Page 36 of Risking the Pucking Defense

My head spins with everything we discussed today, but I love it. I’m at my best when I’m busy; I thrive on the pressure and the pace.

A knock sounds at my door, and before I can call out, Maisie, my new assistant, invites herself in.

I grit my teeth and hold her eyes.

“Is there anything I can do for you before I leave for the night?” she asks politely.

Honestly, she’s one of the better assistants I’ve had in my time here, but she’s a little too needy for my liking. I don’t have time to hold anyone’s hand; I’ve got enough hockey players to take care of. I don’t need to babysit my assistant as well.

“I’ve emailed you a list to work on over the coming week,” I state.

“Right, okay. I’ll check that then.”

“That would be wise.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but she clearly changes her mind before slinking back out of my office.

Once she’s gone, I find some painkillers in my desk, swallow them down with an entire bottle of water, and then turn on my computer.

It’s dark by the time I walk out of the arena, and thankfully, my Uber is waiting for me.

I slip into the back and shut down the driver’s attempt at small talk immediately.

He’s a Vipers fan, or at least, the air freshener with the logo sure suggests he is, but I don’t have the energy to indulge him in my predictions for the upcoming season.

We ride in silence. It’s fucking bliss.

The second I’m inside my apartment, I kick off my heels before carrying them through to my closet to put away. I strip out of my clothes and walk into the bathroom naked, past the suitcase I still haven’t unpacked since the wedding. After twisting my curls into a bun and covering them with a shower cap, I step into the shower and let the water wash away some of the day's tension.

I stay there way longer than necessary, but eventually, I turn the dial off and slip out, wrapping myself in a huge fluffy towel.

By the time I make it to the living area and pull my cell from my purse, I have a whole stream of notifications waiting for me.

But there’s one that captures my attention.

Beatrice: Hey, how are you? I hope things aren’t too crazy with work. If you have time, I could really use your help with something.

Guilt twists up my insides over all the excuses I’ve made not to hang out with her in the past. The truth is, I’m scared.

She’s connected to my past. And I really don’t want to go back there.

I’m aware that she walked away too, so she probably wants to talk about her previous life as much as I do. But the fear still holds me back.

Curiosity has me opening the message, and I find myself replying.

Hailee: Hey, things are beginning to get crazy. I live for it, though. What do you need?

Beatrice: Are you free tomorrow after work? We could grab dinner.

“Shit,” I hiss. She’s just trying to be nice, friendly. At some point, she’ll give up and leave me alone. Honestly, I’m amazed she hasn’t already.

My instincts tell me to shut her down again, but there’s this little niggling voice in the back of my head that begs me to be brave, to embrace the branch she keeps extending and see what it might be like to have a friend. A real friend.

My heart beats a little harder. I can’t remember what it’s like to have a real friend. Not a colleague who has no choice but to spend time with you, or people who have an ulterior motive. But an actual friend who accepts you for who you are and everything you’ve experienced.

Hailee: I should be able to finish about five tomorrow, if that works for you.

My hand trembles as I watch the message get delivered and then read. Bea starts typing instantly.