I scrub a hand over my face, the stubble on my jaw rasping against my palm.
I’m exhausted.
And this stupid meeting isn’t helping.
Jerry Cantrell sits across from me, a smug look on his face.
He wouldn’t look so pleased if he knew what I had on him.
I still haven’t decided what to do about the pictures yet.
Oh, I know I’m going to use them to get Kristina out of my life completely. Just the threat of making them public would guarantee that. The woman is all about her image. Always has been.
So many red flags flapping.
From the first night I met her and she made her interest clear, I should have seen them.
Seen her.
“You good with that then?” Drake asks.
“We’re good with that,” Jerry replies.
“Sir—”
“I said, we’re good.” Jerry glares at the woman beside him. Mischa is the PR VP for the New York Knights and I know she’s not happy Jerry doesn’t want the team to make a joint announcement of my retirement.
“Then we’ll leave you to get on with your day.” Drake collects the papers in front of him. The drafts of my announcement. “Thanks for meeting with us on short notice.”
I can tell Drake is only being polite; he’s made it clear over the last few years how little he respects Jerry. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fall in with Drake’s assessment of the man who owns the team I’m no longer contracted to.
My time with New York is done.
The lawyers will do their thing, and there will be paperwork to sign I’m sure, but as of now I’m not on the roaster.
I’m not a player.
I’m not anything.
But I could be.
I still have to meet Oakley.
We’d planned to head to her hotel the minute we’d finished the shoot, but I knew I couldn’t put Drake off any longer and when I’d made that call, he’d insisted we meet with the team immediately.
So here we are, three hours later, no better off than before we arrived.
We could have dealt with this over the phone. But I get why Drake wanted to do it in person. He doesn’t want me to burn bridges and even though I can’t tell him about Oakley’s offer, I know if he knew, he’d remind me of the necessity to stay on amicable terms with my old team.
Pushing to my feet, I lean over the table and offer my hand. “It’s been a pleasure playing for the New York Knights. I’m sorry we had to end our association this way.”
“I’m sorry you missed out on the Cup.” Jerry doesn’t stand, just reaches out and puts his hand in mine. His grip is weak, his hand limp, and I’m reminded of how this man didn’t get where he is because of hard work.
Gerald Cantrell Senior is the reason the team has been a success and why Jerry Junior now owns it.
“I’ve got two already, although I am sorry we never made it there together.” It’s lip service. I don’t mean any of it.
Yes, I’m sad we haven’t won the Cup as a team since he took over two years ago but I’m not sorry Jerry doesn’t have that privilege. The cups the Knights have brought home were all under Gerald Senior’s reign.
“We’ll deal with the team’s lawyers from now on. No need to interrupt your day again,” Drake says as his hand replaces mine in Jerry’s. “Again, thanks for seeing us on short notice.”
Jerry pulls his hand from Drake’s and pushes his ample weight out of his chair. “I’ve got another meeting to get to. Good luck with whatever you do next, Alcott.” Showing me Drake and I aren’t the only ones saying things out of fake politeness, his back is turned and he’s striding from the room before I can reply.
Not that I was going to comment. I’ve never been a fan and after the photos Oakley gave me, I’m even less of one. I’m glad I won’t be around when that shit gets made public because if I’ve learned anything about Kristina over the last few years, it’s she does everything for a reason. And that reason is to climb a ladder.
It might have taken me a while—and Oakley shoving those photos in my face—but I finally see the woman for who she is. And Jerry Cantrell might think he’s in control of their little affair, but I’d bet the money I earned on my contract with Rogue sportswear she’s going to blow up his world.
“Walker, if you don’t mind, can I get a copy of your media announcement so I can draft a statement from the team?” Mischa asks.
“Sure. Although I thought Jerry didn’t want to make the announcement.”
“He doesn’t and we won’t, but we will need to make a comment on yours.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” I glance at the door Jerry went through. “Is it going to be an issue for you?”
She shakes her head and smiles. “No. He might think he runs the place, but Rafe will be extremely vocal about the results of this meeting. He’ll want to be sure you leaving the team is handled correctly.”
I nod. Neither of us voicing that we both think Jerry is not handling this the right way. Rafe would be here if it weren’t for his kid being in hospital. “I hope Rafe’s son is okay.”
