First Chapter: Thrown for a Loop
Psst: You can also check out the audio first chapter here! Enjoy đź’•
January
Zoe
“Nerves of steel.” That’s how an NBC commentator once described me during my Olympic-medal performance. And Sports Illustrated captioned my photo with “grace under pressure.”
If they could see me now, they’d file a retraction. My palms are sweaty as I cross the gleaming marble atrium of the New York Legends hockey team headquarters.
In theory, this is a dream come true. In reality, I just moved to the most expensive city on the East Coast for a part-time job offered to me only after the previous two candidates fell through. But I’ve always been impulsive.
So here I stand, my heart rabbity inside my chest. “Good afternoon,” I greet the security guard, an older white man with a handlebar mustache. “My name is—”
“Zoe Carson!” chirps a female voice. I glance past the security turnstiles to see a young woman scampering down the escalator in my direction. She’s a smartly dressed redhead with a quick smile. “I have your employee ID.” She practically skids to a stop on the other side of the turnstile. Then she waves a card over the sensor. The light turns green and the gates slide open for me. “You’re in!”
“Wow, thanks,” I say, nodding a silent thank-you to the guard and then walking through to the other side of the security barrier.
“You’re welcome!” She beams. At least one person is happy to see me. “I’m Darcy Kendrick, Nolan Sharp’s assistant.”
I’m sorry is the first response that pops into my head. Sharp is my new boss, the same man who’s responsible for half the anxiety that’s sloshing through my bloodstream.
The other half, though, belongs to a certain hockey star who’s probably somewhere in the building.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, offering a hand to Darcy.
She gives my hand a quick pump, then hands over my ID. “Here you go. I put a lanyard and some swag in your locker. But first, let’s check out the main rink, and you can see the guys in action.” Darcy waves her ID in front of another scanner and opens a door to reveal a gleaming rink with bleacher seating.
I follow her inside like a puppy—if puppies were full of dread.
“We need you, Zoe,” Darcy says. “Our stats are shakier than they should be at mid-season. And the last skating coach bailed on us.”
“Why was that?” I hear myself ask.
“He moved to Sweden for better job security.” She shrugs. “I can’t imagine that his new team is better than this one, but I’m very biased. This team can win. We’re just in a slump.”
We walk right down to the plexiglass, where hockey players in blue and red practice jerseys whiz past. I turn a critical eye to their skating. One of the defensemen sends a shower of ice chips flying as he accelerates after his teammate. His stride is powerful, but I notice a shallowness in his crossovers that could cost him precious seconds in a game.
That’s why I’m here. The Legends are fifth place in their division, which isn’t great. But it’s only January. There’s still time to climb the ranks and secure a bid for the playoffs. If these men trust my coaching, I can make a difference.
The whistle blows. Another player suddenly skates close to the glass, and my heart leaps into my throat. When he lifts his gaze to the spot where we’re standing, I stop breathing.
But the skater isn’t anyone I’ve met, although he lifts a hand in a friendly wave, which Darcy returns.
“Now let’s get you upstairs,” she says, herding me out of the rink and onto one of the escalators that rise through the glittering atrium. As we rise, she points out two more practice rinks and other world-class facilities.
This job could be a godsend. So why do I feel so sweaty? Oh, right. The memory of a pair of ethereal blue eyes crosses my mind like a shadow, and my stomach tilts again.
That second coffee was definitely a mistake.
As we step onto the final escalator, I spy a cluster of men on the fourth floor, in the players’ lounge. Tall bodies. Broad shoulders.
Oh God. I’ve spent the whole day wondering what Chase Merritt will say when we finally come face-to-face. The team gave me every player’s contact information as soon as I took this job, so that I could reach out to each of them and set up our first coaching session.
I spent hours writing and rewriting my first email to Chase. The first few drafts had begun: maybe you don’t remember me…But then I’d deleted that in favor of a breezier greeting.
At least I hope it was breezier. Writing a business email to the man who once broke your heart isn’t easy.
I still haven’t gotten a reply, in spite of checking my email approximately eleventy billion times. And now I’m so tense I could burst.
When we reach the fourth floor, Darcy turns toward the left, away from the glassed-in players’ lounge. “This is the C-suite,” she announces, leading me through an open archway into a grand office suite bedecked with plush carpets and a giant Legends logo on the paneled wall. “Beyond the bigwigs’ offices are the rest of the coaching staff, and corporate employees—including your cubicle.”
“Nice.”
She leads me toward her own desk, offering to hang up my winter jacket. “Look, Zoe,” she says. “I’m going to level with you. I’m very excited to have you in the front office. You have no idea.”
This snaps me out of my nervous reverie, and I focus on her pixie-like face. She’s smiling a little maniacally, and I can’t help but think Here we go again.
This still happens sometimes—the whole skating groupie thing. For some people, it doesn’t matter that I gave a disappointing performance at the Olympics. That I let my team down with a silver instead of a gold. Or that I bailed on my entire skating career four years later—right before the games.
