Page 27 of Instigator

The goal horn lights up. The crowd goes wild.

We’re still down two goals, so there’s a long way to go, but something loosens in my chest. We can do this. We’re still in it. Maybe all hope isn’t lost.

I crash into my teammates for a tackle hug, then zoom past the bench for celebratory fist bumps. Coach pulls me off the ice, and I grab a much-needed gulp of electrolyte drink. It’s blue flavored. My favorite.

The high doesn’t last long. Vancouver gets another goal, and then another, erasing all our hard work. When we pull Henry from his post and they get an empty-net goal… that’s the final nail in the coffin.

We lose 8–3.

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

Coach tries to call me for post-game press, but one look at my face and he changes his mind. It’s my responsibility. As captain, I need to stand up and answer for my team’s performance, good or bad.

But I’m liable to say something unrepeatable right now, and I think Coach recognizes that.

My foul mood follows me home, and as soon as I’m back in my apartment, I log into my gaming console out of habit. Annie’s name flashes on the display, and I click on it, staring at the blinking green dot.

The self-loathing threatens to consume me, and I log out of the gaming system and throw myself into bed.

Maybe things will look better in the morning. Maybe I won’t be such a colossal fucking screw-up. Maybe I’ll be able to do my job, be the man I want to be.

Maybe…

thirteen

. . .

Ceci

Heidi glares at me when I walk into the conference room five minutes early. Today’s meeting is only me, her, and Coach Turner, and even though I’ve presented research and financial information to stakeholders and investors for a multibillion-dollar company, this has me sweating more than ever.

And it has nothing to do with the subject. I know what I’m doing, and I believe in our product.

It’s who I’m presenting to.

I have no earthly idea why Heidi hates me so much. Is it that I’m Latina? That I’m a tech billionaire? Because I’m vocal and opinionated and don’t care who knows it? Or is it that I’m a sports fan, and I actually show up to the games to support the team? Because I have money? That I lost so much weight?

In the end, it doesn’t matter why Heidi dislikes me. She does. I can’t change her opinion of me with a magic wand, and nothing I’ve done to better the relationship has worked.

So I let her hate me. I allow her to have her own feelings. We don’t all have to get along.

I could do without the passive-aggressive eye rolls, though.

Instead, I busy myself with connecting my laptop to the projector and getting my presentation loaded. I loathe when people show slideshows in editing mode and not in presentation view, so I have my little notecards with talking points ready to go.

Coach knocks on the open door, and I look up from my computer.

“Good morning,” he says, nodding to both of us.

“Morning,” I chirp. “I’m nearly ready.”

“Don’t rush on my account,” he says with a crooked grin. “I’ve got an hour until morning skate.”

“This shouldn’t take that long,” Heidi says with a simpering smile. “I don’t think there’s much to discuss.”

Bitch.

Instead of snapping, I launch into the presentation. I report on the progress we’ve made, from coding the sensors to producing the physical device, and how we’re about to start the next stage of the process. We have a handful of players who volunteered—or were voluntold—to participate, and we’re fitting their new helmets and sending the specs over to our lab.