Page 1 of Wallflower
one
Chord
I swing the cherry-redsports car into a basement parking space markedreserved—not for me, but I don’t give a shit—then hit the lock button on my way to the elevator. Once inside, I tap the button to close the doors and another for the fourth floor, then turn to face the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
I’m in a tailored navy suit custom made to fit my shoulders and thighs. White shirt. No tie. A new Rolex on my wrist. I pinch my fingertips through my dark hair, taking care not to undo all the good work—and product—I put in this morning, then stand back and appraise the final picture.
Not bad for a thirty-four-year-old NHL legend who was just dumped by his team two years shy of retirement.
I snort and tug on my shirt cuffs. Fuck ’em. I’m going to spend the rest of my career making sure those assholes regret the way things fell out this year.
The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and I step out into a gray-carpeted hall flanked by stark white walls adorned with San Francisco Fury memorabilia. Framed jerseys. Signed headshots. Black-and-white photographs of the team’s best wins. Directlyopposite the elevator is a sign, and I scan it for directions to Boardroom One.
Loaded silence ushers me up the corridor and, like always, the press of eyes makes me want to turn and leave. I never thought I’d get sick of people looking at me. Women begging for my number. Fans shoving markers in my face and telling me I was the best player they’d ever seen. I never thought being so fucking good at something that it gave you the world would one day feel like living in a cage.
I walk fast with my gaze forward and jaw clenched. Maybe I should relax. Fury headquarters is technically my home now, so I shouldn’t need to be on my guard. My mouth tips up in a sardonic smile. Home isn’t always where a person is safest—or even wanted.
Ah, shit.A pretty blonde with a predatory look in her eyes, a tight canary-yellow skirt wrapped around her hips, and tall black heels on her feet slides into the hallway at just the right moment to catch the curve on my mouth, and I screw up by meeting her interested glance. She takes it as an invitation to approach, and I’m about to scowl hard enough to scare her away when a familiar figure steps out after her.
Around us, people pretend they’re not watching, but heads pop up over cubicle partitions like a game of whack-a-mole. I ignore my irritation and accept the outstretched hand of the first coach I ever had in this game.
“Chord,” Campbell says with a grin before pulling me in for a hug. I hesitate for half a second before wrapping my free arm around his bulky frame. Although it’s been more than ten years since I’ve had this man in my corner, the way he pulls me against his chest makes it feel like he did the exact same thing just yesterday.
After a couple of manly thumps on my back, he draws back and nods at the woman next to him. “Chord—this is CourtneyReynolds, our marketing manager. She’s joining us for today’s meeting.”
Courtney extends a red-tipped hand, and I accept it with a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” Her cool fingers squeeze around my hand, and I’m almost certain I didn’t imagine the emphasis she put on the wordpleasure. When she holds onto me a moment too long to be professional, I tear my eyes away from the satisfied curve of her lips and extract my fingers from hers.
For fuck’s sake. I’m so sick of dealing with this kind of thing.
Coach leads the way to a pair of oversized doors and swings them open to reveal a large boardroom. The long table is empty, and I stride the length of it to take the high-backed chair at its head. Then I cross my arms over my chest and lean back as half a dozen or so members of the Fury’s administration team arrive one by one. They’re excited, I can tell, but one look at me and without fail, a flutter of uncertainty passes over their faces.
I started in this sport sixteen years ago, and to be the best, I had to put myself first. I had to be selfish and go after what I wanted. Sixteen freaking years of chasing and living my dream while everything else in my life went to shit. And now, with two years left in the game—if I’m lucky—there’s every chance I’ll end my career as a loser and not the winner my parents raised me to be.
So, no more distractions. I’m done with women. I’m done with making friends. I’m done with smiling when I don’t want to, and I’m done with caring what people think. My only priority is to be the best damn hockey player in the NHL and finishing my career in the same place I started it.
On top where I belong.
two
Chord
Barely a third ofthe chairs around the monstrous table are occupied, but I assume someone chose this room because it’s the biggest and the best. The Fury knows they got a good deal when they signed me for a fraction of what I’m worth, and they’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doing here.
In the hours since we signed the contracts, I’ve asked myself the same thing.
Campbell is on my right, Courtney from marketing is on my left, and there are reps from what looks like every other department arranged around the table. I don’t know that they all need to be here, but it looks like everyone wishes they weren’t. So they can stay.
After he makes the obligatory introductions, Coach braids his fingers together and sets his hands on the table. “Before we get to business, I want to offer Chord a warm welcome to the San Francisco Fury.” He turns to me. “I know this is a big change, and it’s not done under the best of circumstances, but the team here is taking this as an opportunity to make a fresh start, and we hope you will, too.”
He pauses, offering me the floor, and I give him a tight smile that barely touches my lips.
“Hey. You.” I tip my chin at the guy with the open laptop. “You’re from the media relations team, right?”
He licks his lips and nods like there might be a wrong answer—or like he wishes he could say no.
“Good. Take notes because I’m only going to say this once.”
