Strictly for Now by Carrie Elks

CHAPTERFIVE

MACKENZIE

“How’s your gramps?” Rachel asks me the following week. It’s so good to hear my best friend’s voice, even if it’s only on speaker phone. It makes me feel homesick for New York, though. I’d give anything to be sitting with her in a bar drinking cocktails right now.

It’s been a week since Gramps had surgery. Because he’s old they’re taking things very slow with his rehabilitation. I’ve been in to see him every day but he’s always extremely sleepy.

Dad hasn’t flown down yet. They’re in the middle of filming and Gramps doesn’t want a fuss. So it’s just me and his old friends visiting him right now.

“He’s doing well. They’re talking about moving him to the nursing home next week.”

If only the team’s finances were so resilient.

I’ve spent the last week combing through everything, with the help of the only staff member who seems to understand the filing system. Brian is nice, but he also quakes whenever I’m around.

He also quakes when anybody else is around. He’s just a quaker, I think.

From what I’ve discovered so far, there really is no money anywhere. Our season ticket sales are down from last year – which isn’t a surprise since the team played abysmally. I had hoped that having a former NHL player coaching might spark some interest, but the fact that Eli lost the pre-season put an end to that.

The stadium will be less than half full for the first game of the season. Which isn’t great for income but also isn’t great for team morale. I need to talk to Eli about it but I’ve been avoiding him for the last week.

Ever since he found me on the floor and was an asshole. Then did a 180 switch and offered to take me around town.

“And you? Have you settled in?” Rachel asks.

I’m staying in a serviced apartment. Warner Power has a contract with the chain and it’s weird because the room is exactly the same as the ones I’ve stayed in throughout the country. It’s like a Big Mac, but for rooms.

“I’m good.” I don’t tell her I miss having all my things around me. And the weekend was pretty miserable. I visited Gramps and then I drove to the mall, and wandered around aimlessly for an hour before calling it quits and heading home.

I’m used to eating out on my own. Being a consultant, I go where the work is and hotels are pretty much my best friend. But it feels wrong here. This isn’t a big anonymous city. It’s a small one and everybody seems to know each other.

There was one moment when I thought about taking Eli up on his offer to show me around.

And then I remembered what a bad idea that would be. Not just because he works for my client – and my grandad. But also because our talk in my office unnerved me. I’m used to being the one in control but he seems like he wants to fight me for it.

And both times so far I’ve lost.

“How are things in the office?” I ask her.

“Busy. We’re all bidding on new projects. Mark is getting twitchy because our billable hours have plummeted. Which anybody could have told him would happen since you aren’t here.”

“Mine would have plummeted, too. I didn’t have a project to book hours to.”

“You would’ve found one by now. You hate doing nothing. Anyway, enough about work. Tell me about the hot hockey guys.”

I laugh. “They’re all twenty years old.”

“The perfect age. Time has not withered them.” Rachel sighs. “They have so much stamina. And they’re grateful, too. Like get down on their knees and pray at your lady garden grateful.”

“You obviously haven’t met a hockey player,” I tell her. “They’re not grateful. They’re flooded with attention.”

“Ah well. There’s always the Golden Mates app,” Rachel says consolingly.

I don’t tell her that Allison has already sent me an email with instructions on how to load my profile onto the dating app. I’d completely forgotten about being part of the beta team. Or maybe I’d just hoped that since I agreed before I got the orders to take this project in Morgantown that she’d forget about it.

But apparently her boyfriend is delighted that I’m away from New York. He wants beta testers all over the eastern region.

So now I have this stupid profile to write and I’m too damn nice to say no.

This is the problem with me. At work I can say no without flinching at all. I’m representing businesses and they want me to be ruthless.

But outside of work? It’s like trying to push a rock up a hill.

Exhausting.

A knock at the door makes me jump.

“Just a minute,” I tell Rachel, because I haven’t actually gotten to what I wanted to run past her. “Come in,” I call out.

Goran Olssen, the Mavericks’ center half, puts his head around the door. Ever since he gave me a bulls-eye view of goods, he’s been bringing me coffee every day to say sorry.

“American with hot milk,” he says, mispronouncing Americano. “Just how you like it.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to keep doing this. It wasn’t your fault.” The bruise on my cheek is now a sepia shade. Like an old movie but in flesh form.

He shrugs. “My mom says if I hurt people I need to make up for it.”

“You didn’t hurt me. I did. I’m the one who had an argument with the door,” I remind him.

“Who are you talking to?” Rachel asks, her voice echoing through the speaker.

“Um, one of the team.”

“Goran,” he answers at the same time.

“Hi Goran,” Rachel says, her voice low. I wince, because now she’s going to have so many questions. “I’m Mackenzie’s friend.”

“Hi Mackenzie’s friend.” He smiles at me and I smile back. He’s a good kid. “I should go,” he tells me. “I have rehab. Then we have practice.”

“Sure.” I nod. “Thanks for dropping by.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “American again?”

“You don’t have to,” I remind him.

“I know. But I want to.” He nods his head at me then walks out, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Oh my God,” Rachel squeals.

