Page 106 of The Rebound Plan

I’m grateful she doesn’t ask any more details, and then the waitress comes around to take our breakfast orders, which gives me a chance to think about how I’m going to navigate the dinner with Francois and Livy both knowing me.

Livy reminds me a lot of Becca Kincaid in her youthful exuberance. She’s an earnest, eager young designer who dressed me for a charity fashion show three years ago, while she was a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology. We’ve kept in touch since, but our friendship is ninety percent clothing oriented. Based on the fact that she immediately started a boutique with a friend after graduating was a clue that she came from money, but I didn’t know she had family who became ambassadors.

I smile at her over my latte. “And how is the French news familiarization exercise going?”

“I have enough to work with. Most people just want a small prompt and then they will fill the conversation with their own opinions if you let them.” She winks. “I’m very good at letting them.”

“A girl after my own heart.” I take a deep breath. “Speaking of opinions and letting people talk, do you know Francois Michel Dumas?”

If she says that he’s her godfather, I’m calling quits on this whole thing and heading back to Canada to live out a year-long separation in purgatory.

But she shakes her head. “I know the name, thanks to the news. Sports?”

“Among other things. That’s who I came to see. I asked for a meeting and he offered dinner, which turns out to be…your dinner.”

“Is this about hockey?”

It’s about so many things. Sex, jealousy, money, power. Fame. Legacies. “Yeah. It’s about hockey.”

“Cool.” She flicks her gaze up to my hair, then down my body through the cafe table. “I have a pink and white and rose gold gown that would look stunning on you.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Amazing. I can’t wait to try it on.”

CHAPTER 40

RUSS

If I were a paranoid man, I would think that Max has clocked that I ducked out of dinner last night just before he arrived. From the moment we arrived at the rink for practice, he’s been extra tense.

Malik seems aware of it, too, so maybe it’s actually about something he did or said after I left.

Or it might just be that Zondi sees through his bullshit because the entire short period of time he’s been on the team, Max has been on a sharp downward spiral emotionally. Where the rookies and young players from last year have carried over goodwill towards the captain for his star power and leadership, Malik only has the last five weeks to go on and it hasn’t been great.

It doesn’t help that I can’t even meet Max’s gaze for a second.

I thought I could keep a lid on my disdain for our captain, but now that I know he’s cheating on Shannon again, that he’s never been a faithful husband to her, it’s all I can do to keep my mouth shut when he strides in acting like he’s King Shit.

We have our team meeting first and go over the plan for the game tomorrow. One of the coaches takes us through video that shows pretty much what I’ve already read in the scouting report.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Always be checking,” we say in unison.

“That’s right. Disrupt, disrupt, disrupt. We’re going to practice that today. If you’re not on the penalty kill team, go get dressed and hit the ice. PK guys, hang back because we have some more notes for you.”

I head for the dressing room because that doesn’t apply to me.

After quickly changing into this season’s practice gear, I hit the ice. Our jerseys lean hard into the bagpipe-playing wild boar aesthetic that I get no shortage of grief over from Scottish fans online.

Since I’m the first guy on the ice, I get to dump the bucket of buckets set out by our equipment guys, and I notice the practice pucks also have the bagpipe front and centre.

I wave over the PR intern. “Can you ask Mabel if I can say shite on the team’s TikTok account?”

He blanches.

I laugh. “Just ask her. Say, ‘I’m repeating this word for word because he told me to’.”

He laughs nervously. “Okay.”

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