Page 5 of Offside

“Sometimes it just feels like this is too much, you know? I wish Marv were here to help.”

Christine gives me a soulful, sympathetic look. “I know, hun. We all miss him and hope for his recovery and return to the helm soon. But you’re doing a fantastic job, Karis. Seriously, I don’t know how you do it.”

Christine had been my uncle Marv’s personal assistant for the past four years, ever since he purchased the Vancouver Vikings. She is smart and capable and comes with an undying sense of loyalty and an orneriness that must’ve been forged while she worked with my uncle before—well, before I took over as owner.

We’ve had many heart-to-heart discussions over the course of the past six months, usually on the evenings when her ex had her son, when we’d take a moment after the day to share and commiserate over a glass of wine. She knows about my accident. Losing my parents. Living with Uncle Marv. My horrible breakup with Bradley, and his assholish behavior.

Her insight—she seems to have her eyes and ears on everything—has given me a great deal of understanding into the nuances of the organization. I trust her implicitly with nearly everything.

Except for one very intimate detail about Ballas and me.

Christine was the one who called me that night last December to give me the news about my uncle’s heart attack. I don’t know what I would’ve done had it not been for her support at the time. She handled all the arrangements to get Marv transported to the ER and was by his side while I was en route back to Seattle from Vegas that night.

She took care of Marv the same way she now takes care of me. With an unwavering commitment and loyalty.

“Do you want one of those coconut waters you like?” she asks, nodding her chin toward the mini fridge against the far wall. “Those things taste like lukewarm bathwater if you ask me. But you look like you could use some electrolytes or something.”

I chuckle and wave her off. “No, I’m okay, really. Why don’t you fill me in on my schedule updates for the rest of the week?”

Glancing over her tablet, she spits out a litany of urgent operational requests that have all come through over the last hour.

Maybe she’s right and I do need some electrolytes. Or stronger.

“There’s been a change in plans too. Nate called a few minutes ago and asked to move up the three o’clock budget meeting to noon.” She peers at me through her lashes, brows raised. “That just means he wants a free lunch.”

I snort. She doesn’t care much for Nate, either.

“The NHL chairman wants to meet with you when he’s in town next week. And Petra called. Marek Talbert is asking about some facilities issues with the arena in Seattle.”

My temple throbs with the makings of a horrendous headache, which is precisely the reason I need my caffeine and sugar. I drop my head forward into my palms, slowly massaging away the aggravating annoyance that hits me hard out of nowhere.

“Okay.” I lift my head, turning back to my open laptop and calendar as three Slack messages appear in the app box. Christine extracts a boxed water from the fridge, placing it in front of me, and I grudgingly review my schedule changes.

Temporarily running a $1.5 billion NHL franchise, along with my permanent responsibility for a $750 million basketball team, requires careful planning, strategic management, and financial acumen. There’s a constant chess game of moving parts, with careers on the line and fans and sponsors to appease.

Which is to say, it’s a fucking lot. And if I’m being honest with myself, it’s far more than I was ready to take on this early in my career.

At twenty-eight, I’m the youngest owner of an NHL team. Not to mention, only the second female principal owner in the league. It’s a lot to manage.

Before my uncle Marv ended up in the hospital, things were substantially easier and under control. At that time, I simply had co-ownership duties for the Puget Sound Pilots basketball organization in Seattle. I also had Marek Talbert, who manages the team with superb leadership skills and taught me about the game of basketball. He has become a great friend to me.

Then my training wheels fell off the night Marv landed in a coma.

My entire world went off-kilter. Marv is the only living family I have left after losing both my parents when I was fifteen, and losing him in this manner, along with taking on all this added responsibility, is sometimes too much for me to bear alone.

I would never admit feeling overwhelmed to anyone else but Christine. She has my full trust and faith. If it got out to anyone in the NHL about my lack of confidence, it would only give them another reason, besides that I’m a young woman, to criticize or say I’m unqualified to run this organization.

And something tells me that Nate McGowan would just love to use any vulnerability he can find to poke holes in my good name and make himself look better. I don’t trust this asshole to have my back like I do with Marek.

In fact, I may need to replace Nate McGowan if things don’t turn around with him soon. His contract is also up this year, too, which means I’m in a “shit or get off the pot” position. I believe Nate must bring something to the table, otherwise my uncle wouldn’t have kept him on. The team didn’t go to the playoffs last years, so I just haven’t figured out yet what it is.

Maybe we’ll have a miracle and my uncle will be back to steer the ship before then.

Unfortunately, that’s a nearly impossible request because he’s lying at home hooked up to machines to keep him alive. It’s been months, and I’m at a loss as to what to do.

My heart squeezes at the thought as I finish up with Christine.

“I’m going to run down to the cafeteria to arrange lunch for your budget meeting,” she says with a wink, heading toward the door. Then she calls over her shoulder, “And when I return, I’m scheduling you a massage with Kip for later today.”

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