by Kate Meader
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“Just thinking that pretty reporter seems to be your speed. Kershaw said—”
“Kershaw is a gossiping old woman and he’d better keep his mouth shut about Jordan.”
Bren and Remy stared at him, then each other before bursting out laughing. Wonderful.
“Look, we understand wanting to protect your woman, especially when it looks like lines are being crossed.” Remy crossed his arms. “I went through that with Harper.”
“That’s not it. Or not the only thing.”
He figured these guys knew all about taboo workplace relationships, but that wasn’t the only issue here. Originally, he’d worried that Jordan’s natural cheer would (a) piss him off and (b) piss her off when he didn’t respond, but once he’d accepted his fate, he’d leaned into it. He looked forward to seeing her smile, talking hockey with her, touching her with abandon, even though he could only do it in private.
“I like Jordan. Shit, I really like her, but that’s not what she’s doing with me. Aside from the fact it wouldn’t look good for her to be with the subject of a story, she’s pretty focused on her career.”
Bren frowned. “So?”
“So, getting close to me is more of a career move. It’s a reflection of our proximity. I don’t doubt she’s attracted to me but it’s not more than sex.”
“For you?”
“For her.” As for him? His heart pounded, just talking about it.
Remy rubbed his chin. “You sure about that? Maybe you’re reading it wrong.”
Usually, Levi didn’t give a flying fuck about changing anyone else’s mind but explaining it would be a good way to pound it into his own thick skull. It was bad enough he was doing this to Josh, the fact that nothing could come of it made his sin even more egregious.
“Jordan and I have history. She was married to a close friend of mine who died.”
“Saw that somewhere,” Bren said. “A guy in your unit.”
“Yeah, Josh. And this guy was the best. Shirt off your back, funny as shit, biggest heart of anyone you’d meet, and perfect for Jordan. She has a type. Guys who can make her laugh, who can match her bubbly personality. That’s not me. So when I say that Jordan is using me, it’s not a criticism.”
This breakdown of his doomed relationship with Jordan rendered the guys silent for a spell.
“You know, opposites attract,” Bren finally said. “Violet and me are living proof. You won’t find two personalities more different.”
“Except for Harper and me.” Remy grabbed a towel. “I’m pretty laid back and well, Harper, she’s not.”
Bren snorted. “Testify.”
“Your point?”
“This idea that Jordan needs a guy who’s a clone of her husband doesn’t really wash,” Remy said. “People fit together for lots of different reasons, and sometimes the yang and the yin is the thing.”
No. He had nothing to offer Jordan but the comfort of his body and a few sound bites to give her career a boost. He might want more, but that was never going to be in the cards.
“I’m not her favorite person right now, anyway.”
Bren chuckled. “There’s a very slim window for when any man is a favorite of his woman’s. Wouldn’t worry about it.”
But he did, especially as it was something into which he could legitimately pour his frustration. “Part of it is her job. She’s good at it, really good. But it puts her in positions where guys get to be assholes, and she’s too nice or too concerned with losing an opportunity that she plays along. I hate that. I just want to protect her and I want her to take precautions, like not letting fuckers DM her with proposals and more in the name of a story. She thinks that’s me policing her behavior instead of theirs.”
Remy frowned. “Look, there will be times where you stepping in to help or even offer your help is the last thing she wants. What she really needs is for you to listen to her.”
Bren nodded. “Been there. You can still be pissed, but she’s looking for something more evolved.”
“More evolved?” Levi could be evolved. He could be so fucking evolved those Twitter assholes wouldn’t see him coming.
“We get it,” Remy said. “My wife runs a pro-hockey franchise and gets dragged by couyons on a daily basis. I can’t jump in and answer every comment on a newspaper article. I can’t burn down the Internet though that would probably do the world a favor. But if I see she’s being hurt and I have it in my power there and then to do something about that, I will.”
“You have,” Bren interjected.
Levi shot a hard look at Remy. “You’ve taken some shithead to task for talking smack about Harper?”
