Page 17 of Fall Wherever They May

Carter hums and catches up with me; our steps are in sequence with each other as we walk down the hallway. We’re almost to the game room when a small body comes barreling out of the room and plows right into Carter. Tucker almost falls on his rear, but my hand snaps out to grab him. His head slowly moves up-up-up, and then his face takes on an expression of surprise.

“No way.” He breathes out, squares his shoulders, and straightens up to his full height. “Hi, Mr. Graham. Sorry for bumping into you like that. I just whipped around that doorway—” His hands close, then pop back open. “BAM. There you were.” Tucker holds out his hand to shake Carter’s. “It’s nice to meet you; I’m Tucker Taylor, sir.” Carter looks from him to me, then back to him. He tilts his head back and bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. When he recovers, he shakes Tucker’s hand.

“Hi, Tucker Taylor. I’m Carter. It’s nice to meet you.”

As if life couldn’t fuck me any more than it already has, Aspen comes around the corner. Our eyes connect. She gives a polite smile, though I know it’s not directed toward me. Sure, I assumed after her little performance—when she told me that she owned my ass—that she would probably be the one to conduct the meeting. But I was hoping I would beat her to the conference room so I could hide back in the corner and not make eye contact with her.

“Tucker.” She calls out. “You’re going the wrong way, Buddy. We’re in here.” She nods her head to the conference room by her dad’s office—well, her office now.

She’s an entirely different person with Tucker. Her demeanor is patient, kind, and gentle. With me, her voice is full of sharp tones, and her face is filled with exasperated expressions, but I guess I did piss her off; I can’t really expect anything less.

“Alright boys,” Tucker claps and rubs his hands together, “let’s get this shindig started.” He turns around, leading us toward the conference room.

Carter laughs, “Oh yeah, I can see this from a mile away—you’re S-C-R-E-W-E-D.”

Tucker takes off his ball cap, runs his hand through his hair to straighten it up, and holds the cap to his side, tappingit against his leg. “Umm . . . Mr.? You . . . you do know I can spell, right? That’s five dollars for the swear jar.” He holds out his hand.

Carter chuckles, shaking his head. He pulls out his wallet and slaps a twenty into Tucker’s hand. “You are going to be one rich kid by the time this season is over.”

Carter sports a shit-eating grin as we follow Tucker to the conference room, but before we make it through the door, he places a hand on my chest, stopping me in my tracks. He turns to face me, keeping his voice low. “She’s hot. She is smoking fucking hot. I don’t care what you say about her; this littlebickering thing you both have going on . . . yeah, that’s called foreplay. I’m calling it now. You’re fucked.” With that, he turns around with me trailing behind.

My now ex-best friend, Carter, and I sit beside each other in a corner at the back of the room. I’m slumped down behind the bodies of a few big, burly players, actively trying to avoid Aspen’s attention. The rest of the players begin to trickle in, one after another, filling the seats around us. I know what this meeting is about, and I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see her smug face. This is a waste of my time.

“Holy shit, who’s that?” I hear Jerome whisper.

“I don’t know, but she is a smoke show,” Fletcher Wilson, a new rookie, whispers back.

A scoff burst out of me. I roll my eyes. Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but that woman has an attitude problem, a smart mouth, and she is irritating as hell.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Coach Jenkins addresses us. He turns his head towards Aspen and Hannah. “And ladies, let’s get this meeting underway. First, I would like to introduce you to Mr. West’s daughter and our new team owner; this is Aspen Taylor.” Aspen and Tucker stand beside Coach at front of the conference room. “And this . . .” He puts a hand on eachone of Tucker’s shoulders. “. . . is her son Tucker. I asked Miss Taylor to allow me to introduce him because he’s now a part of the family, and you will be seeing a lot of him.”

“This is unreal,” he whispers with eyes blown wide.

Aspen leans down to whisper something in his ear; he looks up at her, nods with a big smile, stands up straight, then addresses the room. “It’s a pleasure; I’m looking forward to seeing y’all around, but for now, I have a video game calling my name.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder before walking out the door. The room fills with laughter. The kid is fucking hilarious.

“So, I’m going to go ahead and hand the floor over to Miss Taylor.”

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Aspen smiles cheerfully while she makes eye contact with the people in the room. With her slight southern drawl, not to mention her killer body and gorgeous face, she holds everyone’s stares with rapt attention. Our new team owner is stunning, even if she is a grade-a-pain-in-the-ass. I saw the little hearts in the eyes of some of my teammates’ faces when they saw Aspen; they looked intoxicated by her. As murmurs begin to grow silent, she continues.

“Though the circumstances that brought me here are tragic, I feel honored to be here, fulfilling my father’s legacy. My father believed in my potential, so I guess that has to be enough for all of us.” She drops her head toward the floor, inhales a deep breath, and exhales slowly. It takes her a minute to gather herself. She raises her head back up and meets my eyes before casting them around the room to my other teammates. I slide down further in my chair. Carter elbows me in the ribs for being rude, and I let out a grunt.

“I’m going to allow myself to be very vulnerable here for a moment. I’m not only new to this position and organization, but I’m also new to hockey. Given who my father is, I know thatmay come as a shock to all of you, but without going into detail, those are the facts. My degree is in business, but it’s not in sports business, so I’m not going to pretend to have all the answers. And I’m not going to stand here, lie to your face, and tell you I’m a huge hockey fan. I’m not. But I can promise you one thing: I will be.

‘I will be your biggest cheerleader. I will work hard to learn about this team and the sport my father loved more than anything else. I will grow to know each one of you and your families personally. And I will have your backs day in and day out. I hope, in return, that you will have mine.” She smooths her dress and continues.

“My door is always open, and if there is something you need, you can call or text; Coach is sending out a mass text with my cell number.” She turns and looks at Coach, giving him a soft smile, then turns back to all of us. “And please, just call me Aspen; I’m not big on formalities. If any of you have any questions, please feel free to stay behind and ask. Let’s have a great season.”

“Thank you, Aspen, we’re glad to have you,” Coach says, then turns his attention to me. “Cal, can you hang back a minute?”

“Yeah, Coach.”

Players start making their way out, but some linger to shake Aspen’s hand and ask her questions. Thirty minutes later, the conference room is emptied out, and I’m alone with Coach and Aspen. I don’t know what he wants, but I have a suspicion he knows something about the dynamics between Aspen and me, and I’m about to get my ass chewed for it.

“Aspen, this is Cal. He’s a veteran player with the team and has been in the pros for a decade.” He turns to me, pausing, waiting . . . and I stand there, looking between the two of them, not knowing how she wants to play this because we have alreadymet. Do I tell him we’ve met? Do I shake her hand? Do I tell him she’s a pain in the ass? I don’t know what to do; this is awkward as fuck. What I do know is we don’t like each other. Before I can say anything, she reaches out her hand to shake mine. Ah, so this is how we’re going to play this. Okay, I’ll bite.

“Actually, Cal and I have already met. He was showing Tucker some things down on the ice earlier today.” She gives me a saccharine smile. I shake her hand, and the minute our hands touch, that foreign energy runs through my body again.

“Pleasure,” I’m trying my damnedest to be polite in front of my coach, but my jaw takes on an involuntary tick. I can literally feel my molars cracking. It’s anything but a pleasure to be standing here with her.

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