Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

25. Callie

25

CALLIE

“You did really great today.” Owen wraps his arms around me, cradling my face to his chest.

We’re back at work, done with the lawyer testimonials after what felt like days, and I’m so ready to forget about it. I feel a little silly for Owen rushing to my side, but I’m so very glad he was there.

“I don’t know if I could have done it without you.”

“You could have,” he says without a hint of doubt. “But you don’t have to. I’ll always be there for you when you need it, Callie. I never want you to question that. Whatever you and our kid need, I got you.”

My heart swells with gratitude, but I’ve cried more than enough for one day, so I skip expressing that to him and change the subject. “Have you thought about baby names yet? Because I have.”

His fingers curl through mine, our arms swinging carelessly as we walk. “Tell me it’s not something weird like River or Maven.”

“Maven is kind of cute, actually. And gender neutral. I’ll add it to the list.”

He groans. “How about hockey MVPs? That could be a perfect baby name list.”

“Callie!” Jordan, the team’s social media manager, nearly pounces on us the moment we walk through the arena doors.

I don’t know Jordan super well, but she’s always been nice to me. Still, I slam to a stop when I see the camera in her hand.

“Yes?” If the dubious look on my face wasn’t enough, the even more dubious tone of my voice tips Jordan off.

She raises a hand in the air. “Hear me out before you say no. The team thinks this is a great idea, which, yeah, obviously—it was my idea.”

Owen’s hand tightens around mine. “What idea?”

“Walk with me.” Jordan waves us on, heading towards the training room as she explains. “With all the Miles shit still hitting the fan and splattering all over, the team needs some good PR. You ,” she emphasizes, hitching a thumb over her shoulder at me, “need some good PR.”

She told me to hear her out, but I’m already shaking my head. If I need any acronym, it’s R and R. I need to rest and relax and stay far away from cameras and the internet.

“Everyone on this team knows how hard you work,” she continues. “But we’re the only ones who see it. We want to show all the fans just what you do for us and the guys on the team. So, my idea is to do a segment on physical therapy in the professional athlete world.”

Before I can ask what exactly that means, we round the corner into the training room. There are yoga mats rolled out on the floor and three different lighting stands. It looks like the scene of some deep internet snuff video.

Jordan must think the same thing because she wrinkles her nose and turns to a guy with thigh-rimmed glasses, wearing a pair of Crocs. “This room is a nightmare. We should move this to the ice, instead.”

The guy pushes his glasses up on his nose. “But the sound. The guys are practicing.”

“Voiceover,” Jordan says, solving that issue in a second. “Good lighting beats everything.”

With that decided, a few interns start rolling up the mats and grabbing the light stands, carrying them out to the rink.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, trying and failing to keep up. “You want me on camera?”

“Exactly!” Jordan claps her hands together. She’s excited about this, which makes me feel bad about how aggressively I’m about to shut this down. “All you have to do is your job. It’ll just be you walking one of the guys through some stretches.”

I glance to Owen, but he’s watching the interns wrestle with an extension cord, so I can’t get a read on whether he also thinks this is the worst idea in the world.

“I just don’t think?—”

Before I can get the words out, my uncle pokes his head into the training room. “The goalies are heading out for the day, so the far end of the ice is yours, Jordan.” He sees me and gives me a wink. “You’re gonna be a star, Alley Cat.”

With that, he walks out. I look around the room, watching people setting things up. A lot has already gone into this. If I bail, not only will it look like I don’t care about my job, but so many people will have wasted their mornings for nothing.

Jordan isn’t the same as some random reporter hiding in a bush. She wouldn’t post anything that might make me look bad. This will be fine.

I sigh. “So what am I going to be doing exactly?”

We step into the rink. It’s been less than a minute, but mats are already spread across the ice and the lights are turned on. This set up looks less like a basement kill room, which is a marked improvement.

“You don’t even have to talk,” she assures me. “It will be you and a model working through some stretches. Just keep everything aimed, more or less, at the camera, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“A model?”

“Just one of the guys. This is going to be informational, but it won’t hurt engagement if people get to watch some rippling muscles.”

The way Jordan is almost drooling, maybe she should be helping the guys stretch. She’d be more enthusiastic about it than I’m going to be.

“I’ll do it.” Owen steps in, hand up. “I’ll be the model. Makes sense since I’m already here.”

“Actually,” Spencer’s voice comes from behind us, and I flinch. “I already signed up.”

No .

“Then un-sign up,” Owen growls.

Spencer scrapes a hand through his sweat-damp hair, smirking at me. “Can’t. Jordan thinks it’ll be a good idea for people to see a rookie. And Coach wants you on the ice. Since you had another appointment. ”

He says it like we were fucking in the bathroom.

Owen is about to deck him, I can feel it. I can also see Uncle Randy looking this way, eyes narrowed. So I step between them.

“You and I have been seen enough together by the public. It would probably be for the best if it wasn’t you,” I whisper to him. “Even if I wish it could be.”