“More than talking. A few years back, during a game, I cleaned the clock of a guy who hurt her in a way no man should hurt a woman.”
Levi knew the game and hit instantly. It had always struck him as hinky at the time. “Stroger.”
Remy gave a short nod. “He hurt Harper. I hurt him. It was pretty simple math.”
“If you have names, we can deal with that,” Bren said. “If it’s fanboy trolls, let it be. Keep your fire for problems you can solve and never forget that your woman is likely stronger than you think.”
21
Levi knocked on the door to Lucy’s office at the mission. “Could I have a word?”
“Hey, it’s the middle of the afternoon. What are you doing here?” Her bright smile dimmed when she saw his companion. “Really?”
He looked down at Cookie, whose tail was wagging and tongue was lolling.
“Don’t worry, buddy. The mean lady won’t hurt you.” He stepped inside. “I wanted to talk about making this place pet-friendly for the guests.”
“Of course you do.” She gestured to him to take a seat. “I’m guessing this is Cookie.”
“Hear that, Cookie? Your rep precedes you.”
Cookie gave a friendly yelp, as he always did when anyone paid him the slightest morsel of attention.
“I heard you dropped Joe off Thanksgiving night and took care of Cookie for a few days while Joe was under the weather,” Lucy said, her gaze sussing out the puppy for trouble. “I appreciate that, but we can’t afford the liability insurance to have pets on the premises. They might bite other pets or guests, they usually need shots, and they make a godawful mess.”
Guessing there’d be pushback, he’d come armed with a plan. “What if I could raise some funds? I’ve been doing some research with a charity called Pets for the Homeless. They offer veterinary clinics for the animals, give them check-ups, and they can also send crates to keep the animals and guests safe. We’d need funds for a pet liaison, someone who could manage the program and—”
“Clean up the dog shit?” She sent a glare Cookie’s way.
He smiled at her, tongue out, a complete doggie-doofus. How could someone not love that face?
“Because, Levi, honey, that’s what I’m seeing here. Mountains and mountains of dog shit.”
He grinned at her plain speaking. “I hear you. We’d figure out a way to keep it environmentally safe that will not require you to personally shovel shit.”
She still looked skeptical. Levi knew that breaking the homeless cycle depended on people moving into shelters where they could access other services, but someone like Joe wouldn’t leave his best friend behind.
“Let me work on it, Luce. I might be able to get sponsorship from the team.”
She sighed, recognizing that he had the bit between his teeth and this would end when he ended it. “My door’s always open to meaningful solutions. Not so much for visits from dogs, though, even if they are cute. And thanks for the good coffee, by the way.” She held up her cup. He’d talked the local Starbucks into donating to the shelter any coffee beans they didn’t deem worthy.
“Gotta keep you juiced, Luce.”
“Just what I need, better caffeine delivery methods. Now don’t you have rehearsal or whatever it’s called to get to?”
“You’re not a hockey fan, are you?” He figured not, but maybe it was an incorrect assumption.
“Me? God, no. But my brother is.”
“Game on Friday, if he’s interested. Text me his name and I can leave tickets at will-call.”
She smiled, smug as a bug.
“What?”
“Worlds colliding, Levi. Proud of you.”
“Oh, shut up.”
On his way to his car, a text from Jordan made his phone buzz and his heart leap. He hadn’t spoken to her since yesterday. Correction: he’d tried, but she’d gone dark until now.
Figured you should get to see this before I turn it in, with a link to a Word doc.
He opened up a preview of the profile. Uh oh. Given the fight they just had, dread shivered through him at how this was going to turn out.
Levi Hunt: A Man on a Mission
That was the title? Army, mission—not terribly original but he guessed that wasn’t important. He’d read her game reports. She had a good eye, a nice turn of phrase, and a knack for homing in on an angle that someone might not have noticed, but a long-form piece required a defter touch. For a moment, he worried he might not like her writing. But even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t change his like for her.
