Good Guy

by Kate Meader

  “Gotta stay nice,” Jordan said ruefully. “I know that strategy well.”

  “Well, we’re done being nice. Where’s nice ever got us?”

  “Where, indeed. We’re looking forward to what the not-so-nice owners of the Rebels do this season. Thanks for talking with me today, Harper.”

  The interview ended, but that wasn’t the end of the spot. Jordan appeared again, this time alone and facing the camera directly.

  “Harper Chase’s experience is just one of many women in the masculine space of professional sports. If the most powerful woman in the NHL can’t get respect or feel safe reporting an assault then what chance do the rest us have in this sport we love? The male fan base for most pro sports is largely maxed out, but the female fan base is growing and ripe for development. And it’ll need help. What are the male-dominated front offices, not just in hockey, but in all the professional leagues doing to ensure women feel safe in these environments? From personal assistants to reporters to yoga instructors to coaches, every single one of these jobs can be performed, and sometimes is performed, by a woman. We’re not looking to cancel all men. Instead you need to be subscribing to all women.

  “You want to challenge me in the comments of an article? Sure, let’s talk about whether we think Boston or Detroit can make a serious run this year. Let’s discuss power plays and face-off wins at even strength. But don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about because I’m a woman. Don’t offer to give me that tip on so-and-so’s injury status provided I stop by your hotel room and get on my knees. And especially don’t send me pics of your junk, thinking it’s the way to my heart and a good word on my podcast. It’s not. I’m a macaron girl.”

  “You tell ’em, Jordan,” Cade said.

  Levi couldn’t speak. He was so damn proud of her and so fucking ashamed of himself.

  “We’re not looking to be treated differently, guys. We can handle a flash of your butt in the locker room, though Scouts’ honor we didn’t go in there looking for it.” She smiled, and he imagined her crossing her fingers in her lap as a joke. “We’ve heard every swear word there is and can use them more imaginatively than you. But if you wouldn’t say it or send it to your mom or your sister, then you probably shouldn’t say it or send it to one of your female colleagues. And that’s what we are. Your co-workers, your fellow fans, and humans sharing the earth. See you at the next puck drop.”

  The screen faded into the Chicago SportsNet logo.

  A good ten seconds ticked over before anyone spoke.

  Theo broke the silence. “And all this time, I thought she wanted to check out my ass!”

  “You leave her and us no choice,” Ford said, holding his hands up and making a squeezing gesture. “Those glutes are so powerful, man.”

  Even with the half-jokes, it was clear that the team was uncomfortable with what they’d just heard. Somehow Harper confirming and speaking about it with such grit and bravery made it so much more real. A player—sure, an absolute asshole, but a colleague all the same—had hurt one of their own.

  Erik was the first to say what was on all their minds. “When do we play the Spartans next?”

  “January 30th at home,” Theo said. “And Stroger better have a Beyoncé-level entourage of muscle because he’s going down.”

  “No, he’s not,” Levi said. Someone needed to be the voice of reason in the absence of Petrov who was still on IR.

  Nineteen sets of eyes locked on his.

  “Now that it’s confirmed, there might be an investigation resulting in suspensions or legal action. The boss was backed into a corner, forced to explain what happened, but she won’t want anyone indulging in vigilante justice on the ice. Stroger will still get what’s coming to him. We’re going to play our game and win it our way.”

  A couple of nods, then a few more. Theo’s eyes flashed, not agreeing, but he remained silent.

  “Gentlemen, may I enter?” Harper’s voice cut in.

  The team split apart like naughty schoolboys caught looking at dirty photos. Jorgenson dropped his iPad on the bench, then decided it would be better to sit on it.

  “All good, Ms. Chase,” Levi said.

  She walked in, somehow looking taller than the last time Levi had seen her. “Feeling good about tonight’s game?” she asked.

  Murmurs of agreement floated over the room.

