Page 20 of Scoring Grey

Right before I lose my cool, she skates up closer, and the heat that was beginning to boil over is doused. I lean onto my knees as though someone just punched me in the stomach because that’s what this feels like. There’s no way the new publicist our owner hired is the same woman I used to hurt Eloise.

“Boys, meet your new boss, Blair Wyndham. If she commands it for the next eight weeks, do it.”

“Hello, boys,” she says, her voice slightly too sultry given the circumstances. “Can someone tell me the first thing they think of when they hear the word PR?”

Roe says, “Reputation.”

The guy next to him chimes in, “Crisis.”

She places her hands on her hips as her eyes connect with each guy on the bench. Then, with a smile, she says, “Let’s clear one thing up. I’m not here to clean up a crisis. I’m not even here to prevent one.”

Her brown eyes finally find mine. Frankly, I’m surprised they didn’t search for me the second she approached the bench. I’m sure that the fact I play for the Kings influenced her decision to accept the job. Blair and I may have never been anything, but it’s not because she didn’t want to be, and the look she’s giving me now reeks of payback.

“I’m here to generate media coverage, build personal brands, and facilitate relationships.”

I swear, her eyes narrow on mine before she slowly glides down the ice to the far end of the bench.

“Some of you will require more work than others?—”

“How do we sign up for more work?” one of the guy’s jests.

Blair Wyndham is not hard to look at by a long shot. Her mother was a model, and her looks didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to Blair, but she’s not my type. Eloise Grey is my only type, but even if she never existed, it never would have been Blair. Blair Wyndham is conniving. She always has ulterior motives, which is why this announcement is hard to swallow. I can’t help but feel like this move is happening to punish me. I’m off the bench and moving toward the locker room, unable to stomach another second of her voice. Sure, I’m the captain and supposed to lead by example, but right now, I don’t care if they stripped that title away. Half the team doesn’t think I deserve it anyway. So fuck it. Coach Beck calls out my name, and I don’t flinch. I need to get away.

The second I enter the locker room, I chuck my helmet onto the floor in front of my locker and throw myself on the bench before racking my hand through my hair. “What the hell did I do wrong in this life?” I pull the strands. “What do I need to atone for?”

I pull a taxing breath through my nostrils as I fight the urge not to walk out and be utterly careless by throwing away my career. Instead, I reach for my duffle bag and pull out my playbook. Time to go back to the day I chose wrong. The day I chose Blair.

Playbook:

Crosscheck

There’s no way she’s here today. I must still be hallucinating from partying too hard over the weekend because there’s no fucking way my girl is sitting across the lunchroom with my best friend looking more than just friends. I asked around for her at the party. I knew she was there. I had a few guys from school bring her for me since I had to ride the bus home with the team. However, when I got home, I never found her. Rumor has it that I didn’t see her because she left the party with Arlo.

Eloise looks up from the lunch table, and her sky-blue eyes connect with mine and shoot ice through my veins. Those are my eyes to get lost in, not his. I’m out of my seat, stalking across the cafeteria, when he leans in, only spurring my fury. I can’t believe he’d throw away years of friendship to steal my girl. Everybody wants Eloise Grey, and keeping her hasn’t been easy. I’ve always only been hanging on by a thread. She’s been mine since we were sixteen. When she’s mine, she’s all mine, and the world falls away, but when we return to reality, a wall goes up. Her eyes give her away every time. Inside, she’s with me, but her actions tell you we’re not that serious, like right now when she’s sitting too close to the guy I’ve called my best friend since middle school.

He whispers in her ear, and I still don’t stop. All I can think about is punching him in the face, but when I see his arm subtly shift to her lap, I stop cold in my tracks. Eloise is no stranger to testing my limits, but if anything, it’s always been in the name of fun. She liked the consequences. She liked knowing how easily she could affect me, but this now is different. Holding his hand is a hard limit.

I stood there momentarily, stunned and crushed for seconds that felt like they stretched into eternity before a hand wrapped around my forearm.

“Hey, Cal. I wanted to see if you were okay after Saturday. We were having a good time, and then you had to use the restroom, and I never found you after that,” Blair drones on.

She’s the last person I care to see. The only person I want right now is currently ripping my heart out. I had every intention of promising her forever, and she pulled this. My eyes held Eloise’s, looking for anything that said I had it wrong, that said I wasn’t watching her throw us away, and when I saw nothing, my arm wrapped around Blair Wyndham’s shoulder, and I turned on my heel as bile rose in my throat. I was foolish to think my first love would never end. Love is foolish. I guess that’s why I never told her I loved her.

I slam my book shut. This isn’t happening. Blair can’t be here. Not here, not now, not ever. I used her to hurt Eloise. It doesn’t matter that nothing ever happened between us. I’m not a fucking idiot. I know how her presence will make Eloise feel. The same way I felt when I caught her in the kitchen with Arlo. Jealousy, hurt, doubt, all things I never want her to feel. “Damn it.”

The guys start filtering into the locker room, and I head straight for the coach’s office. He’s just walked in when I enter behind him. “I’m not working with that woman. It’s nowhere in my contract.”

“The PR company she works for was hired by the owner to help with the team’s image,” he says, not even bothering to look at me. “Something you clearly need help with. What the hell was that out there, Balfour? You can’t just walk out of team meetings. Especially that one. Mr. Bronson mandated it.” He tosses his clipboard on his desk.

I deserve worse than what he’s giving me now, but the truth is Coach Beck has been like a father to me. He’s been in my corner since he scouted me in my first year of college, going above and beyond the scope of a typical coach, helping me work out a contract that benefited me and not the organization, and assisting me in settling in Toronto. I was nineteen, drafted to play for the Kings, clueless and green as hell. He showed me the ropes, and the more time we spent together, the more I learned about him and the son he lost. It was when he was helping me get into my current place downtown that I met his wife and learned I resembled the son he’d lost in an ATV accident three years before. He doesn’t take it easy on me by any means, but I get away with more than most, and he’s the last person who deserves my disrespect.

So I temper my tone when I say, “Okay, well, she can help the team. Not me.”

“We both know that’s not how it works.”

I hate how everyone is making it out like we’re the worst team in the league just because we aren’t in the number one seat right now. Do I want to be number one? Hell yeah, but shit happens. Sometimes being number one is a curse. You have to play harder to keep it. Teams attack differently to take it.

“I’m fine with being the underdog, the dark horse they didn’t see coming. We’ll get there. We don’t need help.”

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