Clifford Chase once famously said “hockey’s not for —” (Insert a word not suitable for primetime here). And it seems we’ve come to the point in player recruitment where regular old athletes are no longer good enough. No. The NHL is now in the business of drafting superheroes.
Okay, that was a cute start.
Levi Hunt would laugh if someone called him that to his face. Or not laugh, exactly. He’d stare at you hard, knowing his ability to wait you out would force you to backtrack and make you unsure of what you’d previously been so certain of. But make no mistake, the man is a bona fide hero.
Rather than go pro, Hunt gave up his spot in the NHL draft and enlisted in the army. Rather than sign a lucrative contract, he became a grunt on a grunt’s pay. Rather than skate onto a rink to the soundtrack of sliced-and-diced rock classics and rowdy cheers, he chose to place himself in harm’s way. That rink would have been a lot safer.
I know this intimately.
You see, Levi Hunt is not a stranger to me. He served with my husband, Sergeant Engineer Josh Cooke in the Special Forces, also known as the Green Berets. I didn’t know him well back then. I still don’t know him, but I think I understand him better. Levi’s not in this for the money or the glory or the adulation. He’s here to serve. It’s what he does. Serve his country, serve up goals. Be useful.
The Green Berets’ motto is Sine Pari—Without Equal. But they also have another one: “De Oppresso Liber,” Latin for “To Free the Oppressed.” They are considered the first line of defense in any conflict, and while Levi Hunt is not a D-man, he certainly doesn’t shy away from conflict on the ice. Green Berets are also known as “warrior-diplomats.” They enter a region and act as bodyguards, take out targets, build houses, befriend children. They are nimble, adaptable, jacks-of-all-trades. Their presence is felt, but rarely acknowledged.
Levi brings these skills to the ice. He’s everywhere at once, making trouble, fixing mistakes, protecting his teammates, being as solid as they come.
He’s also kind of a dick.
Levi burst out laughing. “Jordan, baby, you did not just call me a dick in your article.”
Maybe she didn’t hate him after all. Which was good because he was head over skates for her.
* * *
Jordan had expected that her weeks embedded with a pro-hockey franchise would have a lot of downtime, likely filled with poker, foosball, and listening to Theo Kershaw bemoaning his clothing struggles. Not expected? That she would become familiar enough with the storylines of the team’s favorite soap opera to be able to hold up her end of the conversation.
In the player lounge at the Rebels practice facility, the big screen TV was tuned to Days of Our Lives.
“I don’t understand how the former serial killer is finding true love,” Erik said morosely. By all accounts, the Rebels’ goalie had the worst luck with women, surprising given his Swedish good looks and big bank balance. Seeing a fictional murderer getting some was obviously an affront.
“He’s been rehabilitated with drugs that ensure he won’t kill again,” Cade said. “Now he deserves to be happy.”
“But what about the people he killed?” Jordan asked, questioning, not for the first time, the soap’s believability. “And their families? He’s running around scot-free, falling in love with hottie motorcycle chicks with no recognizable source of income, and no one’s saying, that’s the Necktie Killer!”
“Her mother is,” Erik insisted. “Hope hates Ben. You know she’s going to frame him for whoever’s murdered next.”
“Everyone, even the Necktie Killer, deserves a second chance. A little empathy, Jordan.” Theo shook his head, disapproving of her unwillingness to get with the program.
“Besides, Will was one of his victims,” Ford commented, “and he came back from the dead and forgave him.”
“True,” a deep, familiar voice observed. “No harm, no foul. Except to the other victims who didn’t come back from the dead using Dr. Rolf’s wake-up juice.”
Jordan turned to Levi, remembered that she was still mad at him, and turned back. Unfortunately her booming heart was thrilled to see the jerkface.
Speaking of thrilled … Cookie jumped up in her lap and the rest of the team went wild for their four-legged visitor, which only excited the dog more.
“Hey, puppy!”
“Who’s this little guy?”
“We need a mascot! Hey, let’s call him Rebel!”
