I walk into the office just before eight, which is early, but Ann requested I get here before the normal nine o’clock start time. I assume it’s because she knows there’s going to be a ton of media requesting locker room interviews for the game tomorrow night and she wants to make sure I get an early start. The Thunder again last night in Michigan. Elijah started again and he was pulled again. I have to get official confirmation from the coach when he comes in today, but I know Eli isn’t starting the game tomorrow night.
I watched both games Eli played, my eyes riveted to the screen like I was watching a train wreck. And my heart ached for him. But both games I saw the point where it happened—where he froze up. Being obsessed with him has paid off. I watched a lot of his game videos from his college website and I know how he moves—intimately. The way he controls his limbs. Despite being six foot four and as wide as a brick wall, Elijah Casco moves like a panther on and off the ice—slow, methodic, sure. He started both games like that, you could see it, even under the pads. But in both games, after a serious scuffle in front of his net, everything changed. His motion became spastic, his reflexes delayed. It’s subtle, but if you know him you see it. I can only hope someone else noticed it too, like the goalie coach or even Levi, and brings it up to him. I don’t think he’s aware of the change, but if he knows about it I know he’ll figure out why, like I have. It’s the accident. The jostling in front of his net, the players falling and the skates flying, is pushing him back to that incident.
The team flew back late last night, but they don’t have practice today. I’m dying to see Eli again. I know we can’t interact, at least not the way my heart and body want, but I feel like just laying eyes on him will bring some relief to that ache I have for him. And of course, the other side of me, the rational one, knows it’s for the best he’s not here. Seeing him and not touching him, having to pretend he’s just another rookie on the team, is going to be brutal. Also, there’s this weird vibe in the office this week, and I don’t need to add to it.
Yesterday everyone was running around in closed-door meetings, which I couldn’t find on our shared Google calendar, so I know they were unplanned. What I don’t know is what they were about. I hope it wasn’t Elijah.
I drop my coat on the back of my chair and put my latte and my breakfast burrito down on the desk. I swung by my parents’ this morning instead of Jude’s, figuring he needed alone time with Zoey. Mom was making her amazing breakfast burritos and made one for me. I haven’t had one since this summer when I visited them in Toronto, and they’re my favorite thing in the universe. I’m about to sit down and savor my last bite when I notice Trish’s jacket is also on her chair. I pop the last of the burrito into my mouth and look over to Nadine’s desk. Her jacket is there too. But where are they?
Mr. Carling walks in as I’m swallowing the last of my mom’s culinary masterpiece. He sees me and smiles. “Morning, Dixie. Everyone else is in the conference room already,” he says with a smile, even though that fact leaves me nervous. Why am I not there too? They told me eight thirty. He walks briskly to his closed office door. “Just let me dump my coat and we can walk there together.”
“Sure thing,” I say calmly, but I’m anything but. Something is up, and I don’t know what it is. I hate not knowing things. It causes my mind to run a million miles an hour in the worst possible direction.
I stand, shove my purse in my desk, and grab my phone and slip it into my pocket before taking a notepad and pen. He comes out of his office in just his dress shirt, having removed his suit jacket too. I scoot around my desk and slip through the door with a grateful smile as he holds it open. He falls in line beside me as we walk down the hall toward the elevator bank. The conference room is a floor below us at the other end of the building, the side attached to the arena, and it has a glass wall that actually overlooks the ice.
“I’m sorry about Noah,” I tell him. Noah, the goalie Eli was called up to replace, is Mr. Carling’s son.
“Thanks. He’ll be great after the surgery and recovery. It’s frustrating for him, but this is better than playing injured and risking the rest of his career,” Mr. Carling explains. He himself was a player and had a lengthy successful career, so he knows injuries and time off are part of the game. I’m walking faster than normal, and Mr. Carling pats my shoulder. “Relax. We’re not late. I asked Ann to bring everyone to the conference room early because I needed to talk to you alone.”
“Okay. That doesn’t help me relax,” I admit lightly but inside my nerves have escalated to almost a panic-attack-inducing level. What the hell is going on?
“Ann is leaving,” Mr. Carling tells me. “I’m going to announce it now, which is why I had the whole team come in early.”
“Oh wow!” I say, drawing on my high school drama class skills.
“Yes. I’m happy for her career, but it’ll be a real loss here, as I know you know,” he continues as we reach the elevators and he punches the Up button. “Luckily she hired some great people to keep the ship going while we interview for her replacement.”
