She took a few deep breaths and congratulated herself on her epic restraint. Standing there under a lone streetlight with Max’s body so close and her eyes searching for one more affirmation, she’d wanted nothing more than to pull her close and kiss the world away. She might have caved if she’d gotten the sense that what she wanted and what Max needed aligned, but she knew deep down that stability would be more merciful than sensuality. Thankfully, she had plenty of experience providing that. Which reminded her, she had one more job to do tonight.
Turning back toward the club, she didn’t relish the task ahead, but she hadn’t been overstating her role with her team. Max might be a friend with the potential to become something more, and the faith she’d shown in her tonight meant more than either of them probably understood yet, but it didn’t undercut the fact that Callie’s first responsibility was always to Team Mulligan.
She squared her shoulders as she pushed through the door and immediately saw her team sitting around a small table to the side of the ice. None of them had removed their curling shoes, but the empty pizza box between them suggested they hadn’t exactly been practicing the whole time Callie was off eating wings.
Layla was the first person to see her and started to rise, but Callie shook her head and strode up to the table. “We need to talk.”
They all stared up at her expectantly.
“Max is here to stay.”
Ella groaned but didn’t interrupt.
“I’m not going to get into what she’s done in the past. You can make your own assessments, or you can ask her yourself. You know I would never push into any of your personal relationships, and I know you all give me the same courtesy.” She paused momentarily to let the full meaning of that comment sink in before she continued. “What does matter to me is this team. We are on a tremendous winning streak, and no one has the ability to mess that up but us. I have no intention of losing focus and have the utmost faith in you all to stay the course.”
“Yes, Skip,” Layla said.
“We are professional athletes. We have shown that on the ice. Now it’s time to do the same off of it.” She turned and pointed at Max’s initial article on the board behind her. “Max has lived up to her end of the bargain. She’s stayed attentive. She has opened her mind. She’s shown up for work and written and recorded and studied and given us all ample opportunity to prove ourselves up to the challenge she threw down. I will not shirk from that challenge, not in any area of my job, and let me be clear, press is a part of our job now.”
She made eye contact with each member of her team in turn. None of them so much as blinked.
“You all are the best team in professional curling. I know it, the other teams are starting to see it, and now it’s time to show the world. Max is a huge part of that process. I don’t expect you to like her. I don’t even expect you to respect her, but please, for all of us, respect our goals enough to engage in the process like the professionals we all deserve to be seen as.”
“Yes, Skip,” Ella said, then with a sigh added, “I’m sorry.”
Callie waved her off. “Don’t apologize. You did what you thought was right given the information you had, but now I’m giving you new information and asking you to respect my call here.”
“Of course, we will,” Brooke said, more softly. “We’re just worried about you.”
“No need to worry. I’m curling better than ever.”
Brooke grinned. “I would never suggest we were worried about your curling. The fact that your mind even went there right now only proves what a beast you are on the ice. I meant we’re worried about you as a person.”
“Oh.” Her face warmed. “Well, don’t worry about that either.”
Layla laughed. “I make no promises on that front. It’s what friends do, but you’re right on every other point, and I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re ready to get back to work.”
The others all nodded and pushed away from the table.
“Thank you,” Callie said, hoping the relief in her voice wasn’t too evident. They really should be done by now. She’d kept them waiting for hours. They had every right to complain or want to head home to their families, but their easy acceptance of a return to curling went a long way toward bolstering her confidence.
Ella and Brooke headed for the ice, but Layla hung back. “You need something to eat before you head back out there?”
“No. I had wings.”
“Where?”
“Duff’s.”
Layla raised her eyebrows.
“And the Anchor Bar.”
A mischievous grin spread across her face. “I’m going to hear this story eventually.”
“Probably,” Callie admitted, shoving her toward the ice. “But not tonight.”
Chapter Sixteen
“This is Max Laurens coming to you live from chilly Conception Bay, Newfoundland, where Team Mulligan has once again upset the competition to take their place as the only American team left in the quarterfinals of the Boost National.”
“It’s quite the surprise,” Tim said as he smiled into the camera. “This team of young up-and-comers have certainly put the world on notice in the last few weeks with an exciting brand of curling, and today’s match hasn’t disappointed, even though they are facing much stiffer competition than they’re used to.”
“True.” Max felt a little thrill at understanding his allusion. “Last year, Team Mulligan wasn’t even in tier one of the world series of curling. They played a level lower on this section of the tour. For those of you new to the world of curling, that’s like going from triple A baseball to the major leagues without a dip in your batting average.”
“Very similar indeed. I think a lot of the credit goes to their able and affable young skip, Callie Mulligan, who is currently shooting over 90 percent in this tournament.” Tim nodded to Callie, who was just stepping into the hack. “You’ve been following her for much of the season. Can you give the viewers an insight into her thought process?”
