I’ve been hiding from Evan’s view the whole day. I know I’m being immature. I should totally just go talk to him, or at least text him to let him know I’m okay. His texts and messages sound more and more worried, and even though he’s performing well in skills, I can see on his face that his head isn’t totally in the game. He keeps scanning the arena and I know he’s looking for me, which is why I’m well hidden in a little pocket of seats at the far end of the arena, wearing an Anaheim hat, which he would never allow. He would call it bad luck, but hey, it’s good disguise.

I do feel like a traitor wearing it, for the record. That said, I was getting recognized earlier in the day and I needed to hide not just form Evan, but from everyone.

I snuck out of his room almost as soon as he fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep due to the huge pit of anxiety that settled into my stomach. I needed to know what was out in the world about the fight. I needed to have a plan for how I would answer questions about it. There was also the little issue of him coming inside me sans condom. Twice. I absolutely cannot blame him for all of it, though. I was just as into the angry-sex session as he was.

Fiona’s call came at five in the morning. We met for breakfast and she frowned the entire time. The conversation went about as well as to be expected.

“I should fire you,” she said while stirring milk into her coffee.

“I didn’t really do anything wrong, Fiona. Viktor was really nasty, and it wasn’t until he started insulting my friend and me that the guys got involved.”

“I spoke with Max earlier and he said Viktor will accept responsibility. But that’s not the point. The point is that you’ve already blatantly flouted our rules on fraternization by dating Evan Kazmeirowicz. Then you’re out with a second player and you’re in the middle of a bar fight with these guys. This does not look good for the team, Holly.”

“I understand it doesn’t look good,” I said. “Do you think I’d work as hard as I do, only to blow apart everything I’ve worked to build in one, stupid night? No, I wouldn’t. Viktor is to blame for this. Georg was only defending Pam, and Evan was only trying to break the fight apart.”

“Well, I’m not convinced you’re not a social media liability to me, now,” she said with a constipated, pursed-lip look stuck on her face.

“I’m sorry, Fiona, but that’s bullshit.” I felt my face go hot. “I’ve been online all night, and I can attest that ninety-nine percent of people commenting and sharing are saying how horrible Viktor’s actions were, and how chivalrous it was for Georg and Evan to step in and defend our honor. While it’s unfortunate that it happened at all, it’s certainly bound to blow over quickly, and with limited negative effect on the Crush.”

“You are our social media manager and you were out with two of our star players—drunk and getting into a bar fight,” Fiona snapped. “Your tits were practically hanging out of your dress, Holly.”

“First of all, none of us were drunk. We hadn’t even been there that long. Viktor came over and insulted my friend and me. The guys tried to shut him up. Yes, things escalated quickly. Yes, we should have just left. But it doesn’t change the fact that Viktor caused all of this. And the length of my dress is completely irrelevant. I was out on a date with my boyfriend and off the clock.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You are never off the clock when you’re with the players that you’re supposed to be promoting as part of your job. I don’t care that you’re fucking one of them. I don’t care if Max Terry thinks your Evan’s his number one lucky charm. I just care that you were out with them on All-Star weekend, and that right now you’re all at the center of every top sports story out there. I hired you to help make our team look good.”

“I do. I work my ass off, Fiona, and you know it. You know I’m killing every other team when it comes to engagement. You know my strategies have helped increase ticket sales. I produce revenue for this organization. I am really good at what I do, and I won’t let you belittle my work just because you’re pissed that Max let me date Evan.”

The conversation continued only a few moments longer, because Fiona got a call and dismissed me with the wave of a hand. I wandered off, fielded a few questions, bought an Anaheim hat, and disappeared into the stands to cover the skills competition for our social media accounts.

All day, though, I’ve been bothered by only one part of her ridiculous tirade. The part where she said I’m never off the clock when I’m with the players I’m supposed to be promoting. There is a small sliver of that statement that rings true to me. Can I ever just be Holly, out on a date with my boyfriend, Evan? The reality is we are a well-known couple now. Not celebrities, but close, and people will be watching us. And if I’m working for the Crush, and my love life is intertwined with it, how can we ever disentangle the two things from each other?

I don’t think I could just go find another job right now. Not after this snafu with the bar fight. It will blow over; I’m totally positive of that. But for now, I need to hang tight and do the best job I can, like I always have. And since I need to stay put, it really just leaves one option.

I’m going to have to break things off with Evan.

I wait until after dinner to text him.

Great. He’s pissed. Maybe it will make this easier.

You know it won’t.

I knock on the door to his suite and he opens. He’s shirtless and achingly attractive. He basically opens the door and then turns his back on me, wandering barefoot over to the couch, where he flops down and puts his feet on the coffee table.

