Page 8 of Thrown for a Loop
Chase clenches his jaw, and he jerks out of Tremaine’s grasp. He lifts his gaze toward the office, where Darcy is frantically beckoning to him. Then he gives me one more withering glance.
“Sorry,” I stammer again. And I don’t know what I’m apologizing for, exactly. For the intrusion. For the trouble I once caused him. For my very existence.
He turns away, though, without any reaction. He slips through the crowded room toward the GM’s office, and my gaze instinctively follows him.
“Hey, Coach Carson. My apologies,” the captain says. “I’m Eric Tremaine.”
I turn, gathering myself to shake his hand. I can’t afford to make a poor impression on the team captain. “Nice to meet you.”
Tremaine is a big, broad guy with a jaw so square that it could be used to teach geometry. It’s softened, though, by a sweep of ash-blond hair across his forehead, and kind gray eyes. If he weren’t towering over me in top-of-the-line athletic wear, I think I could picture him standing in a dairy barn in Iowa or maybe Ontario. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Merry isn’t usually such an asshole. I’ll speak to him.”
“Forget it,” I insist. “But I’ve been wanting to introduce myself to you. I look forward to our first training session later this week.”
“Can’t wait,” he says cheerfully. “Anything I can do to help?”
Tremaine has the kind of golden retriever energy that makes a good team captain. And maybe I can use his help. “You know whatwould be fun?” I say casually. “Why don’t you bring a couple of other senior players with you? It would help get me up to speed faster before I start my one-on-one sessions.”
“That could be arranged,” he says, looking thoughtful. “Sure. I like this plan.”
As do I, since most of the emails and voicemails I’ve sent to his teammates have gone unanswered. But he doesn’t have to know that.
“Excellent,” I say, stealing a glance toward Darcy’s desk in the office suite. Chase is standing beside her, phone pressed to his ear. His face is red, like he’s angry at the world. “Have a great game against Chicago, and we’ll catch up when you get back.”
“Now where the heck is our bus?” Tremaine asks, his eyes darting to his watch. “If you’ll excuse me?”
I wave him off and ease toward the exit, still watching the drama in the next room. Chase hangs up Darcy’s phone and scrubs a hand over his face. Then he barks something at Darcy, who’s gone white.
Then her gaze cuts straight to mine.
“All right, guys! Bus is finally here!” somebody yells. “Let’s move!”
The players all perk up. They grab their hand luggage, toss their paper cups into the trash, and head for the door.
But I’m faster. I slide out of the lounge, heading Chase off before he can join the river of hockey players heading toward the escalators.
He sees me coming and scowls, which makes my pulse accelerate, and not in a good way. “I have a plane to catch,” he says with a grunt as I stop in front of him.
“I realize that,” I say quickly. “But you haven’t returned my email.”
His scowl deepens. It’s weird that anyone would look hot scowling, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he does. “Not everyone has time for email.” He lifts his blue eyes to mine again, and I forget to breathe. “What the hell are you doing here, Zoe?”
Chapter 4
Nine and a Half Years Ago
At quarter ’til eight, after a dining hall breakfast, Chase walks back to Filbert Hall, entryway F, to make sure his boys are up.
He lets himself into F101 and grabs his Bluetooth speaker. He brings it out into the hallway and chooses a song on his phone. A moment later, “Uptown Funk” starts echoing off the walls. It may be early, but the beat is good. So he raises his arms overhead and starts to dance.
The door to F102 bangs open and Ethan walks out, hair messy, a towel around his waist. He props the bathroom door open and sings along in the shower. Joon-ho follows Ethan out of the room a minute later, boogying his way into a pair of athletic pants. “Good song, Coach.”
“Thanks, my dude.” He cups his hands to his mouth and calls upstairs. “Let’s go, boys! Do I have to come up there?”
“We’re up!” someone grumbles from the second floor.
Chase gets his gear together, listening to the slap of flip-flops on the hallway’s tiled floor and the clunk of doors carelessly opened and shut. He grabs his toothbrush and heads into the bathroom, where Ethan is dripping wet in a towel, and one of the other campers is bitching at him over the sound of the running shower. “You tookforeverin here and now I’m going to miss breakfast!”
In response, Chase chooses “Let It Go” for the next song and makes everybody snicker. “See you punks at the rink,” he says. “They don’t have coffee over there, do they?”