  “I just wanted to say that I appreciate every single one of you. You’ve all been chosen because you bring something special to this team. Something that’s magnified by being here with these people, on this rink, and in this city.” She looked around, her gaze touching each of them, one at a time. “Have a good game, guys.”

  “Nice work on that interview, ma’am,” Levi said. He needed her to know that they had her back just like she had theirs.

  “Thanks, Levi.” She went to walk out then spun on her heels to face him again. “When you get a moment, could you stop by Coach Calhoun’s office?”

  “Sure.”

  A minute later, he was seated in the office, waiting for Coach, and wondering what was up. The door opened, and in walked Harper. He stood, and she gestured for him to sit again.

  Once she’d taken a seat behind Coach’s desk, she clasped her hands together on the table. “Jordan and I talked. About lots of things, but mostly about you.”

  Not sure how much he should say or what Harper actually knew, he figured he should go with a neutral “How is she?”

  “A complete pro. We’ve agreed she’s not going to write the profile.”

  His head shot up. “But she already did. I read a draft of it.”

  “Apparently it wasn’t quite what her boss at CSN wanted. Not salacious enough. Too reverential.”

  “The preview I saw labeled me a dick.”

  “And that was considered too nice.” She smiled to soften it.

  He sighed. “I know I screwed up, Harper. I accused her of some shitty stuff. Assumed the worst. I basically told her she’d been using me for the story and that Dawson was right.” Because he didn’t believe that she might have seen something more. That there was something more. Talk about letting his damn insecurities take charge.

  “I don’t think Jordan has a malicious bone in her body,” Harper said. “She was used by Dawson, and afterward, she could have capitalized on having the information firsthand. It would have been a good way for her deflect from what happened in the interview but she kept it under wraps.”

  “She’s a good person. The best. And how you handled it, back then, today—you’re all class, Harper.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for keeping the team in check back in the locker room. They’re all so young and hormone-driven, and need a lot of guidance.” She smiled. “Hockey isn’t just about who scores the most goals or wins the most face-offs, though that’s important. It’s also about connections, on and off the ice. It’s about teamwork. It’s about finding your place and knowing your worth. I think you could do great things with the Rebels if you’re willing to take a chance on us like the one we’ve taken on you.”

  Calling him up from the AHL was a leap of faith on their part. He knew that. He also knew he needed to take one of his own: plunge into the ice-cold darkness and trust that Jordan would be there to light the way with her sunny smile and a path of glowing freckles.

  “I’m ready to do this.” He meant taking his rightful place on the Rebels, but mostly he meant the hard work of accepting the love coming his way. Recognizing he deserved good things shouldn’t be more difficult than admitting he’d been gaga for one woman forever, but it seemed the two were sides of the same coin. “I’m crazy about Jordan. So crazy.”

  “Good to hear it. Men in love play better.”

  He shook his head, grinning like a fool. But the problem remained: how could he fix this yet still protect Jordan’s reputation? All he wanted was a chance to apologize. Properly.

  Something sparked in his beaten-down brain. “Could you do me a favor?”

  “Anything
for my favorite rookie.”

  28

  @ChiRebels boss Harper Chase blows the lid off domestic violence in the NHL. Nice reporting from @ChiSports and @HockeyGrrl #NHLReckoning

  * * *

  Jim Krugman appeared at Jordan’s shoulder about two seconds after she took her seat in the Rebels press box. “Good work on that interview with Harper Chase, Cooke.”

  “Thanks, Jim.”

  Folding his arms, he peered down at her. “Coby Dawson always struck me as squirrely. No way to talk to a woman.” Discomfort brushed his brow, as if he realized that singling her out as a woman was, in itself, problematic. “People have really been giving you shit, huh?”

  “It’s no big—” She had been about to say no big deal, but checked herself. Bullshit. It was a big deal. “I’m not afraid of anyone disagreeing with my opinions or refusing to give me the information I need. But when it gets personal, I have to fight back.”

  Jim nodded. “You’re a good reporter, Cooke. Screw ’em.”

  “Thanks, Jim. Appreciate it.”