“You had a good day on the ice,” I say, hovering awkwardly by the door.

“Where were you?” he asks stiffly without looking at me.

“In the stands, like I always am.”

“I didn’t see you. I looked and you were nowhere. And I texted. And I called. No response.”

“I’m sorry, Evan.”

“I was worried about you!” he shouts angrily. “And I was under a ton of bloody pressure today and I could have used your support. Instead, my head was about half in it and I spent the other half worrying you’d been sacked.”

“I wasn’t fired, though Fiona threatened it. And of course, you’re right. I should have checked in with you. I just felt like laying low. I’m very sorry for ignoring you.”

“Well, I’m glad you weren’t sacked.” He finally looks at me, but his voice still has an edge. I’ve hurt him, and I feel like even a bigger bitch for what has to come out of my mouth next.

“The thing is, Evan, I don’t…I don’t see how we can continue this relationship. We’re too high profile and our relationship is too wrapped up in the social media of the team. I need to be able to do my job and not have it interfere with my love life.”

“So, you’re saying what?” he asks, his jaw set in a hard edge.

“I’m saying I think we should hit the brakes. We haven’t been dating very long. We can just…take a break. Give it some space. Maybe reassess if I can find a different job after the season.”

He looks totally shocked. And hurt. I watch the emotions play over his features for several heartbeats before he finally says, “That’s total crap.”

I laugh a little at the response. “It’s…crap?”

“Rubbish,” he says. “You think we can just make it stop? Stop caring for one another? Just like that? And you’ll go back to just being an invisible cubicle girl who posts some pictures on social media? And I’ll pretend I haven’t just had my heart ripped to shreds by the first woman I’ve lov—cared about, in a very long time?”

He was going to say loved. Loved. And he stopped himself. It takes my breath away.

“No,” I say, my voice small. “I’m not…I’m not trying to hurt you, Evan.”

“Look, I realize I pursued you,” he says. “I know you dated me against your better judgment. And I know you love your job and you’re the best thing since tea and biscuits at it.”

“The saying is, the best thing since sliced bread.”

“Holly baby,” he says, shaking his head at me. “This is not funny. You could literally go work for any team, anywhere. Get a new fucking job.”

“You get a new fucking job,” I say, giving him a face. “Are you kidding me?”

Evan rolls his eyes. I feel guilty for enjoying his cuteness even when he’s this upset. I’m going to hell for sure.

“This is stupid, Holly. Last night was stupid. It’s going to be totally off the radar in a day. Don’t overreact.”

This is basically what I said to Fiona. And I believe it, too. But I’m so confused right now. I care for him so much. And I know he cares about me.

“I just…let me think about this. Let me get some air. We can talk again when we’re back home. Okay?”

“Whatever,” he says, focusing his angry gaze on some speck of nothing on a far wall.

“I care about you, Evan. Very much. If nothing else, I hope you know that.”

He doesn’t react to my words. Just a great painful silence across a huge gaping hole of insecurity that has opened up between us.

I leave without hearing his response. If there even was one.

A cab takes me to Pam’s apartment, but she’s not there. I know where her spare key is hidden, so I grab it and let myself in. I order a pizza, drink a beer, and watch reality television, a guilty pleasure allowed only because I’m feeling totally heartbroken right now.

The entire evening, I alternate between being totally resolved about breaking up with Evan, and being certain I’m making the mistake of a lifetime by dumping my soul mate. Then spending a half-hour ugly crying about it. After about six rounds of this insanity, I finally fall over sideways on the sofa and crash into an exhausted sleep.

When I wake up, my alarm is going off telling me it’s time to get ready for another busy day at the arena covering the three exhibition games. Pam never came home, and while I might normally think she’s at the hospital or studying, the presence of her laptop and medical bag tells me she’s out doing very non-educational things. Possibly with Georg.

That’s certainly a conversation waiting to happen, but definitely another time.

The games are exciting and fast-paced. The Pacific division easily beats the Metropolitan team. Atlantic loses, then, to Central division. This is quite an upset, actually, and it creates a real social media fury that I take advantage of while I hype up the Pacific crowd, particularly those who follow the Crush and our players.

When the buzzer blows to start the final game, Evan and Georg play to the crowd with fancy footwork and great passing. They score twice, easily, and the line changes to let the second string of All-Stars in. The game is super exciting and fast, and I get some really great shots for the Instagram account. At one point, Evan looks right at me as I snap a shot. He looks intense, and the photo is perfect, but I know that look is for me, and it makes my stomach twist into a tight knot.

Pacific wins, which is thrilling from a team perspective. I’m so proud of Georg and Evan for leading the team to a win, but so sad because I want to be down on the ice, kissing him, congratulating him, celebrating with him.

