Page 11 of Penalties and Proposals

“The Ice Breakers are doing a signing table at this thing called Maple Fest. You’ve probably seen the signs for it around town. It’s a harvest festival with corn mazes, pumpkin decorating, and all kinds of Hallmark vibes happening.”

“I’ve seen the posters. I guess I’m doing a shift there that day?”

“Ding, ding, ding! You’re the big winner … you’ll be doing a two-hour shift with another player or two. Plus we also have the feature withAthletic Edgeto talk about.”

The mention of the magazine brings me back to Willa. My stomach both dips in fear and hitches with giddiness at the mere thought.

“There’s a reporter who I’ve been in contact with. We’re going to arrange a time for you to meet with them either over Zoom or in person, so stay tuned for that. This article could mean you getting another contract to stay with River City Renegades next year, but it could also mean you get called back up to the NHL.”

And there’s the sting. The sting of a man who was riding high on the hog in the NHL, but got slammed back down to the AHL when he acted like a giant fool.

“But,” Travis continues, “it’s the photographer that I wanted to talk to you about.”

Before he has a chance to go further, I interrupt. “I met the photographer already.”

“You did?”

“She was at the press junket a few days ago. It’s Willa Blackwell.”

I don’t have to finish the sentence. Travis knows all of it, and his groan tells me he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“Oh, man. Then you need to fix that situationship as fast as possible before she takes close-ups of your nostrils.”

“A situationship?” I’ve not heard this term before, and I’m genuinely intrigued.

“Yes. It’s a relationship that’s in a situation.” Travis elicits a sigh so loud, I swear it smacks my eardrum. “You’re doing really well, but you have a lot of negativepress and a rep that still hangs on you like a bad stink from the old days. You need her to make you look good as much as you need me to help you talk good.”

“I talk fine, thank you,” I almost choke out, but Travis’s laughter floats through the line reverberating in my ear. “Seriously, Trav, what do I do?”

“You’re a big boy. You’ll figure it out.” The sound of a ding on his end makes me think he’s probably sitting in front of an open computer, reading email. “Ahhh, Noah, I need to run. Not sure if I told you, but there’s an assistant coach position opening up on the Renegades next year and they want to fill it fast. I’ve been asked to help scout some possibilities while I’m here, and it looks like one of the guys they’d like for the job is going to be at this party tonight.”

“Go, and good luck. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“I’ll stop by the rink and catch up with you after practice.”

Disconnecting from the call, I finally decide on the lasagna because it sounds like the perfect comfort food needed for the night. All of the work talk with Travis has my heart doing this weird thing, where it’s kind of heavy. I like talking about ice hockey, it’s all I’ve breathed and lived for years, but I’m not feeling “it” right now.

I’m in a place where I think I’m starting to question my longevity in this role. Do I stay or go before I’m asked to leave? I mean, maybe retirement isn’t so bad … but do I still want to make a run for the NHL again, and get back what I once had?

My server takes my order and promises to be back soon. Once he’s gone, I pull my book out and turn my attention to being a badass every day. I feel like I need this right now.

My mind swirls with all kinds of thoughts when a blast of cold air alerts me that someone’s opened the door to the restaurant. My back is to the door, but I watch as Kara comes flying out of the kitchen, making her way to the front to greet whomever is there.

“Welcome to The Glass Olive,” Kara sings out, a little more confident this time than previously. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No, no reservation,” a familiar woman’s voice croons. “Table for one, please.”

I know the voice. Turning around slowly, my heart stops when my eyes lock with Willa’s.

CHAPTER 6

WILLA

“Isthis the only table you have available?”

My eyes cannot be deceiving me. I’m standing in a restaurant with no one else in it, save another couple at the opposite end of the room. Surely the only table they have for me to sit at is not the one that happens to be directly beside Noah? Not to mention the fact the place is small enough I’d practically be sitting at his table anyway, the tables are that close to one another.

The young girl looks at me woefully. “I’m really sorry, but we’re full with reservations tonight.” Her tone is apologetic, and she’s young, so I’m not going to debate the situation … but still. The odds. I flex my hands, stretch my fingers, and take a deep breath, trying to fight back my irritation when I see a sliver of my tattoo under my sleeve.

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