Page 13 of Bar Down

A strange ease fell between them, so different from their usual tense standoffs that Stephanie relaxed despite the chaos—both at the party and in their professional futures.

From inside came the crash of something expensive, followed by Kane's shout of "You're buying a new one, Dmitri!" and raucous laughter.

"Can I ask you something?" she ventured after a moment.

He nodded.

"Why hockey? With your mathematical brain, you could have done anything—finance, tech, academia. Why choose a career that's so physical, so unpredictable?"

Something shifted in his expression—a subtle opening that she'd never seen before.

"My father taught mathematics at the University of Toronto," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Hockey was everything to our family. Not just a sport—a way of life."

Marcus looked out over the water. "He took me to Maple Leafs games whenever he could. We broke down plays together—he showed me the geometry in the game, the patterns behind what looked like chaos to everyone else."

Stephanie remained silent, sensing the rare glimpse behind his walls.

"I was a quiet kid, more comfortable with numbers than people. Hockey gave me a language, a way to connect." His fingers tapped lightly on the railing. "When my father died during my first year at university, the rink became home. A place where his lessons still made sense."

The revelation landed softly between them. Stephanie had known the basic facts of his background—Canadian, mathematics degree, drafted in the second round—but nothing of the emotional weight behind it.

"He would have been proud," she said quietly. "Of what you've built here."

Marcus nodded once, his profile outlined against the harbor lights. "What about you? Crisis management to sports PR isn't the usual path."

The question was fair, given what he'd shared, but Stephanie felt her walls instinctively rising. Her road to New Haven included chapters she rarely discussed. The night when Reed had cornered her in his office, one hand on her waist, the other blocking the door. The months of sabotage after she'd reported him. The "coincidental" leak of her personnel file to other teams when she'd tried to leave.

"I've always been good at managing chaos," she said, gesturing to the party behind them where Jax was now attempting to juggle beer bottles. "Sports just has more interesting chaos than corporate America."

His eyes found hers, assessing. "That's not the whole story."

"No," she admitted. "But it's all I'm sharing tonight."

To her relief, he nodded, accepting the boundary without pushing. Another surprise from a man she'd pegged as relentlessly analytical at any cost. She remembered six months ago when he'd cornered her for forty minutes breaking down why her media strategy for Jax's minor conduct violation was "statistically flawed." He'd been right, as much as she hated to admit it, but his approach then had lacked this newfound awareness.

"Another time," he said.

"Maybe."

From inside came the sound of glass breaking followed by cheers—hockey players celebrated destruction as much as creation. Stephanie straightened, suddenly aware of how long they'd been away from the party.

"We should head back," she said, beginning to slip off his jacket.

"Keep it," he said. "It's only getting colder."

Ever the practical one. But the gesture felt like something more than practicality.

As they turned to rejoin the team, Stephanie's phone buzzed with a text. She pulled it from her pocket, expecting a work message.

Instead, her blood ran cold at the name on the screen.

Preston Reed: Heard about your new owners. Old friends of mine. Mentioned you're causing trouble again. Some advice: don't fight the analytics revolution. You lost that battle in Boston, remember?

She stared at the message, her carefully built composure cracking. Preston Reed. After all this time. And connected to Darby & Darby?

"Stephanie?"

Marcus's voice seemed distant despite his proximity. She quickly locked her phone screen, forcing her expression to neutrality.

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