“She’s a true professional,” Max said without hesitation as something soared inside her. It had been so long since she’d been able to enthusiastically answer a question on air, and now, not only did she know what she was talking about, but she also felt good about the subject. “Very few curlers make enough money to live comfortably on, and most of them work close to full-time jobs to make ends meet. Callie’s no exception on that front, but she still trains as long and hard as many athletes with million-dollar contracts.”
“And you would know,” Tim said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “How do you think a big-league basketball player or football star would feel to hear you say that about a curler?”
Max laughed. “They’d probably react the way I did to the comparison at first, but Callie is in the gym or on the ice seven days a week for hours on end. It’s not the same as taking a beating on the gridiron, but I’ve watched her make the same shot the hundredth time at eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night all alone in a freezing warehouse. That takes mental fortitude, drive, and focus any top-tier athlete could respect.”
“Well said, Max.” They both watched Callie’s stone skirt a guard and come to rest inches from the center of the house. “And another well-placed shot from Mulligan, taking one point with her hammer to keep the score knotted up at four points each. We’re going to take a break for a few words from our sponsors, and you’ll rejoin us in the second half of this quarterfinal match between the USA and world number one, Sweden.”
With that the cameraman signaled they’d gone off the air, or off the internet, rather. Both of them sat back from the desk, and he slapped one of his giant hands on her shoulder. “You’re a different person from the last time I saw you.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I am.”
He stared at her for a minute as if waiting for more of an explanation, but when she didn’t offer, he just gave her shoulder a little squeeze and said, “Good.”
Then he pushed back and began
talking to the cameraman while Max tried to sort out all the thoughts and feelings the short interaction sparked in her. Very little about the facts of her life had changed in six weeks. She was still covering curling instead of the high-profile assignments she thrived on. She’d learned not to be totally inept in calling the games, but she still didn’t carry any deep passion for or knowledge of the sport. She still didn’t know what her future held beyond February. She still had plenty of detractors and very few fans. The only significant change she could point to was that Callie seemed to have moved from the former group to the latter.
Ever since the two of them had talked last week, she’d felt infinitely lighter in every sense of the word. Her limbs seemed to weigh less, and the unbearable press of stress, anger, and embarrassment had started to lift. The sun seemed to shine just a little brighter off the snow outside, and indoors, the lights of the camera seemed to bring everything slightly more into focus. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d replayed Callie’s voice saying, “You made a bad mistake, but you are not a bad person.”
Such a simple statement without any flowery language or dramatic delivery, but it had begun to loosen the chains she’d been wrapped in for months. She flashed back to Layla’s earlier description of Callie’s ability to lift people up. “When someone like her looks at you like you’re special, like you’re a winner, like you can do whatever it is she expects you to do, the funny thing is, you start to believe it. She’s believed us right into the top tier.” Was that what Callie had done that night over Buffalo wings? Had she believed Max right back to the top of her game?
She wasn’t sure she’d go that far, but Callie had made her feel seen and heard and safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt safe. Maybe never. Not in childhood. Not with Sylvia. Certainly not since Sylvia. Callie’s easy, confident faith had allowed her to admit things she never had and be vulnerable in ways she’d never realized she wanted. In letting go, she’d taken a huge risk, and yet nothing horrible had happened. Callie hadn’t shied away. If anything, she’d drawn closer, and as hard as it had been to relive the awfulness of the worst times in her life, she suspected she’d gladly do so again if only Callie would kiss her one more time.
“Ready?”
She blinked away her memories and saw both the cameraman and Tim eyeing her expectantly. She felt a minor rush of panic at having forgotten herself and her job so quickly at the thought of Callie, but as she glanced out at the woman standing tall and proud across the ice, all the anxiety faded. She smiled in a way that was far more fun than forced.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
“Good curling.” The Swedish skip clasped Callie’s hand.
“Good curling,” she replied automatically. It’s just what people said. Sort of like answering “fine” when a stranger asked how you were, even if you weren’t. She knew she’d spend the next three weeks rehashing all the ways in which her performance today had fallen short of good curling. She’d missed two crucial shots, and she’d called a couple she wished she could go back and do over. She’d never know for sure what could’ve been, but they’d lost by two, and in some ways that was worse than getting clobbered, because it left plenty of room for second-guessing key moments.
“Let it go, Skip.” Layla stood startlingly close behind her.
Callie spun around like a kid who’d been caught sneaking candy before supper.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Layla laughed heartily, and the sound set off a war within Callie. She wanted to stay mad, and she both envied and hated how easily her best friend could bounce back after a loss.
“We left it all out there,” Layla said. “We made it further than anyone expected us to this weekend and we hung in there with the number one team in the world for six ends.”
She shook her head.
“No?” Layla asked and poked her gently in the ribs with the butt of her broom. “Where’s the lie?”