“Don’t start,” I warn her.

“Seriously? You have guys bringing you coffee in the morning? How old is this one? His accent is amazing.”

“Guy. One guy. And he does it because for some stupid reason he thinks he has something to do with the bruise on my face. Which he doesn’t. But if it makes him feel better to bring me a drink in the morning, then all is good.”

“What’s his last name?” Rachel asks.

“Oh no.” I know her too well. “You’re not looking him up.”

“Why not? Is he hot?”

“He’s twenty-one.”

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” She just won’t give up. “It’s okay I’m Googling him. Goran and Morgantown Mavericks. Yep, there he is. His last name is Olssen. Oh he’s pretty. Look at those cheekbones. You could cut cheese on them.”

“Why would you want to cut cheese on cheekbones?”

“Shut up. You should totally let him show you how sorry he is.”

“He works for a client,” I remind her. “Rules, remember?”

“All I’m hearing is ‘I’d do him if I could’,” Rachel sings out.

“I’m ending this call,” I warn her.

“No you’re not. You wanted to talk to me about something. You haven’t yet.”

“We’ve been talking for twenty minutes,” I point out.

“Yep, and yet you still haven’t said what’s worrying you.”

This is the problem with people who’ve known you for decades. They know all your tells.

“I had to lie to the coach,” I tell her.

“About what?”

“He asked me if I knew anything about hockey. I couldn’t say that I did. So I told him no.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because if I told him I know all the ins and outs of hockey he could guess who I am. And I don’t want anybody here knowing.”

“Does it matter? They might take you more seriously if they know you’re part of hockey royalty.”

“It matters to me.” I don’t want them knowing. Because if they find out then they’ll assume I only got where I have thanks to nepotism. I’ve worked so hard to make it in my own right, and that has nothing to do with the Gauthier name.

And then there’s the other thing. If anybody Googles my real name…

Ugh. I hate the thought of that.

“Then keep lying. It’s fine,” Rachel says.

“But he also asked me if we’d met before. What if he recognizes me? If they find out I’m lying it’s going to ruin things for me.” I hate this. I should never have come. I’ve built up a great life away from the hockey rink.

This is all my dad’s fault. And Kenneth Powers’. Who – by the way – now has an impossible-to-buy rink side season ticket to the Rangers home games, courtesy of my dad.

“Chill,” Rachel urges. “It’s all good. Now fill in that dating profile. You need to relax, meet some guys, get some good sex. It’s been way too long, honey.”

Yeah it has. And maybe she’s right. Not about the sex part, but about the meeting people. I’ve been here for two weeks and the only people I see outside of the stadium are my grandpa and his cleaner.

I’m lonely. And it’s making me a little paranoid.

* * *

ELI

“Coach.” Carter sticks his head around from the shower room. Steam flows out from the door. I turn away from the diagram I’ve been drawing to show the team what formation I want us to start with tomorrow night.

“Yes?”

“We have a problem.”

I try not to sigh. The closer we get to the opening game the more high strung the team is getting. I’m not exactly chill as a pill myself, but I’m the coach and they need me to stay strong.

“What is it?” I ask, walking over to where he’s standing.

“These towels. They’re crap. They’re not soaking up anything.”

Max pulls the door open wider. “They don’t even wrap around our waists.” He demonstrates and yeah, the coverage leaves a lot to be desired.

A lot. I’m going to have to wash my eyes out with bleach tonight. Again.

“Just dry off as best you can,” I tell them. This is the thing about being a coach. You end up dealing with all the little shitty complaints, no matter how unimportant they are. But at this stage of the season preparations, anything that rocks the delicate ecosystem of the team is unwanted.

And unnecessary.

And those towels definitely aren’t our usual ones. I grab a spare one that hasn’t been near any of the team’s balls and look at the label. It’s a different service. Somebody’s switched up the contracts. I have a good idea who that is.

It’s a minor irritant but I’m irritated all the same.

So once we’ve finished talking about our strategy and the team has left, I head upstairs to the office block and knock on Mackenzie Hunter’s door. I don’t want to have this conversation. I shouldn’t have to have it.

But I’m the coach and I’ll do it. Lucky me.

“Come in.”

When I open the door she’s by the filing cabinet, bent down, her gray skirt tight across her behind. She has her hair pulled back and she’s wearing glasses again. She’s every schoolboy’s librarian fantasy.

If you like that sort of thing. Which I don’t but my body seems to. One reason I’ve been deliberately avoiding her all week.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, turning to look at me. The smile that’s pulling at her lips melts away when she sees my expression.

“Did you change the towels?” I ask her, my voice more irritated than I’d planned for.

She blinks. “Yes. The service we were using was extortionate. I found another one for seventy percent of the price.” She looks so damn pleased with herself.

“Can you stand up please?” Her ass is distracting me. I need to stop looking at it. And turning away to look at the wall while we’re having a conversation isn’t exactly going to help.