“I’m sure he will be. He’s not the first nine-year-old to break an arm.”
“No. Guess not. Okay, well, let Rafe know he can give me a call if he wants.” I don’t know what we would talk about at this point except I consider New York’s GM a friend as well as my boss and I definitely don’t want to leave here without thanking him for all he’s done for me over the years.
Although, I’m not sure I should speak to him if I take Oakley up on her offer.
“C’mon, we can stop at your lawyer’s office before we head back to mine.” Drake grabs his briefcase.
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” I want to get to Oakley. I’m not ready to say yes—I still need some questions answered—but I’ve always followed my gut, and my gut tells me to go to Oakley.
Whether that’s because of her offer or the sizzle of attraction between us, I’m not sure. And at this point I don’t care.
I want to see her again.
Now.
In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. “I need to do something. I’ll meet you at your office first thing in the morning.” I clap Drake on the back. “You don’t need me to talk to my lawyer, I trust you to do what’s necessary. I’ll sign anything I need to tomorrow.”
What I don’t add is that I might have something else for him to look at.
Do coaches need agents?
It’s something I’ve never thought about. I’ll need a lawyer at least, to look over any contract Oakley gives me.
“We need to get the press release finalized and distributed.”
“Tomorrow.”
“But—”
I give him the one thing I know he won’t argue against. “I need to speak to Shelby.”
Drake knows my sister is everything to me. I became her guardian after our parents died and while she’d been a few months from going off to college and anything but a kid at the time, I was still responsible for her. Any offer Drake gets for me or comes across his desk is vetted with Shelby in mind.
“You haven’t told her?”
Shaking my head, I say, “No, not yet. I want to tell her in person, before it goes public.”
“Sure. Sure. Get going then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Leaving Drake with Mischa, I stride from the conference room, head high, gaze straight ahead. I don’t want to make eye contact. The last thing I need is to have to lie to someone about why I’m here. I’d rather tell the team in person, or maybe I’ll send out a group text after I speak with Shelby.
Tomorrow.
Today I’m going to spend time with a woman who might just be my salvation.
My injury might have ended my dream, but it also might have given me a life.
I’m the first to admit I haven’t really thought about what I’d do when my playing career was over. Oakley stumped me earlier because what I told her was true.
I believed I’d play into my late thirties.
I’m twenty-nine in a month.
Ten years ahead of my plan.
Not that I’d really had a plan. Play, train, rinse, repeat—that’s the extent of my plan.
I blew more than my knees all those months ago. I scrambled my brain and blew up my life.
Or what there was of it.
Shit. My personal life was already in the toilet when I took that hit and that fiasco had only gotten worse.
Kristina had already been in my rearview mirror, not that she’d accepted we were over, and that’s when the real drama with her started. If I wasn’t already down, I’d kick myself for ever falling for her.
Then again, the only time I thought deeply about our relationship was when she brought it up.
I never thought about her when we weren’t together. Not like I did once I’d broken up with her and she wouldn’t leave me the hell alone, and none of those thoughts were with affection.
I’ve known Oakley James a grand total of seven hours and I’ve thought more about her than any other woman beside my sister.
Is it because I want to fuck her?
Or is it the lifeline she’s offering me with this new franchise?
Either would be fine. Except, I have a feeling it’s both.
How that will play out is yet to be determined. I still haven’t made my decision about the job…
And yet, I’m heading for her hotel to talk about it.
There isn’t really anything else to discuss. She gave me the bare bones of the deal. I just need to give her an answer.
Am I ready to do that? Or am I hoping I’ll get to shuck my pants in front of her again?
I need to work out what I’m doing before I see her.
I’m either heading to her hotel to talk about the Rogues or to strip her naked and fuck her against the nearest flat surface.
It amazes me that both those scenarios have an equal level of excitement fizzing through my veins.
Especially when sex hasn’t been on my mind at all in over a year.
One look at Oakley James and I’m a drooling Neanderthal unable to think about anything but my base needs.
Exiting the team offices, I pause on the sidewalk and look up.
The sky is still blue and still above my head.
It didn’t crash down on me when I told Jerry I was retiring. I’d fully expected to be crushed by the weight of that decision. Of saying it out loud to someone other than Drake and making it official.