I watch from the stands as they do a little closing ceremony, and once the whole thing is over, I pack up and head out, choking back the hot tears that want to make an appearance.

I’m back at work bright and early the next day, bombarded immediately with questions from the office staff about the bar fight. After telling the story for about the twelfth time, I fill up my coffee cup and slide into my chair, happy to be back in my little cubicle and focused on our media plan for the last few months of a very long season.

Work keeps me centered, makes me happy. For the most part, since every bit of the plan has some element of Evan Kazmeirowicz in it. I work dutifully until lunch, then take my usual walking break so I can call Pam.

We make small talk for a few minutes, and then I ask, “Where were you the other night? I let myself in and fell asleep on your couch, but you never came home.”

“I was out,” Pam says.

“Obviously,” I say. “And not at school or hospital. Were you with Georg?”

“I was,” she says.

“And you’re not going to tell me about it?”

“Nope.”

“That’s…not like you, Pammy, normally you’re all about kissing and telling.”

“Who says we were kissing?”

“Wow. Okay. Well, you should know I broke things off with Evan.”

“Why?” she asks, genuinely surprised.

“Because my love life cannot be intertwined with my job, and since my job and Evan are basically in the same place, I have to make a choice.”

“Sorry, but that’s dumb, Holls. Definitely not a good reason to leave someone you love.”

“I d-d-don’t love him.” But I’m lying, so my voice breaks. I clear my throat, hoping I sound convincing, but she’s my best friend and she knows me better than that.

“Liar.”

“I’m not…we never declared our love for each other. We dated for a few months. And that relationship was affecting my work, so I’m choosing my job over a relationship that was probably about to run its course anyway.” My words sound horrible and mean even to my ears.

“Why? Because he’s a player and players don’t change? Because you’re just waiting for him to dump you, so you decided to get the jump on him and dumped him first?” Pam lets me have it. “Have you seen how that man looks at you? He’s not going anywhere.”

A lump forms in my throat and it takes everything I have to swallow it down and not break down out here in the Las Vegas sun, with the guy from the hot dog truck staring at me. I toss him three bucks and he makes me my usual.

I can’t eat it, though. After Pam and I finish our conversation I feel truly sick. Sad and anxious and sick, and knowing without a doubt that I very much want Evan in my life. Is it too late?

Because I’m not second-guessing myself to the nth degree, I’m way less productive and way more mopey in the office the second half of the day. And it’s made worse when I head to the restroom only to come out and find Kacey King standing in the lobby, talking to Fiona.

She stomps right up to me and sneers. “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself.” I bet she was one of those girls in high school who challenged other girls to fight her behind the gym after school.

I feel my upper lip curl in response. “Excuse me?” She’s got no authority over me.

“All-Stars is a really big honor, Holly. And I happen to know that this is something Evan’s been working to for much of his career. He’s dreamed of this, and you ruined the whole experience for him. You’re supposed to protect these players and make them look good. Instead, you almost got him barred from playing. And he looked terrible out there, like he could barely see out of that eye. I can’t believe you let him get into a fight like that. And in a public place. You should know that people will be recording with their phones.”

“Wow, that was a nice monologue,” I answer with as professional of a tone as I can muster. “Except, aren’t you a journalist? Shouldn’t you be fair and unbiased and using fact in your reports? Because, first, I can’t imagine that he was dreaming of the NHL All-Stars while he was on an Olympic team. And, second, he wasn’t even close to being barred from play this past weekend. And, third, I didn’t let him do anything, nor did I ruin his experience. He played well and his team won.”

“Say whatever you need to in order to feel okay about what was an epic fail on your part as social media manager,” Kacey says snottily. “You should be fired, in my humble opinion.”

“You mean your overblown, worthless, and jealous opinion?”

Kacey gets right in my face. So close that I can smell her cinnamon gum. “You’re a novelty. A good girl. Men like Evan dabble in good every so often, but they always go back to bad. He’s a good lay, right? I get why you’re trying to hold onto him, but let’s be honest. You’re milquetoast. Boring. Vanilla. And I’ve still got tricks up my sleeve. He’ll be back in my bed in no time.”

“Well, I wish you luck with that,” I say, starting to turn away.

Kacey grabs me, her nails digging into my upper arm. I spin back as she says, “When I get done with you, you’ll have no job and no boyfriend. You’ll be able to go back under whatever rock you crawled out from under and that’s about it.”

I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s her words, but probably it’s the smug look on her face and the fact that she’s already opened the door by putting her hands on me, but I slap her across the face.