“He’s already got a name. Cookie, meet the team. Team, meet Cookie.” Levi placed a big box on the table behind them. “Kershaw, got a little something for you.”
Theo’s face lit up. “You did?”
“I heard it’s your birthday tomorrow—”
“Only because he won’t stop gabbin’ about it,” Cade interjected.
“And because we’ll be traveling, I figured we should celebrate today.” Levi lifted the lid on the box to reveal a cake shaped like … a giant peach? “Happy birthday, Superglutes.”
Jordan got it now. Not a peach, but—
“An ass cake! You got me an ass cake for my birthday?” Theo sounded both horrified and ecstatic.
“I figured you deserved it for having the most powerful ass in the NHL.”
That cracked the team up, and Theo blushed to the tips of his ears. “Thanks, Hunt,” he said, sounding shyer than Jordan had ever heard him.
Within seconds, someone had produced a candle and the lounge was filled with the off-tune warbling of eight guys singing “Happy Birthday.”
A lump the size of a puck had somehow lodged in Jordan’s throat. How would she ever finish this damn article when the man kept presenting a hundred different versions of himself?
Jordan felt a shoulder nudge.
“Could I have a word?” Levi’s gaze bore into her, and then he turned and walked to the other end of the lounge, giving her no choice but to follow.
Oh, another face to the marvelous Mr. Hunt. What a penis!
He kept going down the corridor with the massage and rehab rooms. Inside one with an examination table, he gestured to the seat in the corner, waiting for her to take it before he sat himself.
“That was nice of you. The cake for Theo.”
“He’s a good kid. Annoying as hell, but a good kid all the same.” Inhaling deep, he took her hands in his. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Being a jerk who implied that you need to change instead of the whole damn world of sexist morons out there.”
She pressed her lips against a smile, not wanting to make it too easy for him.
“Go on.”
“I just want you to be safe, Jordan. I read some of the stuff people say on your columns and I hate it.”
Now might not be the bes
t time to mention that Chicago SportsNet moderated those and that they were often much worse pre-approval. Every ugly, misogynistic insult you could think of found its way into those threads.
“Even if I was a man, I’d have people disagreeing with me. That’s the Internet in a nutshell.”
“What about the emails and the DMs? You want to share those with me?”
“They’d just make you angry. Most of them are from anonymous egg accounts set up to troll. I report them, they get closed down, another one pops up like a game of whack-an-asshole.” She rolled her eyes like it was all a joke to minimize and keep him sane. To be a woman online was to be at constant risk of harassment. Fact.
“What about dick pics? Kershaw said he saw something on your phone, unless that was something else.”
“Pretty much every woman gets those, and when you’re in the public eye, it’s worse. But I can handle it. They’re kind of sad, really.” She’d blocked Stroger after what she overheard in the Rebels’ executive box washroom. So far, there’d been no fallout.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t be receptive to a photo of me in all my naked glory?”
“Well …” She giggled, and he smiled, and it felt like she’d dodged a bullet.
“Read that draft you sent me. Made me laugh.”
“And I missed this blessed event?” She grinned. “It’s not done. I’m not sure how to end it.”
“I liked that you called me out for being a dick. I like that you don’t let me get away with anything.”
She stroked a thumb along his cheekbone, then over his lips. “I’ve only been calling you out since Day One. God, you were so grumpy when I met you and your crew in that bar, and I just loved poking the bear, trying to provoke a reaction. But you refused to relent. Gave me nothing. But since then, I’ve seen a different side to you. A softer side.” Not to mention that part of him so ready to lose control, to get down and dirty. Every night with him peeled back more layers and revealed this man she was starting to care for deeply.
“No soft sides. I’ve got a rep to maintain.”
She smiled, seeing right past his gruff exterior. “Sure, keep it up but I know who you are, Hunt. The stalwart friend. The attentive listener. The player who buys ass cakes for his teammate. The man with a big heart who doesn’t want anyone to know about it. And here’s me, with a platform where I can tell the world what a good guy you are and you won’t let me!”
