Page 15 of Offside

Getting to know Conner has eased my mind about the team and our chances of winning the Cup during our upcoming season. Coach Thomas is an affable man. Nate, however, continues to give off a strange vibe, like he’s a villain in a Shakespeare play, and every time I see him staring at me, it’s as if I’m on his list to kill off.

Nate aside, I’m grateful to have other strong staff members on both the Vikings and my Pilots teams to rely on because otherwise I might just collapse under the heavy weight of stress.

I never thought I’d be at this juncture in my life. Having been orphaned at fifteen when my parents died in the car accident that also gave me a life-threatening injury, I thought my resilience was pretty sound, that I was more than strong enough to handle all my uncle’s business expected of me during his incapacity.

But this has been a level of trauma and pressure I’ve never known before.

As Marv’s sole heir, beneficiary, successor trustee, and the executor of his will, I’ve been tasked with temporarily running the entirety of his empire, including his two professional sports clubs located in different cities and several other, smaller businesses, which thankfully have people running the daily operations.

It would be a daunting and overwhelming task for anyone, but especially someone who barely has two years of real-world experience under her belt.

Somehow, I manage to get through the long days of endless meetings and executive decisions, only to crawl into bed exhausted with a bone-deep loneliness, sobbing until I have no more tears to cry. The weight of missing my uncle, even though he’s physically still here, is soul crushing. Apart from Daria, who has become as much of a friend to me as she is a caregiver to Marv, there’s nobody for me to lean on for support, either.

At that thought, my chest tightens to the point where I can barely breathe.

“I was hoping to see you this week.”

I lift my head from where I’d laid it down next to Marv to see Daria as she enters my uncle’s room. A stethoscope is looped around her elegant neck, and her dark pixie curls are pinned back from her forehead with an ornate barrette. She strides gracefully toward me as I stand and enclose my arms around her.

“It’s so good to see you,” I murmur over her shoulder, tears prickling behind my eyes. My five-foot-six frame casts a shadow over her tiny five-foot-nothing body. But for what she lacks in height, she brings with heart. I don’t know what I would have done without her gentle spirit and angelic fierceness.

She pulls back and peers up at me with her intuitive gaze.

“What’s going on with you? You don’t look like you’re getting much sleep.”

As if given permission, I sink back down into the high-backed recliner and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in and then I laugh.

“Do I look as old as I feel? I’m turning twenty-nine next week and yet I feel like I’m eighty-nine. I’m barely holding on.”

Turning her attention to my uncle, she begins checking his vitals but continues speaking to me over her shoulder, her voice soft and sympathetic.

“You have more on your plate than any twenty-eight-year-old should. You need to give yourself some slack and make plans to enjoy your big day. Maybe Josie and I could have lunch with you.”

I watch as Daria slips a pressure cuff on my uncle’s arm and pumps up the bulb, then slowly eases off as she checks his blood pleasure.

Josie is her seven-year-old daughter and the light of her life. When I remember to do it, I bring signed team merch to give to the adorable little girl, who once told me she wants to play hockey someday.

“Ahh, how is Josie doing? Did she end up doing her show-and-tell with the signed stick I sent her?”

Daria turns to me and smiles. “You made my girl’s whole year. She couldn’t stop talking about it. She named all the players from last year and said she was going to grow up to be a defenseman like her favorite player, Ballas the Beast.”

At the sound of his name my heart leaps.

“That’s great.” My voice sounds weak, and I clear my throat surreptitiously. “No, I don’t have any plans, unless you count the thousand-dollar-a-plate charity gala I’m scheduled to attend on behalf of the Spurlock family and the Vancouver Vikings.” I open my phone to check my calendar, noting the time and place in my schedule. I frown, knowing there won’t be time to get a date. “And once again, I’m attending solo.”

Daria narrows her eyes. “Why is it that a gorgeous young woman like yourself can’t get a date just like that?” She snaps her fingers, then threads the stethoscope back around her neck and makes some notes in the chart next to Marv’s bedside.

I snort. “Like it’s that easy.”

“Honey, I may have been out of the dating pool for a decade, but you’ve got it going on, chica.” She gestures up and down toward my body. “There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t jump at the chance to take you to a swanky fundraiser.”

Since my breakup, I’ve had no desire to get back on the horse, as they say, and date again. Even if I wanted to, I clearly don’t have the time to invest in a relationship. And for that matter, who would want a relationship with someone who’s never around, travels weekly between two cities in two different countries, and is surrounded by professional male athletes all the time? I definitely wouldn’t have time for a needy, jealous, or insecure man.

When she finishes up, Daria turns to me and lifts her brows. “Wait a minute. You have plenty of men at your disposal. If it’s a company-sponsored event, why not just ask one of those hot, single hockey players to be your escort? Tell them it’s their duty to the team. You’d get a handsome male specimen on your arm for the evening and they’d get a delicious meal and get to hobnob with the rich and famous.”

I give her a look. “That would be kind of awkward and weird, don’t you think?”

“Girl…” She juts her hip to the side and places her fist on it in a haughty stance. “You’re paying them millions a year. They can suck it up. Plus, it’s not like they’d be expected to sleep with you. It’s just a required public appearance for you and some company would be nice. Surely there must be one hockey player with enough brains to hold a riveting conversation for the evening?”

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