His jaw flexes as he drags his eyes from Spencer down to my face. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.”

But he should. If he doesn’t start, he might lose his job.

I press a hand to his chest. “Go back to practice. I can handle this.”

I must sound a lot more certain than I feel because Owen huffs out a sigh and kisses my lips. He holds the kiss for a few extra seconds, no doubt putting on a show for Spencer. Then he heads back to the locker room to gear up.

Suddenly a heavy arm lands across my shoulders, and Spencer’s voice is in my ear. “Ready for our close up, Cal Gal?”

I shrug his arm off of me. “Let’s get this over with.”

Why would I ever do a session on the ice? Even with the mats, it feels unstable. The cameramen are slipping around like we’re in a Jello pit, but Jordan has stars in her eyes.

“Be natural,” she directs as one of the lights is angled so it’s burning straight into my retinas. “But thorough. Also, move slowly so people can see what is happening. And smile!”

“Dance, monkey, dance,” I mumble. I slap on a thin smile and turn to Spencer. “Touch your toes.”

It’s a basic stretch, but it’s so basic that I don’t have to touch Spencer, which is a win.

Limberly, Spencer folds himself in half. It’s an impressive feat for someone as muscled as he is, but I don’t mention that. “Having fun, Cal?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” I’m sure my smile looks more like a grimace, but I never claimed to be an actor. And maybe if I look like I’m in as much pain as I am, they’ll never ask me to do it again.

“Why don’t we spice it up a little, then?” He keeps his voice low so only I can hear him. “Show me what to do, Cal. Show me how to get that deep, burning relief. I want a true release, you know?”

Goosebumps crawl up my neck. Spencer and I aren’t wearing mics, so no one can hear him over the sound of practice at that other end of the rink. Still, Owen keeps looking over between passes, checking on me.

Spencer can’t do anything while Owen is in the room.

I set my chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Show me where to put my hands. What should I be doing right now?” When Spencer holds his hands out to me, Jordan nods.

“Yes! Help him. Hands-on instruction will work great.”

I swallow back the bile in my throat—remembering at the last second to smile—and move closer to him. Close enough that my right side is pressed against his back. My skin prickles like I’m getting a rash. I put my hands on his. “If you hold here and lean this way—” I hold back tears by sheer force of will as I guide him into a side lunge. “—you’ll feel it in your quads.”

“Weird, I’m feeling it somewhere else.”

I look around, but of course no one can hear. No one can help .

I separate myself from the moment, from the room, my brain, my heart, and go through the motions. Don’t look at him. Don’t break down. Don’t throw up. Don’t cry.

“Where were you and Owen this morning?” he asks. Is he actually trying to make small talk right now?

“We had an appointment.”

“Is that what you call it when you try to put someone behind bars?”

I glance at him, breaking rule number one.

“Callie, smile!” Jordan reminds me, drawing a smile on her own face with her hands.

I force my lips to tip up. “How do you know that?”

“Easy information to find out. People talk when you go after innocent people.”

“Miles hurt Owen’s sister, and he threatened me. He deserves what he gets.”

I feel him tense under my hands. I should stop talking. This is not laying low. This is not flying under the radar.

“That’s not what I heard.”

I lean into him harder, and he grunts. I know it pushes the stretch deeper than he can go. “What you heard doesn’t matter. What matters is the truth.”

I give it a second and pull back, switching positions.

He turns to me, his eyes sharp as daggers. “How much of the truth did you share this morning?”

“I said what needed to be said.”

“About Miles? Or me?”

I can’t stop myself from looking over. It’s the closest he’s ever come to admitting he knows what he did to me could get him in a hell of a lot of trouble.

But it isn’t remorse in his eyes. It’s rage.

He goes on. “I’d hate to think what would happen to you or the people you care about if you ever opened your mouth about that.”

The acid in his words sends me stepping back, trying to put space between us. But my heel hits the ice, and I slip.

Spencer’s arm darts around my back, catching me just before I can land on my back. Then he pulls me against his chest, too close, too tight. I can feel his heart beating. “Would you look at that? We still fit like a glove.”

“Cut,” Jordan calls out.

I drop the smile even though Spencer hasn’t. Before I can say anything or push him away, Owen skids to a stop next to us. “She’s a PT, not an actress. Enough with this bullshit and let her work.”

“She was working just fine for me,” Spencer mumbles before strutting off..

I reach for Owen, and he pulls me against him. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” I’m breathless and shaky. I’m not fine. Not at all. “I just don’t like the cameras.”

“Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to do this on the ice. You almost fell.” He glares over his shoulder at Jorden, and I touch his chin, turning his face back to mine.

“But it’s done now. I’m just going to go back to my office.”

I start to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, O.” I slap on my camera-worthy smile, though it’s even flimsier than it was ten minutes ago.

I hold it together until I’m in my office. Until the door is locked. Until I’m alone.

Then I sink to the floor and sob.

I’m not okay. I’m anything but.