Page 38 of All In: The Price We Pay

I close my eyes and run my hand over my face. “Carly. Please. Don’t say anything. Do something. I need help. Go away.”

Chuckling softly, she comes over to me. “Poor boss.” She grabs my wrist and pulls. “You tell me I’m supposed to leave and stay. Come on, let’s finish watching the game in the conference room on the projector.”

“I don’t think that’s how Simon envisions using our resources,” I grumble under my breath.

“Why not? Special treatment for one of Derek’s guys. That’s exactly what Simon wants.”

She drags me behind her out of my office. As we pass the reception area, Ricky waves at us. “Hey. I’m calling it a day.”

“Come with us. We’re working overtime today,” Carly calls out to him.

The last few people in the open-plan office shake their heads and laugh as they say goodbye. My gaze drifts to Simon’s office. No light. I’m sure he’s already left. He wouldn’t care what we’re doing, anyway. Carly is absolutely right. As soon as Derek’s name comes up, we have free rein to hang out in the conference room for half the evening.

Our friend approaches us with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. “Voluntarily? You guys?”

“Of course,” she exclaims. “I’m preparing videos and reports for the first phase of the Sinclair account. There’s still some research to be done.”

“And you’ll do that research in the conference room?” Ricky’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“There’s no need for you to stay, Ricky. I’m sure you have plans for tonight,” I object.

But he waves it off. “Not until I know what the two of you are up to.”

Carly laughs. “This is going to be good.” She energetically closes the door behind us, connects her laptop to the projector, and taps away at the screen, muttering to herself. “Where are you guys hiding?” Within seconds, the game appears on the big screen. Evan and his team are flying across it.

The audio is fed through the speaker system, creating the impression I’m sitting in the arena.

“Oh. We’re checking out our crush without him even noticing. Parker, that’s so clever. With the right level of fame, it’s that easy. You click into a live stream, and boom, you can admire the whole guy.” Carly chuckles to herself.

I sit at the table and rest my head on the tabletop. “Carly, you were supposed to write the report.”

“I am, I am.” She opens her laptop and grins at me over the screen. “What were you working on?”

On my composure.

“Oh, I had no idea Valentina was so heavily involved in these arrangements. She’s really into it.” Ricky sounds excited, and I lift my head.

Sure enough, Valentina Garcia is visible on full screen on the monitor. Wow. I didn’t expect that. She’s usually reserved when it comes to these deals, and she’d said from the start that we shouldn’t count on her to this extent.

Today is apparently an exception, as it was on Sid’s birthday.

The announcer is speculating about her connection to Evan, and I’m pleased everything is progressing seamlessly. It’s unfolding organically. The agency’s involvement remains minimal—the two of them share natural chemistry. She’s not even wearing his jersey. In theory, she could merely be accompanying friends.

I wonder what the comments would resemble if Valentina were a man.

The camera pans back to the ice. Someone’s in a fight. My heart races. Hopefully, it’s not Evan. But the camera zooms in on the players, and I don’t recognize any of their names. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Have you ever been to a game?” Carly asks.

I swallow the groan that’s trying to escape, pushing it deep down into the depths of my body. “Yes, once.” After that, Evan had been so tense that I let it go. Let everything go. I cut myself off from his game schedule, his results—everything to do with hockey. I didn’t—don’t—have a place in it. No one finds a place in it.

Hockey is this all-consuming force that nothing can stand up to. It’s a way of life. For a long time, I thought I could live with the fact that I could never be as important to someone as their sport is. And for a long time, I managed to do just that. What I couldn’t cope with, though, was the necessity in this lifestyle to deny who I really am. Dating a closeted pro athlete means no longer being able to share a large part of your own life with anyone and having to lie. Lying constantly to protect the other person. It’s not about compromise, but about giving up a part of yourself to avoid jeopardizing the other person’s goals and dreams. To leave hockey undisturbed.

“Not my thing,” I add.

“But you seem pretty involved in it now.” Ricky sounds almost bored.

I don’t have a response to that.