Some people are just so fired up about figure skating that they want to talk about it, even if that’s not my scene anymore. Not even a little. So I paste on a polite smile and wait.
“Not to make this awkward,” she says, fitting my coat onto a hanger. “But it will be so great to have another woman on staff! Plus I saw your address on your HR file—my place is two streets over.”
I blink. “Howdy, neighbor.”
She laughs nervously as she puts the hanger on a coatrack. “I mean—this job can be such a sausage fest. And I could really use a work friend. Sorry if I made it super awkward. You’re probably wondering how fast you can install a doorbell camera and change your phone number.”
“Not at all,” I say, still catching up. “I totally get it. We should have a drink together.”
Her eyes light up again. “Yes to drinks. Or pedicures! Or both at the same time. Is that a thing? It should be a thing. And the team is leaving for their game at five if you’re free this evening.”
“Tonight works fine.” I’m basically friendless in New York. “But you’ll have to pick the spot.”
She clasps her hands together. “Yay! I’m hyped. Now let’s say hello to Mr. Sharp, okay? He’ll want to welcome you himself.” She frowns. “At least in his own special way.”
Yikes. “Let’s do it.”
I follow her toward his office, setting my shoulders back and lifting my chin. It’s the classic power stance that I was taught at age six. Straighten your spine, Zoe! If you don’t hold your body in a confident way, the panel of judges won’t believe in you.
That’s the kind of winning energy I need right now. Every interaction I’ve had with Sharp so far was more like a wrestling match with a porcupine than a friendly conversation.
Luckily, tolerating difficult people is my superpower. I’ll just have to dazzle Sharp with my work ethic and deep knowledge of the sport.
Darcy marches up to his door, and I watch her take a slow breath before she knocks.
“What?” a voice croaks from inside. “There’s no one I want to see right now—unless they brought me a double macchiato.”
Darcy opens the door, revealing the jowly grump seated behind his big boat of a desk. “Sir, if you have any more caffeine, they’ll use you to power the team jet. And the new skating coach is here. I brought her in so you could say hello.”
“Ah, the ice dancer,” he says, failing to look up from his phone. “She starts today?”
Darcy briefly closes her eyes, as if in pain, and her pale eyelashes flutter. “Yessir. Coach Carson is here to say hello, and then maybe you can show her around.”
He scrolls a little further, ignoring us for a long, awkward beat. And then finally he puts the phone face down on the desk. He looks up, eyes sunk into his leathery face, and gives me an assessing glance. “Zoe Carson,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “Twenty-eight years old, former figure skater, new hockey fan.”
“Not so new,” I insist before I can think better of arguing with my new boss on my first day. “I grew up at hockey rinks, where they only gave the figure skaters ice time when it was convenient.”
“So this is a grudge match?” he asks, bushy eyebrows rising.
I whip out my best ice-princess smile. “I’m here to help hockey players skate faster. Call it whatever you wish.”
He rises from his desk and holds out his hand, but it’s grudging. “Welcome. You’re a real trailblazer, Carson. Let’s hope the trail doesn’t lead us off a cliff.”
Almost too annoyed to respond, I give him a firm handshake. “Thank you,” I manage.
“The challenge will be for someone like you to command the players’ respect and attention,” he says.
“Yessir.” You sexist ass. “I have a plan for that. Once they spend some time with me and hear what I have to offer, they’ll want to work with me again. And you’ll be ready to hand me a new contract for next year.”
His expression is entirely dubious. “We’ll see, Ms. Carson. You’ve got the rest of the season to impress me. I’ll be looking forward to your scouting reports as well. I think that’s where you’ll shine.”
“Count on it, sir,” I say stiffly.
Then he picks up his desk phone and pokes a button. “Aiden! Get over here. You’re touring the new girl around. And, Darcy? I want updated stats.”
“Yessir,” Darcy shoots back. She closes the door behind us as we leave the office, then sighs. “Sorry about all that attitude. He’s just tense about the Chicago game.”
“Is he extra spicy today?” asks a deep male voice.
I glance up to see a white guy with an attractive chestnut beard smiling at us.
“Zoe,” Darcy says, “this is Aiden Sharp. He works with the coaching staff. Aiden, this is Zoe Carson, our new skating coach.”
“Mr. Sharp,” I say, taking care to make eye contact and smile as we shake hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Aiden says. “Lucky for all of us, I don’t have the same personality as my father.”
“Oh.” I swallow my surprise. “Nice to meet you, too.”
He winks. “I heard about you. Figure skater, right?”
“Not anymore,” I say firmly. “Think of me as a skating nerd. I’m interested in the mechanics of skating faster and more efficiently, no matter the sport.” I’ll be giving this same stump speech over and over until people believe me.
“Cool,” he says with another smile. “Can’t wait to see what you can do for our guys. My job is supporting all the coaching staff, so that means you, too. Let me give you a quick tour? And we’ll meet some players.”
“Great,” I say, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “Lead on.”
“Don’t forget about drinks!” Darcy says as she takes her seat. “Come back up here when you’re done.”
“Will do!” I give her a friendly wave and follow Aiden onto the escalator.
