Page 51 of Bar Down

Chapter Twelve

Stephanie

48 hours remaining.

Stephanie fastened her seatbelt as the Charm City Chill's chartered flight began its descent into New Haven. Forty-eight hours remaining on Reed's deadline. The early morning departure from Toronto had left her functioning on caffeine and adrenaline after a night that had changed everything between her and Marcus.

Four hours of sleep after their hotel room encounter had her body pleasantly sore and her mind frustratingly distracted. She sipped the lukewarm coffee a flight attendant had handed her an hour ago, watching Marcus three rows ahead, deep in conversation with Chenny.

The left winger had his tablet balanced on the tray table between them, his stylishly cut black hair with its trademark blue streak bobbing as he gestured animatedly. Marcus leaned in, his focus absolute—the same intensity he'd shown last night when exploring her body.

Heat crept up her neck at the memory.

"Stephanie! You look like tomato ready for borscht."

Stephanie nearly jumped as Dmitri Volkov, the Chill's Russian winger, dropped into the empty seat beside her with his trademark gap-toothed grin. His pale skin made the light dusting of freckles stand out, and his spiky blonde hair seemed to defy gravity even after the early morning flight.

"I'm fine," she said, shifting into PR director mode automatically. "Just reviewing media obligations for when we land."

"Pffft. Is terrible lie," Dmitri proclaimed loudly, then immediately dropped his voice to a theatrical whisper. "You stare at Spreadsheets like he is last bottle of vodka in Siberian winter, yes? Is very obvious."

Stephanie nearly spilled her coffee. "Excuse me?"

"Team not blind as hockey refs, Stephanie," he said, waving his hands expressively. "We see how you look at each other. Kane says you two circle each other like bears fighting for salmon since training camp last year."

"There's nothing—" she began, then stopped at Dmitri's dramatically raised eyebrow. She sighed, glancing around to ensure no other players were within earshot. "It's complicated, Dmitri."

"Love always complicated. Like Russian novel," he agreed cheerfully, unwrapping a protein bar. "But team is very happy. Spreadsheets needs woman who sees past numbers, yes? You need man who understands value beyond words. Is perfect match, like borscht and sour cream."

Stephanie's jaw dropped slightly. "Does the entire team know?"

"Of course! What you think we talk about on bus rides? Only hockey?" Dmitri looked genuinely surprised she would ask. "We have group chat. 'Operation Calculated Risk.' Very clever name, I think up myself. Jax started betting pool on when you finally admit it."

"You're kidding."

"Never kid about betting pools. I have fifty dollars on 'before end of road trip.'" He looked at her hopefully, wiggling his eyebrows. "So today counts for Dmitri, yes?"

Despite herself, Stephanie laughed. "I'm not confirming or denying anything, especially not when money's involved."

"Fair enough." Dmitri took a large bite of his protein bar, speaking around it. "But team supports one hundred percent. Even Coach Vicky put twenty on 'already happened, just hiding it.’"

The thought of Coach Vicky participating in a betting pool about her love life was both mortifying and oddly touching. This team really was a family—albeit a nosy, boundary-challenged one.

Stephanie's gaze drifted back to Marcus and Chenny. The left winger was showing Marcus something on his tablet, both of them looking intently at the screen. There was no way to tell if they were making progress on tracking Reed's digital footprint or just reviewing game footage.

As Dmitri returned to his assigned seat with a theatrical wink, Stephanie went back to her tablet. The screen suddenly dimmed as a new email notification popped up. From an anonymous account, the subject line making her blood run cold:History Repeats – 48 Hours Remaining

With shaking fingers, she tapped to open it.

Still trying to spin stories instead of facing facts? Your defenseman's precious data shows what you tried to hide in Boston: manipulation and deception are your professional tools. The leak goes public in 48 hours unless you both resign from the Chill and send the 20K. Sometimes the only way to fix a problem is complete removal.

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