She runs her tongue along her bottom lip – not helping either –then stands. She’s wearing a red blouse today. It has a v-neck and I can see the beginning of her cleavage.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not Goran, I don’t pant like a puppy at the sight of a woman. And yet here I am, wondering how soft her skin would feel if I ran my finger down that perfect line between the swell of her breasts.

Fuck.

This is what happens when you don’t get laid for way too long. I blame my experience with Cassie. My ex. When she found out I was leaving the NHL, she took me aside and told me that she was sorry, but she just wasn’t down with the AHL.

I wasn’t exactly attached to her – it was more of a friendship with mutual benefits – but it still stung. But I understood it, too. She’s an actress and is trying to get noticed. A boyfriend in the NHL helps.

Last I heard she’d been flirting with the guy who caused the injury that ended my career. Hart and I were rivals ever since we both joined as Rookies and it grates me that he was the one to finish my knee off.

Okay, more than grates. It pisses me off. And is one more reason why I’m going to make this team into a winning one, even if it kills me.

“You promised me you’d run anything that affects the team by me first.” I say to her.

“They’re just towels,” she points out. “Nobody cares about those.”

Tell me you know nothing about hockey without telling me you know nothing about hockey.I pinch the bridge of my nose and her eyes follow my movement.

“They’re not just towels,” I say, trying not to sound as annoyed as I feel. “They’re the towels the team uses before every game. The same towels. Or at least the same thread count. The same size. The same feel. And you changed them.”

“I know,” she says, looking confused. “Didn’t we just establish that?”

“And now the team is spooked. A day before the season starts.”

“Spooked?” she asks. “About towels? Seriously?”

Fucking hell. “Seriously,” I say, trying to keep my annoyance hidden. “You can’t just change things on us without warning. We have rituals, we have comfort objects. We don’t like change so close to a game. Anything that changes the way the team works is a shitshow at this point in the season. And also, the towels are shit. I checked them.”

“They’re still premium towels. The provider said so.” Her voice is lower now. She looks unsure.

“This is why I asked you to run things by me,” I tell her. And yeah, now I sound pissed. But I have a shit ton of work to do today and talking about fucking towels wasn’t part of the plan. “If they’re spooked they don’t have their minds a hundred percent on the game. And I need them to be focused. You could have talked to me, we could have discussed trying the towels out or maybe delaying the change.” I shake my head. “Do you know anything about hockey at all?”

She flinches and I regret saying it.

She puts her hand to her still-yellow cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

For one horrific moment I think she’s going to cry. All that composure, that certainty, where is it now? I want it back because I feel like a dick.

“I know. I get it. Please, just run things by me. Those kids are desperate to win. They want to please. But they’re also temperamental. I can’t have anything veer them off their path for the next two days.”

“Understood.” Her voice is tight.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. Somehow I’ve ended up being the asshole again, so I decide to take a different tack. “Are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“No. I wasn’t planning to. I… ah…” She looks around. “Too much to do, you know?”

“There are seats in the staff box. Ask Jake at the ticket desk to reserve one for you. It’d do you good to learn a little more about the game.”

Something about my words brings the life back into her. “I don’t need to understand the game to figure out how to save money,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “And it’s best if I keep some distance. Getting too close to employees is never a good thing in my position.”

“Maybe you should tell that to Goran,” I say lightly. Because, yes, I’ve noticed him hanging around her office, and no, I don’t like it.

I’ve said nothing to him yet, but if it gets worse, I will.

Her cheeks flush. “I don’t need to tell that to Goran. Nothing is going on.”

“He has a crush on you.”

She opens her mouth then hesitates.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” I add, because I’m feeling like an asshole again. Which isn’t a normal feeling for me. Or at least it wasn’t until Mackenzie Hunter arrived in the locker room.

I don’t like how I keep opening my mouth and saying the wrong things. But here I am, still doing it.

“I just think you need to not encourage him,” I finish.

“I’m not encouraging him,” she tells me, her eyes narrowing. “He buys me a coffee, I drink it. I don’t know what that means in your dirty, misogynistic mind, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to get down on my knees and let him ram me from behind.”

“Ram you from behind?” My voice is thin.

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Yeah, I do. Somebody fucking help me because I’m picturing it right now. Only I’m the one doing the ramming.

I squeeze my eyes shut to get rid of that image.

“I’m not a misogynist,” I tell her, my voice strangled.

“Do you even know what it means?”

“Do you think because I’m a hockey player that I don’t have any brains? Yes, I know what it means.”

It’s her turn to look awkward. But she does it so much better than me. “I’m sorry. I just…” She shakes her head. “There’s nothing going on between Goran and me. I’ll make it clear he shouldn’t bring me coffee any more.”

How did we end up here? I just wanted to change the shitty towels back to our good ones. Not butt heads with the management consultant and imagine her…

No. Not going there.

“No. I’m sorry,” I tell her. “He’s a good kid. I don’t want him put off his game. Let’s just forget I ever mentioned it. Please.”

“Okay,” she breathes.

“You should still come to the game tomorrow night,” I tell her. “I’d like to see you there.”

Our eyes meet again.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

“You do that.”