  Both of her recent interviews, one the counterpoint to the other, had garnered significant interest. Subscriber numbers to her podcast were up, the name-calling on her Twitter feed was as unimaginative as ever, and Mac had called to ask about her revision to the article on Levi.

  “We need to strike while the iron is hot, Cooke. While you’re hot!”

  She had yet to tell him that she was bailing on the profile. Post-LeviGate, as some wag had labeled the “scandal,” the profile’s objectivity was suspect. Nothing she wrote on the subject of the NHL’s oldest rookie would ever be taken seriously.

  Which meant that she was probably out of a job. Jack Gillam had texted to tell her “good work” and to keep his seat warm. This might be her last game in the Rebels press box.

  Better do the necessary while she still had a chance.

  The warm-up was about to begin, so as her colleagues powered up and groused about the dressed list, she took a second to assess the pastry table, and in particular, a large tray of multi-colored macarons. A small envelope sat beside them with Jordan’s name scrawled on the front in a loopy script. She ripped it open to find the following message:

  Nice interview, Jordan. Enjoy the game and the perks!

  - Dante

  Aw! Thanks, fellow macaron connoisseur, I will. Not caring if anyone saw her, she picked up the tray and tipped the entire batch into her oversized Kate Spade purse.

  “Wish I could pull that stunt at the shelter with the donuts, but Lucy would probably kill me.”

  Surprised at the sound of a voice she recognized, she pivoted. “Joe! And Cookie!”

  The puppy barked at the mention of his name. Though still bearded, Joe looked a little more groomed than usual, and was that Levi’s leather jacket he was wearing?

  “Did Levi get you in here?”

  “Yeah, he sent a car to pick us up. A really nice car. I knew you were a reporter but I didn’t realize …” His gaze strayed to the floor-to-ceiling glass overseeing the rink, his eyes widening with wonder. “I thought he’d be meeting us here to watch the game, but a lady met us at the door and brought us straight here.” He looked disappointed and that’s when she realized something astonishing: the man had no idea that Levi was a Rebel.

  This was going to be fun.

  “Oh, he probably thought this would be better because of Cookie. They only let official service animals in the regular seats. Come sit over here by me.” She led him to the empty seat beside her. “Just put your jacket there and then help yourself to this spread. I’ll even let you have a macaron from my stash.”

  Once she got him settled in with food and a beer, along with a bowl of water for Cookie, she gave a visual tour, pointing out the benches, the sin bin, and the entrance for the players.

  “Here they come,” she said, hardly able to contain her excitement, partly because Joe was about to learn that under-the-radar Mr. Hunt was actually a hockey star, and partly because she wanted to see the man she loved despite the hurt in her heart.

  The announcer called out the players’ names, each more theatrically than the last until: “Leviiiiii Hunttttt!”

  While Levi skated a few circles and acknowledged the crowd’s roar, Jordan slid a glance to her seatmate. As she’d predicted, Joe’s jaw was on the floor beside Cookie’s water bowl.

  “Did he say Levi Hunt?” He turned to her, eyes as big as macarons. “Jordan?”

  “He did. That’s why Levi can’t watch the game with you.” She pointed at the rink, unable to contain her grin. “He’s kind of busy.”

  “Holy. Shit. What the hell was he doing in Special Forces?”

  Being a superhero, that’s what.

  On her other side, Jim pointed through the window. “Looks like someone’s having fun with the scoreboard.”

  A very cute, very familiar guest on the state-of-the-art Jumbotron over the rink was making the crowd go wild.

  Was that Cookie? She looked down to verify and back up at the screen. It was!

  A few seconds of video showed Cookie yelping from what looked like Levi’s sofa before a red heart appeared on the screen with the text: Ms. Sunshine, I’m an idiot. Forgive me. Then came another clip of Cookie barking his approval.

  The entire crowd cheered, and the scoreboard went to its usual display of player profiles, stats, scores, and a steady stream of advertisements and birthday messages.