She thought about the statement more carefully. She couldn’t deny that they had far outplayed their ranking in the tournament overall. They’d beaten three teams ahead of them in the standings and outlasted the other Americans, so perhaps she had to concede that point. But today they’d been neck and neck right up until the end, which, now that she thought about it, was exactly what Layla had said. She sighed. “Okay, fine. No lie found.”
“But?”
“But nothing. You’re right. Everyone will be very impressed with us.”
“Which isn’t enough to make you happy,” Layla said flatly.
“Nope.” She knew it probably should, but it didn’t. She’d lost a game she could’ve won. No amount of world rankings or outside expectations ever mattered as much as her own assessment.
“Okay, Skip, but what about that?” She nodded to the other end of the ice.
Callie followed her line of sight to see Max standing there, holding a microphone out to Ella, who seemed to be talking animatedly for the cameras. Warmth spread through her chest, and she exhaled a rush of negativity to make room for it.
“Does that make you happy?” Layla nudged her.
“Yeah,” she admitted without hesitation, just as Ella said something that made Max laugh.
“You did that, you know?”
She shook her head.
“You did. You’re a leader, and a damn good one. Don’t second-guess your instincts just because they take time to work themselves out.”
She sighed, but she didn’t argue. “You’re right. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” Layla said. “Listen to me. Cut yourself some slack. Take a break. Refill your cup.”
“There’s no time. We’re more than halfway through the season, and now—”
“And now it’s Christmas break.” Layla cut in. “We’ve got three weeks to—”
“Cram. To practice. To get in top shape for the final push up to Nationals.”
“They call it Christmas break for a reason. You’re supposed to take time off. I’m not making that up. It’s a thing. All the other curlers are in on it.”
She continued to watch Ella’s interview. They looked natural there, and anyone watching from home would have a hard time believing they had been at each other’s throats less than a week earlier. Max looked back to the camera to say a few words before lowering the mic. Then she turned, and as if she knew she was being watched, immediately found Callie’s eyes in the sea of people milling around. The heat began to spread through her immediately.
“Earth to Callie,” Layla said.
“Hmm?” She hadn’t given Max much thought during the match as she’d been too far away to hear and seated behind a desk, but now she looked so much closer and so much more compelling in her jeans and suitcoat, with a deep-blue dress shirt left open a button lower than any of the men in similar attire. Callie traced her eyes along the hint of exposed collarbone.
“Can I get a verbal commitment on at least trying to relax a little over the next few weeks?” Layla pushed. “I’m not saying no practice, but maybe try to do something you enjoy with someone you enjoy. Are you even hearing this?”
“Yeah,” she said, the possibility of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Do something I enjoy with someone I enjoy. Got it.”
“So, you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Glad we had this talk,” Layla said emphatically, then more quietly added, “In your mind you just agreed to fooling around more with Max, right?”
“Very much so.”
“Okay then, that’s what I thought. Make you a trade?”
Callie finally tore her eyes off Max to face her. “What’s that?”
“You don’t make us watch video of this match until next week, and I’ll make an excuse for you not to come to the Patch with us tonight?”
Her grin widened into a full smile. “Deal.”
Max had interviewed myriad players, officials, and coaches over the past few days, which was a b
it of a surprise as, until this tournament, she hadn’t even known curling teams had coaches. Turns out they didn’t run practices or even always travel to small tournaments, but the national team kept them on retainer for major events. She was already planning a story on how different that was from other professional sports as she packed her personal camera and a set of notes she’d scribbled during the match into her backpack.
When she stood up and stretched her stiff back, she found most of the crowd had cleared out, and the only curler left at the other end of the ice was Callie. Max’s heart beat a little faster at the sight of her sitting on a bench with her long legs outstretched, eyes closed, chin lifted to the ceiling. She’d covered her short-sleeved shirt with a full-zip jacket covered in Team USA logos and corporate sponsor patches. She looked like some kick-ass cross between a yoga instructor, a centerfold, and a race car driver.
Without thinking, Max slung her bag over her shoulder and strode toward her. She was tempted to just stop to appreciate the woman in front of her, but she didn’t want to take advantage of an unguarded moment, so she cleared her throat and said, “Good curling, Skip.”
Those hazel eyes fluttered open, immediately focused. “Could have been better, but you can’t win them all, right?”
“True, but be honest. That maxim kills you a little bit inside, doesn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
“For what it’s worth, I think every serious athlete feels the same way.”
“Really? Everyone acts like I’m so unreasonable to expect to win every time, but why not?”
Max shrugged. “I think the law of percentages or averages comes into play.”
Callie stood. “That’s all well and good if you’re playing cards or flipping coins, but I don’t trust luck or fate. Someone has to win every time out, and it’s not like we’re on a rotation or taking turns. The best team on any given day should win, and I train relentlessly to be the best. Why shouldn’t I believe that if I’m the best on any day, I should have a chance to win every day?”
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