I nod and smile because I’m one of the people she hired. He smiles back, and it gives me confidence. But then, as we step into the elevator and the doors slide closed, he clears his throat and says, “Dixie, someone went to HR yesterday and told them you’re seeing a player.”
Everything in my heart plummets so quickly I have a moment of dizziness. I subtly reach out and grab the railing. He’s smiling. Why is he still smiling? Is he going to be happy about firing me? Oh my God, my career is over. No hockey team will ever hire me after this. My dad is going to be so disappointed. I’m humiliated. And what will this do to Eli? Will they send him back to the Storm?
“We protect whistleblowers, as you know, so I can’t tell you who it was. But we know it’s a false claim,” he explains calmly as the elevator doors swish open, bringing air back into the elevator that had suddenly felt suffocating a moment ago.
We both step into the hall, but my legs feel shaky. “How do you know it’s false?”
He chuckles. “Because we know you would never do that. You’re one of our most dedicated employees.” He smiles again and adds, “And the person they think you’re romantically involved with is Jude.”
“What?!” I say that way too loud and instantly cover my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckles again. “It’s fine. I understand why that would be horrifying to you. And of course we had to explain to this employee why it’s a false claim. The fact is we have a strict policy against fraternization with the team, and if we weren’t going to fire you immediately the person had to be told the truth.”
My heart plummets again. “So this person knows I’m Jude’s sister?”
He nods and smiles reassuringly. “We knew this day would come eventually. I’m actually shocked that we kept it in the bag this long.”
“I just…I don’t want this to affect my role or any future role I might have with the organization,” I tell him, which I know he already knows because it’s what I told him when he offered me the internship in the beginning and I had to give him my real last name.
“It hasn’t and it won’t,” he assures me as we reach the doors to the conference room. “We’re not making any kind of announcement or anything, but you can start using your last name if you’d like.”
“No. I’ll stick with Wynn,” I say quickly. This person knows, but that doesn’t mean I want everyone else to know. Others might find out eventually, but it won’t be with my help. I like my anonymity. I really want to know who knows. And I know they did what was expected of them, telling on me, but at the same time I feel betrayed. They should have just talked to me and I could have explained it myself. It feels like whoever did this has it out for me.
He opens the conference room door and I thank him and step inside. The whole PR team is there. My eyes scan everyone—Nadine, Ann, the two guys Ron and Dave who work with our corporate sponsors, and Trish. As soon as my eyes land on her face, she immediately looks away and I know it’s her. And then a light bulb goes off. Sunday when she showed up at work, she must have heard me on the phone making plans with Jude. And I told him I loved him.
I feel a wave of animosity toward her, but I fight to push it down. She did what she was supposed to do. I need to not blame her for this, but I’m definitely not going to go out of my way anymore to force myself to like her. She’s one hundred percent just a co-worker and not someone I need to bond with. I walk around the table and sit next to Nadine, away from Trish.
Mr. Carling announces Ann’s departure and that her last day will be at the end of the month. In that time she’s going to help select her successor. He goes on to say he encourages applications from within. Ann subtly glances over to me when he says that. I don’t react externally, but my heart beats harder.
“Okay, let’s get back to work,” Mr. Carling says. “Elijah Casco is the big topic of the day for obvious reasons, but we also have the NHL Network here doing promos. It was a last-minute request we’re honoring. Dixie, can I ask you to escort them around? I’ll email you the list of who they’ll film.”
“Sure.” I nod.
“I can help too if you’d like,” Trish pipes up.
Mr. Carling doesn’t even blink. “That’s okay, Trish. We’re going to need you to handle the media requests while Dixie works on this.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure thing!” She sounds chipper and she’s wearing a helpful smile, but her arms are crossed and her shoulders are rigid. If anyone else notices, they don’t react.
We all stand and start out the door. I’m grateful I don’t have to go back to my desk right now. I’m still filled with anxiety and feeling antsy. Walking around and guiding this TV crew will be good for me.
Everyone gets on the elevator going up to our floor, but I wait for the other one going down and then make my way down the hall that leads to the arena. I swipe my pass card, which is dangling on a lanyard around my neck, and enter the arena. Just as I knew they would be, the halls are empty. Not even the coaching staff comes in on the day after a long road trip.
My heels click down the curved concrete hallway that circles the arena. My phone bings and I pull it out. It’s an email from Ann with the details of who and what the network wants to film. Apparently they’re doing new promos for the team and some players are coming in to be filmed. As my eyes run down the names listed on the email I start to hear muffled voices coming from just up the hall, in the team dressing room. Levi Casco. Jude Braddock. Duncan Darby. And…
Elijah Casco.