Page 1 of Offside Secrets
CHAPTER 1
SUTTON
Winning is loud.
I know this because after a game, when you enter the Renegades locker room, it sounds like a frat party colliding with a rock concert. Someone’s usually in their underwear and blasting music, someone else is yelling about a poker game, and I’m fairly certain at least one grown man is always tasked with singing into his skate like it’s a microphone.
That’s what happens with the team after a winning game. Meanwhile, when you are theownerof said team, well…I’m in my office, heels off under my desk, eating a cold slice of pepperoni pizza, and juggling crises like the chicest ring leader in town.
Anna Denault—a former member of our Renegades family and now a sports agent for one of our players, Sawyer Stockton—is perched on the edge of my desk. She’s got legs crossed, eating Twizzlers out of a coffee mug that has my initials engraved on it.
Across the room is Elle Carter, Renegades assistant coach, stats whisperer, and my best friend. She’s currently sprawledacross my sofa, headset dangling, laptop still open from her video session with one of the rookies.
“...No, Tyler, she wasn’t ‘flirting with you’ when she said your plus-minus was impressive. That’s not a euphemism. It’sliterallya stat.” She meets my gaze over the top of her screen, exasperated. “If hockey doesn’t work out, that boy’s gonna get eaten alive on Tinder.”
From my seat, the arena glows against the glittering River City skyline, a reminder of everything I’m trying to hold together. Keeping this franchise from turning into a soap opera feels like a full-time job—plus overtime.
“Okay,” Anna says, wagging a Twizzler like a gavel. “So, listen to my idea for the PR spin on Sawyer yelling at the ref tonight: we say he’s ‘passionate.’”
“He looked like he was auditioning for WWE,” I say, trying not to snort in disapproval, starting to flip through the day’s media clippings. “Tonight’s media chatter is all about the NHL’s newest expansion coming to our neck of the woods—Virginia might be getting this team, which would be huge for us.”
“Would it ever,” Elle says with a whistle. “The Alexandria Dominion. I like it. Strong.”
“Right? I like a good team name,” I agree with Elle before turning my attention back to Anna. “So, based on that, let’s try to keep Sawyer’s passion to a minimum, shall we?”
Anna shrugs. “Passion sells.”
“Passion gets us fined,” I counter.
Elle pipes up from the couch. “We could always have the team captain talk to Sawyer.”
“Except the team captain is his cousin,” I reply, my Southern drawl suddenly appearing. Why does it do that when I get stressed? “Will he make him atone for what he’s done?”
Elle grins as she points to the Word of the Day calendarsitting on my desk. “I see what you just did there. Atone is today’s word.”
“You are the only person I know, Sutton, who has an appandcalendar for a word of the day,” Anna says with a laugh.
I wink slyly. “I love it. My word of the day makes me feel ridiculously smart. But words or not, I need to know for real if there will be atonement. Again, our captain is related to ‘he who needs to be put in his place’, albeit gently.”
“Does not matter. Related or not, I told Campbell when he accepted the captaincy that he couldn’t show favorites. What’s good for the team is also good for all players, even if they all have the last name Stockton.” Elle sighs as she kicks her feet into the air. “I swear, as much as I respect these guys, they’re going to be the death of me. I wish they would listen, that I could tell them to do what I say do, and if they don’t do it, I’ll just strangle ‘em.”
Anna tosses her a Twizzler in approval. “See, that’s passion. Nobody’s fining you.”
“You two are impossible.” I lean back in my chair, pointing to said calendar on my desk. “Or problematical, if I was following Merriam-Webster’s rules yesterday.”
“You love us,” Anna sing-songs.
“Debatable,” I mutter, though my lips twitch.
“Speaking of debatable…” She grins and leans in, twirling her Twizzler and using it to punctuate each word. “Kiss, marry, kill. Sawyer, Campbell, or that new guy, Maxwell Rivers.”
“I think he wants to be called Max,” Elle says as she sits up straighter. “And I’d kiss Max, for sure.”
“No,” I say firmly. “We’re not doing this.” I then point a finger at Elle. “And I’m pretty sure it’s Maxwell. Not Max. Just Maxwell. Also, hello…Dixon?”
When I bring up the love of her life and also our former goalie, Dixon Andrews, who has graduated and moved on up to the big leagues himself, Elle ignores me. Which is fine. Ilove them as a couple, and I love that she’s happy, but do I like to tease her when I see the opportunity? Yes, that’s what friends do.
“Maxwell comes from a good family around the Cape,” she says, not missing a beat. “He looks great in a suit—probably smells like cedar and generational wealth. Sawyer’s the loyal type: in a protective ‘you’re mine’ kind of way.”