He takes me down to the second level and shows me the staff lockers and the equipment room. But it’s hard to concentrate when I’m dreading a run-in with Chase Merritt at any moment.
My tour guide waves a hand toward another set of doors. “Through there you’ll find the players’ dressing room and the steam room. Also ice baths and the like. We’ll skip the tour for now, because the players will be showering.”
“Right. Of course.” I feel a drop of sweat roll down my back. “It’s better to meet them when they’re less…” My poor overwhelmed brain struggles for an ending. “Naked.”
He laughs. “Good plan.”
The panel of judges in my mind shake their collective heads. Not smooth, Carson.
I’ve got to pull it together. And I’ve got to do it soon.
⛸️ ⛸️ ⛸️ ⛸️ ⛸️
Somehow I survive the tour with Aiden and a quick introduction to Max Fairweather, the Legends’ head coach. He’s another hockey star with a long career in coaching.
When I get back to my desk, Darcy has a big grin on her face.
“Look!” she says. “FedEx just dropped this off. I had to order it for you with rush delivery. I hope it fits. Try it on!”
I take the lightweight down jacket, which has sleek styling and the Legends logo splashed smartly across the back. The shoulder even has a patch that reads COACH on it. And I can’t help but smile as I pull it on.
“Look at you!” Darcy crows as the phone on her desk begins to ring. “Now you’re one of us. Oh, heck.” She dives for a blinking light on her phone console while I surreptitiously admire my new jacket, reflected in one of the many panels of glass that surround the office.
I look like a successful skating coach. At least I’ve got that going for me. Fake it ’til you make it, Zoe. That’s another thing they taught me as a child.
“DARCY!” bellows Nolan Sharp from within his office. “I need that report before I go!”
She looks up, phone pressed to her ear. With wild eyes, she glances toward the printer on a nearby wall. “Okay, but what about Friday?” she says to whoever is on the phone, and then scribbles down their answer on a legal pad. Meanwhile, the multiline phone starts ringing again with an urgent electronic trill.
Trying to help, I step over to the printer and grab a document off the output tray.
Thank you, she mouths, taking it from me. “Linda, this is all very helpful, but I’m going to have to call you back tomorrow,” she says. “Right. Yes. But tomorrow—”
After another moment of wrangling, she finally hangs up. “God. I need a minute. Sorry,” she says to me, aiming the report I’ve given her at the stapler and smacking the handle with great force. Then she dashes into the manager’s office, emerging two seconds later empty-handed.
“Not the adversary report!” Sharp barks. “I wanted the scouting report! And where’s the damn bus?”
She whispers a curse under her breath. “On it!” she calls back. To me she says, “The team driver was sick, there’s a storm brewing over the plains, and Mr. Bossypants is on a tear—”
The phone on her desk trills again.
Darcy squints at the caller ID and closes her eyes briefly, as if in pain. “Hell. This is the third time she’s called today.” Darcy grabs the phone and answers it. She negotiates with the caller for a moment and then frowns. “If it’s really that urgent, let me see if he can be located. Hold, please.” She taps a button.
“DARCY!” bellows Sharp. “NOW! We’re leaving in five!”
“Anything I can do to help?” I offer.
She takes a deep breath. “Oh God, yes. Can you poke your head into the players’ lounge and tell Chase Merritt that he’s wanted in the GM’s office?”
“Chase Merritt?” I gulp.
“Yeah—winger? High scorer last year? Eyes like the Caribbean Sea?” She pounds on her computer keyboard like it’s on fire. “The GM doesn’t really need him, but I’m tired of answering calls for him.”
I take a step back from her desk, as if to put distance between Darcy and this unfortunate request. “Um…”
“Please? First round’s on me tonight,” she says, hitting print on a document and then running toward the printer. “I’ll be your best friend!”
Shit! Panicking, I walk slowly toward the players’ lounge. Maybe I won’t be able to find him.
No such luck, though. My gaze finds him immediately. If picking Chase Merritt out of a crowd were an Olympic sport, I’d have the gold medal. It’s always been like this. From the tilt of his rugged chin, to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. I see it all, and I can’t look away. Even from across the room, I notice the confident set of his shoulders and the way his hair—the color of darkened wheat—curls against the back of his kissable neck.
Hell.
I glance toward Darcy’s desk again. She’s watching me through the glass. And when I hesitate, she points frantically toward Chase.
So I take a breath and step forward. For years I’ve pictured the moment when I’d get one more chance to speak to him. I’ve played this like a movie in my mind—what I wanted to say and how he might respond. It never looked anything like this.
But I close the distance anyway. He’s standing with the team captain, mid-conversation, a smirk playing at his mouth.
My expression softens automatically. It doesn’t matter how nervous I am right now, because the greediest corner of my heart still craves this. I thought I’d never see Chase again, yet here we are.
Then he turns, and our gazes meet. Finally.
Except it’s worse than I expected. Because Chase Merritt stares back at me with fury burning in his deep blue eyes.
Clearly I’ve made a colossal mistake.