She lets go and stumbles back, her mouth in an O of shock. Fiona steps in front of me, and says, “Kacey, I think it’s time for you to leave. I don’t know why you think it’s okay to harass one of my employees, but it’s not. And furthermore, your access to players will be very limited from now on.”

Fiona turns her back on Kacey and gives a little wave for me to start moving. We walk all the way through the office area and into her office, where she shuts the door before heading to her office chair.

“Have a seat,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingertips.

I sit, still a little dumbfounded by everything that just happened.

“So, I think we should just talk for a minute,” Fiona finally says, her tone surprisingly gentle.

“I’m so sorry I slapped her. That is so not like me.” I feel truly sick to my stomach.

“Well, normally I would not ever support one of my staff getting physical with a member of the press, since our jobs are to develop relationships with those folks…but I’d say a good slap across the face was warranted in this case. She kinda had it coming.”

I feel my shoulders drop as I start to relax. I cannot believe Fiona is defending me. “You have no idea. But I’m still really embarrassed. I’m so sorry, Fiona.”

“Just…stop. You have no reason to be sorry. Kacey was out of line and professionally inappropriate. And she put her hands on you first, so it was really self-defense.”

“Thank you.” We both sit, thinking, for a moment before I say, “I really do love this job, Fiona. I know things have been totally weird, but I hope you can see I care about doing the best for the Crush.”

“You are very good, Holly. I’ll be honest and tell you it was never your work I had a problem with—it was your relationship with Evan.”

I nod, unsure what to say. I end up saying, “Well, the team policy…”

She interrupts. “Forget the team policy. You don’t think staff and players hook up all the time? It happens. The policy is supposed to deter it, but sometimes people find each other attractive. I mean, even I have experience with it.”

My eyes go wide. “Really? Aren’t you married?”

She gives me a frown. “I am. Before I met my husband, I was new here and I was dazzled by the players. And one of them made a beeline for me at every press event. He would flirt and I’d feel great about it, and we started sneaking around, having an affair. It lasted a couple of months before his wife found out about it.”

“Oh...Did you know about the wife?”

She shakes her head. “No clue. And most people probably knew about it, but no one said a thing. So I ended up looking like some kind of homewrecker. And I was heartbroken, too. I really cared about him, or I thought I did at the time, anyway.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” And I really am sorry for her, but then a horrifying thought pushes into my head and I have to ask, “Evan’s not married, is he?”

She laughs lightly. “No, he’s not.”

“Good,” I say, unable to hide my relief.

“I have to admit my own situation had me already on edge about player/staff relationships, but if I’m being truly honest I also need to admit…my husband and I have not been in a good place recently, and I was jealous. I was jealous of the effort he was putting in to get your attention. I wanted that in my own life. Strange how much I let it affect my behavior and judgment. I apologize for that.”

She catches my gaze and holds it for a moment. We both take a few minutes to contemplate before she says, “You really are one of the best young media managers in the game right now, Holly. I’m sorry I haven’t been as supportive of your good work as I should have been. I had great female role models and mentors throughout my career and I’ve really not offered the same support to you. I’m ashamed of it, and I promise I’ll do better from here on out.”

“Thank you so much, Fiona, it means a great deal to me to hear that from you.” I try to overcome the growing pit in the bottom of my stomach. “And by the way…I broke things off with Evan. Before we left Los Angeles. You were right—it’s too hard to have a relationship with a player and be in this job. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Oh, Holly,” she says emphatically. “No. No.”

“No?”

“I was upset at the situation and I overreacted. Even I can see that Evan is a different man with you in his life. He loves you. And I know you must love him. This is a blip and it will pass, but finding real love like that? You can’t give it up just for a job. And your job is not in jeopardy here, so I think you need to go find him and make it work.”

“It might be too late,” I say sadly, afraid to believe I might be right.

“I doubt that very much.” Her phone pings with a text and she says, “I’ve got to get back to work, and so do you. I’ll touch base with you before you leave for the day.”

I nod and get up, heading back to my desk. There’s a text from Troy, checking in to make sure I’m okay after the bar fight. I respond, telling him the story and letting him know I’m okay. He says he’ll be in town for the next home game and wants to sit with me in the stands and then grab a late dinner afterward. This sounds great because I really miss him and can use his advice right about now.

After the day is done and I’m in my car, as soon as I turn on the engine, Justin Bieber’s, Sorry plays on the radio.

Perfect.

Don’t mistake me. I’m not really a Belieber, or whatever his fans are called, but the lyrics are completely relevant to my life right now. I know, I know that I let you down. Is it too late to say sorry now? And I want nothing more than to call Evan right this instant to tell him I’m sorry I acted like a scared fool.

But if he will ever be able to forgive me is something completely different.