Playing to Win(26)

Luke chuckled at the description. "I have a vague memory of that, yes."

"I was at that game," Melissa told him. "It was awesome. Aunt Holly took me for my birthday."

Oh my God. As if her "I don't speak hockey" cover wasn't tenuous enough  before the last few hours. Now a witness had placed her at the scene of  the crime. Holly jumped to her feet. "Okay. I think that's enough  hockey talk for today. Who wants dessert?"

The answer was a unanimous yes. When Luke tried to help her gather up  the supper dishes, she shook her head firmly. "I got it," she said,  hurrying into the kitchen.

Thankfully, her family was too caught up in the on-ice battle to notice  Holly's odd behavior. Luke, however, followed her into the kitchen  before she'd even finished unwrapping the store-bought brownies.

"You sure you're okay? You seem a little distracted tonight."

She reached into the cupboard to grab a stack of napkins. "It's fine."  She tried to smile. "I just feel badly for you. You were saying earlier  how nice it was not to talk hockey every moment."

"Sure, but that?" He thumbed in the direction of the living room. "That  brings back memories. Yelling at the television, armchair coaching and  that instant connection you can have, even with a stranger, as long as  he's wearing the same jersey as you. I'd forgotten how great the game  could be from this side of the boards. It's a lot different than  watching game tape."

Holly was touched by his kindness. He was trying to fit in and put her family at ease.

He stepped closer to her and his hands came to rest on the small of her  back. "But somehow, I don't actually believe that's the reason you're  so distant tonight."

"Oh no? What, are you a mind reader now?" she joked, resting her hands on his chest.                       
       
           


       

"Maybe I am. Are you thinking of the number...four?"

She shook her head, not understanding. "Four?"

"It's numerology," he said. Holly had to forcibly remind herself to  breathe during the pause that followed. "If you add up all the letters  in Vancouver, you get four. Not nine, like you said. Not nine, like  Jay's birthday. Four."

Uh-oh. That was not an auspicious start to the conversation. Dread  seeped through her stomach lining, and the stir-fry soured in her belly.  "You've known for that long?"

"I did the math that night, when I got home."

Busted. On the bright side, it was probably the nicest way she'd ever been called a liar.

"I told you the day we met that I was on to you. Hockey is not a sport  for the weakhearted. You're either all in, or all out. And I had a hunch  you were all in. But now... I just wanted you to know that I know. You  don't have to pretend with me anymore. Okay?"

Holly nodded. "Yeah. Better than okay."

He leaned in and the kiss was sweet and filled with relief. It was nice  to be assured that she didn't have to hide that part of her around him  anymore. That some part of what they had was based in truth.

"Great. So let's go watch some hockey." He grabbed the plastic tray of brownies and stack of napkins she'd set on the counter.

Her phone rang, and she recognized the name of one of her freelance  clients, Sports Nation, on the caller ID. "Right behind you. I just have  to take this first."

"More brownies for me, I guess," Luke joked, heading back into the living room.

She was smiling when she answered the phone.

"Holly? It's John Marshall from Sports Nation."

"Hey, John." That was odd. He was the senior editor at one of the  biggest blogs she wrote for. Except for the day he'd called to offer her  the freelance job, he usually stuck to email, and even then his  messages tended to come through lackeys. "I'm just waiting for the final  buzzer so I can finish up tonight's game wrap-up. Should have it to you  within the hour."

"That's great, Holly, but it's not why I'm calling. I actually wanted  to talk to you about publishing one of your op-ed pieces."

Holly's heart revved, thudding against her rib cage. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Don't play coy with me," John joked. "Every second week, you submit an  article about something going on in the world of sports and beg me for a  byline. I'm finally going to give you what you want."

"Oh my God! John, that's amazing. Seriously. I couldn't be happier."  Holly was practically bouncing. This was a big deal. She couldn't wait  to tell her dad.

"Which article finally convinced you? The one about the evolution of  goaltending equipment? No, it's my analysis on the new hybrid icing  rule, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's neither. Those were solid pieces, but I could publish  them any time, interchangeably. There's no oomph to them. The one that  really impressed me is not only provocative and well-argued but  incredibly timely. It's the perfect storm of sports articles."

"Don't leave me in suspense! Which article are you..."

Oh no. Holly's shoulders hunched even as all her muscles braced for bad news. He doesn't mean...

"How Luke Maguire Is Hurting His Team."

Holly's stomach bottomed out.

"It's fantastic, Holly. Obviously, I'll have to update it a bit since  you wrote it at the beginning of the play-offs-his scoreless streak has  hit sixteen games now-but all in all, it's got huge potential for our  site. If it does as well as I think it will, who knows? I'm always on  the lookout for insightful staff writers."

The line between dream and nightmare blurred. She'd been sending in  articles for two years without a word from John, and the minute she got  hired by the Portland Storm, the minute she and Luke were, well,  whatever they were, this happened? She'd written that article two months  ago. Before the Women's Hockey Network had even existed.

"You can't publish it, John."                       
       
           


       

"Yes, I can, Holly. The submission guidelines clearly state that once  you send it in, I own it. And I will publish this article-"

She didn't have time for legalese right now. "Fine. Publish it, but I need you to pull my name off it."

"What are you talking about? You've been begging me for a byline since the day I hired you."

"John. The article is yours, but no names, okay?"

"I guess we can go with Anonymous. Might give the article more legs if everyone is speculating about who wrote it."

Great.

"You're sure about this, Holly? Sports Nation is a major player. Being published with us tends to help careers."

Holly's fingers migrated subconsciously to her lips. Lips that had just  kissed the mouth of a man she cared for more deeply than she'd ever  expected to. There was no choice.

"I'm sure."

* * *

STANDING OUTSIDE THE Storm's dressing room with the puck set to drop in  about two hours, Holly knew she'd made the right decision.

She'd been concerned about Luke, first and foremost. She hadn't even  thought about this job in the moment. That meant something. Something  big. Something much too complicated to dissect right now.

But as she stood with Jay and the rest of the scrum, waiting for  pregame access to the dressing room, she realized she was having fun.  Sometime in the last month, she'd come to really enjoy this joke network  of hers. Publishing with another company would have voided this  contract, and she wasn't quite ready to do that.

The doors finally opened, and she stood back, letting the rest of the  reporters head in. She had a good relationship with all the players on  the team now, so she never wanted for interviews. Even the big names  would carve out a little time to tell her whether they preferred dogs or  cats.

She was just about to head in, when Brett Sillinger pushed through  everyone in his quest to leave the dressing room in a hurry. His brow  was creased and his scraggly play-off beard did little to hide his frown  and the determined set of his jaw. The phone in his hand was blaring  the "Charge" rally.

That damn anthem had become her nemesis. Every time she heard it-which  in the course of a day's worth of interviews with twenty-three players  on the active roster, was a lot-her heartbeat tripled and she went on  high alert. She couldn't help herself. Even though she knew it was a  clue with a lot of dead ends, it remained the most concrete lead she  had.

If she could just re-create that bathroom happenstance, overhear the  right conversation at the right moment, she'd have her man. She'd lost  her chance for a byline on that damning article she'd written because  she didn't want to hurt Luke, but the silver lining was the fact that  she hadn't blown her cover with the Storm. Now she was this close to an  on-camera exposé on a betting scandal. It was the kind of hard news  story her mom would have killed for. The kind of legit sports reporting  that might impress her dad.