Page 15 of Offside Secrets
I stare at the message for a long time before hitting send.
Dad’s dozed off in his chair, the worry lines in his face finally smoothed out by sleep. I grab a throw blanket and tuck it around him, then head to my room.
My phone buzzes as I’m brushing my teeth.
You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. Really.
No problem. Just didn’t want you to get taken advantage of.
By who, exactly?
I pause, toothbrush in hand, staring at her message. How do I explain that I was worried about mechanics trying to overcharge her without sounding like I think she’s helpless?
Just meant there are cheaper options if you want them. But you probably already knew that.
I really appreciate you taking the time to look that up.
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by something that feels dangerously close to pride.
Anytime.
I set the phone down and finish getting ready for bed, butsleep doesn’t come easy. I keep thinking about the weight of Dad’s medications in my hands, the stack of bills, the way Sutton looked at me when I said she owed me one.
Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I do try to fix things that aren’t broken.
But maybe, sometimes, people need fixing anyway.
CHAPTER 7
SUTTON
The sharp hiss of skates carving into ice echoes across the cavernous, empty arena, bouncing off the high ceilings and curling around the boards. Elle moves with effortless authority, running drills with a handful of younger players who begged for extra ice time. Their sticks slap the ice, pucks clatter against the boards, and the faint scent of cold, slightly metallic air fills my nostrils.
I’m perched in the penalty box, as I have been for most of the past week, laptop balanced precariously on my knees, scrolling through vendor contracts that blur under the fluorescent glare. I like coming here to work some days. Being on the ice and watching the team makes me feel a part of it, if that makes sense. Sometimes, being tucked away in that office…what do the players call it, the Ivory Towers? Yeah, it can feel exactly like that. Tucked away, on a floor high up in the sky, not connected to the arena and the team. That’s why I do it.
I need to focus on my screen and the numbers floating in front of me, but my attention drifts anyway, caught in Elle’s rhythm—the way she leans into each drill, her voice sharp but encouraging, and the subtle flare of satisfaction when aplayer nails a move. Every so often, I lift my eyes from the spreadsheet, watching her command the ice, the ease in her stance, the confidence that makes it clear why the kids respond to her.
She’s in her element out there—calling out corrections, demonstrating footwork, treating these guys with the same respect she demands. It’s one of the things I admire most about her: she never talks down to anyone.
Unlike the phone call I just endured.
“Sutton!” Elle calls out, skating over as the players head to the bench for water. “You look like someone just told you the ice machine is broken forever.”
I close my laptop with more force than necessary. “Conference call with the league office. Apparently, they’re ‘concerned’ about some of our recent PR incidents.”
Elle raises a brow. “You okay? You sound tense.”
“I prefersonorous,” I say, tossing her a grin.
“Oh stop it, I was in your office this morning and saw that word on your calendar.” Elle laughs, referencing my use of sonorous as she pulls off her helmet and shakes out her hair. “Let me guess—the call was all about Sawyer’s ref situation?”
“Among other things.” I stand, gathering my things. “But mostly it was forty-five minutes of thinly veiled suggestions that maybe I need more ‘experienced guidance’ in managing the team’s public image.”
“Experienced guidance.” Elle’s voice drips with disdain as she steps off the ice. “You mean a man.”
“They didn’t say that exactly, but...” I shrug, following her toward the locker room area. “Commissioner Davies kept referring to how other ‘successful franchises’ have handled similar situations. And every example he gave involved a male owner or GM.”
Elle snorts, unlacing her skates. “Right. Because men never have PR disasters. Tell that to half the league.”
