. “Because when you look at the numbers, Bex has one of the best win records as a coach in the league. Not only that, but he’s built a team that’s shown consistent improvement, despite all the injuries and setbacks they’ve faced. If you’d spent any amount of time watching the games in person instead of watching the highlight reel, you’d see that Coach Bex is one of the fiercest coaches in the NHL.”

Drew blinks, visibly taken aback, but Rowan isn’t finished.

“And as for the players,” she continues, her voice unwavering, “They respect him because he’s more than just a coach. He’s someone who’s dedicated to every practice, every game, and who’s built a team culture that’s as strong as any in the league. You might not see that in a stat sheet, but anyone who’s actually paying attention knows it.”

I stare down at her, taken off guard. What she just said contradicts everything that she claimed in the article she wrote about me last season. She just defended me against someone on her side of the press box when she didn’t need to. Journalists usually try to play nice, at least to each other's faces. This was a bold move and she did it for me–there’s no other explanation.

Except, I’d like to know why.

Drew opens his mouth, but words seem to fail him. After an awkward pause, the waiter passes by with another beer for me and a tray of champagne flutes, Claire places a protective hand over her stomach and declines with a soft smile. “No champagne for me. Not with the baby on the way.”

The words hang in the air, and I feel Rowan go board stiff next to me. I glance down at her, noticing the tension in her jaw and the way her hand tightens around her beer bottle.

“Excuse me, will you?” she asks suddenly, her voice tight. She doesn’t even manage a forced smile.

She turns and walks away before anyone can stop her, leaving me standing there with Drew and Claire. I watch her go, concern telling me that I should follow after her.

She sets her beer bottle down on a table in the middle of the ballroom as she flees, picking up her pace.

Drew says something, but I’m not listening anymore. I’m already planning my escape from this conversation. After a few more polite nods, I excuse myself, muttering something about needing to find Tucker Evans and his wife before the night is over.

I weave through the crowd, searching for Rowan, but she’s nowhere to be found. I ask a few of the Hawkeyes girls if they’ve seen her, but no one has. My concern deepens as I scan the room, wondering where she could have gone.

Finally, after what feels like forever, I find her in a dark hallway near the back of the ballroom. She’s leaning against the wall, her back to me, her shoulders shaking slightly. She’s crying.

“Rowan, Jesus,” I say softly as I approach. Did something happen to her after she took off? Did someone hurt her? I scan her body for any visible signs of trauma, but I don't see any. “Are you alright? What happened to you? Do you need me to grab Tessa or Keely?”

She quickly wipes at her eyes, trying to pull herself together, but the pain in her voice is unmistakable. “I just... I need to go home, Bex.”

Her words take me off guard; I wasn't expecting this. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I do know that I can take care of what she needs right now—what she's asking for. I can get her home.

“Okay, come here,” I say, gently offering my hand for her to take. The minute she does, I slide my fingers through hers and carefully pull her with me. “I'll get you out of here.”

I don't mind leaving early. In fact, if I hadn't been so worried that something had happened to her, I'd have welcomed the excuse to leave early. I wrote my donation check already and signed as much memorabilia for the silent auction as Autumn could hand me in my office earlier this week. They don't need me anymore. And Tucker and I will see each other another time.

I pull out my phone to call for the limo Juliet and Shawnie ordered to pick me up.

She doesn’t protest, just nods, and squeezes my hand tighter as I lead her behind me toward the entrance, checking over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure she's okay. But she keeps her head ducked down to hide her tears from anyone who might see them and try to ask questions.

I don’t know what happened between her and Drew, or why seeing him with his fiancée affected her so much. But right now, I don’t care. All I care about is getting her somewhere safe, away from this place, where she doesn’t have to keep pretending everything is fine.

The limo pulls up to the front in the pouring rain. I don't know where her jacket is but I'm not going to make her wait while I retrieve it from the coat-check. I'll send a text to Autumn to ask her to grab it at the end of the night and get it back to Rowan.

I pull off my tux jacket, pulling it over the top of her head to shield her hair from the rain and wrap the rest of the material around her body.

Fuck, I don't even remember the last time I cared to keep a woman’s hair from getting wet. It's been so long since I've had to worry about something like that. None of the women I've been with since Lily have ended up long-term. A date here and there—sometimes ended at her place, sometimes not. But I've never thought about their hair getting wet in the rain as a problem. Not until now.

"Your jacket." she protests. "But you'll get wet?" Her glassy eyes stare up at me, my jacket draped around her face.

If I hadn't just found her in tears, I'd laugh at how damn cute she looks drowning in the coat of my tux.

"We live in Seattle, Rowan. If I was worried about the rain, I would have moved a long time ago," I smirk, wrapping an arm around her, getting ready to make a run for the limo but wanting to make sure I have a good grip on her, so she doesn't fall.

She looks back up at me. "That's the second time you've called me Rowan."

I don't look back down at her. I use the movement of the driver running out to open the door for us as my excuse to ignore her observation.

We make a run for it. Rowan's high heels make it difficult for her to match me step-for-step, so I turn back and scoop her into my arms, one arm braced behind her back and the other behind her knees.

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