  “Cookie, you’re a star! Hey, did you see that?” Joe nudged her. “That was Cookie up there.”

  Jordan’s heart was doing back flips. So far, the rumors of her relationship with Levi were just that: rumors. Levi had found a way to apologize without confirming them, a message for her alone. Bonus points: he’d featured Cookie, the super-pup infused with a friendly spirit, just like his namesake.

  That stubborn, beautiful man might have acted like an idiot, but he was fighting for her, just like he’d climbed his way out of poverty, had honorably served his country, and in every game, battled out there on the ice.

  Maybe there was hope for Mount Grump after all.

  * * *

  The Empty Net bar was about as busy as you’d expect after a Rebels home game. Win or lose, everyone seemed to enjoy any excuse to gather and knock back a few, and even though they had the W, Levi couldn’t help feeling like he was a big old L.

  Jordan had been conspicuously absent from the locker room post-game. He’d asked one of the assistants to check the press box, but there was no sign of her. Looked like his message had been returned as undeliverable.

  Joe had shown up, awed that Levi had managed to keep the NHL gig under his helmet. The boys already knew Cookie, so it was like a reunion with their honorary mascot. But with no Jordan, Levi’s heart ached something fierce.

  He’d messed up royally. He should have gone straight to the press box right after that interview with Harper aired. He needed Jordan to know that he was one hundred percent behind her, that he’d let his dumb-as-dirt brain and his insecurity about being good enough overrule the truth in his heart.

  She was right, he was wrong, and that was it.

  Elle put a beer on the bar. “You guys lose?”

  “This place has five TVs all set to the game. How could you have missed it?”

  “I was working. You think I’m paying attention to you idiots playing with sticks and balls?”

  “Maybe you should come to a game one night, Sergeant Cupcake.” Theo leaned an elbow on the bar. “Nothing beats watching us playing with our sticks and balls up close and personal.”

  “Don’t you have problems with your center of gravity, Dick-Man? Sounds like I’d just be watching you fall down on that thick ass of yours.” She grinned at Levi. “On second thought, I’ll come to see that any night of the week.”

  Elle flipped off Theo and headed to the other end of the bar.

  Theo raised a hand. “Hey, I wanted a beer!” To Levi, he muttered, “As you can see, Hunt, your ward is safe from me becau
se she clearly hates my guts.”

  Fairly pleased with that conclusion, Levi pushed his beer over. “Here you go, Kershaw. Good work tonight.”

  “Aw, thanks, Gigi.”

  “Do I even want to know?”

  “Gigi, G-G, Good Guy, ’cause that’s what you are. So how you doing?”

  “Fine. It was a good game.”

  “I mean, how you doin’?” He touched Levi’s chest. “In here.”

  Levi would have rolled his eyes but weirdly, Theo was the only teammate who truly understood what he was going through. Somehow, this goof had become Levi’s closest confidant. “I’m trying to give Jordan some space and respect her boundaries, so no one will think she’s incapable of hanging with a hockey player without—”

  “Falling in love with him.”

  Levi spun around at the sound of Jordan’s voice. She stood before him, her red hair a little wild, her eyes shining with emotion.

  “Jordan.” He gave her a quick nod, careful to keep his feelings contained for appearances’ sake. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Here.” Theo handed over the beer that no one seemed to want to drink. “Great work on that interview with Ms. Chase today, Hockey Grr—uh, Woman. And …” He pushed Levi aside. What the—? “I just wanted to apologize again for anything I might have said that in any way came off as objectifying or sexist or rude. You know I can’t stop talking sometimes—well, all the time—and if I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable, please know that Hunt will happily beat my ass for every transgression.”

  Jordan pressed her lips against a smile, and locked eyes with Levi. “Would you? Beat his ass?”

  “It’d be my pleasure. However, there’s a decent chance that Kershaw’s glutes might be too powerful and would cause my hands serious damage. I’d risk it, though. For you.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.

  Theo grinned. “So glad that anything I’ve done might have brought you two closer together. I’ll just …”