Instead, my heart is thumping with anticipation of seeing Oakley. My steps are light and the only thing I feel leaving the building behind me is relief.
For the last six months my life has been ruled by doctors and tests and scans and the prospect of my career being over. Right now, I don’t have the suffocating feeling that has been my constant since my knees slammed into the boards and my head snapped against the glass.
I feel…
Free.
It’s the only word I can think of. The outcome of my injuries might not be one I want but the results are what they are and now I’m free to move on to what’s next.
Is it being head coach of the Baton Rouge Rogues?
Is that what I want?
I don’t know. Except I can’t deny the thrill that floods my veins. The anticipation of starting a team from scratch. Of guiding them and pushing them to be their best. Of building them up and making them champions.
Oakley wants to make the finals our first year in the league. With the right players, it could be done. I’m not going to delude myself into thinking we can get the pick of the league—I know we can’t, but what we can do is pick the best available and mold them, pull them together and turn them into a game-winning team.
I want that.
Holy fucking shit.
I want that!
And right here, on the sidewalk outside the New York Knights’ front office, I’ve made my decision. I’m searching the street, striding to the curb, my arm raised to flag a cab before I’ve even finished that thought.
In seconds I’m in the back seat giving the cabbie the name of Oakley’s hotel and grinning like a fool.
The sensations racing through me are ones I’ve only found one other place. On the ice.
Yeah, it’s not what I pictured myself doing and if I’m honest I wouldn’t be if I had a choice, but I’m doing it.
I want to do it.
I’m going to be the head coach of the National Hockey League’s newest franchise, the Baton Rouge Rogues.
I’m going Rogue.
The Rogue sportswear slogan pops into my head.
Go your own way. Go Rogue.
I’m doing that. I’m going rogue.
I’m still grinning like an idiot when I toss money at the cab driver before he even comes to a complete stop in front of Oakley’s hotel.
My smile outshines the one on the bellboy’s face when he opens my door. I even toss him a twenty as I stride past, not slowing my pace as I head inside.
I can’t get to the elevators fast enough.
I know where I’m going. Oakley gave me her room number before we parted earlier.
Now all I have to do is get upstairs and give her my answer.
I don’t take in the opulent foyer or the exotic flowers in vases on pedestals. I’m single focused, my goal in sight. Reaching the elevator alcove, I stab the up button hard. Twice. I’m itching to get up there and tell her what I’ve decided.
I’m trying not to think about what this means. That I’ll have to leave New York. Leave Shelby. We haven’t lived in a different city since our parents died. And I’m probably worrying over nothing—she’s not a kid now.
Fuck, as of last month, she’s not even a college student anymore.
A niggle of worry tugs. She’ll be looking for her own apartment soon. I want her to move back into my place and maybe now I won’t be here, she will. I can keep the apartment for her. I’ll buy something when I relocate. Or lease something. Whatever. None of that matters right now.
What matters is telling Oakley yes.
The elevator opens and I step in, move to the back as more people board. By the time the doors close again, the damn thing is full, and as it rises to the top I grit my teeth at every stop it makes, tap my fists against my thighs in an agitated rhythm.
I barely notice the people around me although I hear the whispers, my name; I know I’m recognized.
All I can think is please don’t talk to me. The last thing I want to do is sign autographs or take selfies.
Thankfully I’m left alone and I’m the last passenger when the doors open on the top floor. I’m out and down the hall to Oakley’s door, my fist banging on it within seconds.
When the door opens, I’m greeted by a towel-wrapped Oakley, her hair in some kind of messy knot on top of her head that shouldn’t be sexy but is, and for a moment my brain freezes.
My gaze goes from those chaotic strands of auburn hair to her perfectly polished pink toenails and I’m sporting my second instant erection of the day.
This woman.
She gets to me in a way I’ve never experienced, and I’ll be fucked if I want to do anything about it other than drop my pants for her again.
I step forward.
She steps back.
Again, I take a step and so does she.
Our breaths are labored, and I’m sure my eyes are as dilated as hers, and her heart has to be racing as fast as mine.
I can’t think of anything except touching her. Getting inside her. I want her all over me. I want to be all over her.
But my brain isn’t functioning right, and I can’t seem to string the right words together.
I’m in her suite, shutting the door behind me with a hard shove, and the only thing I can do is blurt out one word.
“Yes.”