So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(30)

Silver, Izzy? Clifford’s voice boomed in her head, and she tried to filter out the tinge of disappointment in his tone. Next time, you’ll get gold.

Those who can’t, coach.

Or perhaps, those who can’t, figure out a way to get back on the ice and win for Team USA.

No, a man wasn’t the answer, not even a cute, nonthreatening trainer. Why not take a page from the Book of Violet and make this her year?

Not to get some, but to get some piece of herself back.





NINE




“Isobel, wait up.”

Isobel turned to find Kelly walking quickly to catch up with her in the parking lot after her practice session with Vadim. Almost a week since that night in the Empty Net, and she’d been avoiding Mr. Nice Guy. Which made her quite the dick.

Vadim’s “advice” had riddled her with doubt. She knew she wasn’t using Kelly to get ahead in the organization. Kelly knew it. Hell, he wouldn’t have asked her out if he thought her motives were suspect, would he?

“I thought maybe we could set up that dinner.” He smiled, and goshdarnit was he handsome. Vi was right. The spawn of their union would be gorgeous. Nice, clean, all-American genes with not a scrap of Slavic imperiousness in sight.

Not thinking of him.

“Right. Dinner.”

He frowned, and on Kelly, that looked more like a query laced with optimism. It was like his face couldn’t express negativity. She saw potential here, but not while her job prospects were up in the air. It wouldn’t be a rejection, more like a postponement.

“I’m thinking this might not be the best time. The next two months are crucial for the team”—more crucial than he could possibly know—“and I want to focus on the play-offs. We’d still see each other—”

“At work,” he said.

“Yes, and we can get to know each other better that way before we take it to the next level.” By which time she’d be sure of the next steps in both her professional life and her personal one.

Of course, he was completely within his rights to say Screw you, I don’t want to do this on your timetable, but she hoped he’d be patient. If he was anything like the man she thought he was, he would be patient.

“No problem, Isobel.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Such a gentleman. This care is what she’d been missing. Kelly was the one. She was certain of it.

But first she would call Coach Lindhoff and tell him she wanted one more shot.



With a quick look over her shoulder to ensure that she was alone, Isobel stepped under the steaming spray. A couple of years ago, Harper had somehow persuaded the old man to build a women’s bathroom to accommodate female reporters and the possibility the organization might one day hire female training staff or PTs. But that consideration didn’t extend to bathing facilities for humans with breasts.

Which was why Isobel was taking a shower in the players’ locker room.

She fisted the tile, leaning in to take the weight off her legs and, consequently, her hip, which had been acting up.

That’s what happens when you push too hard, Chase.

But she had no choice. Watching Vadim skate was no substitute for a hard session on the ice. All this time on her iPad planning other people’s careers had left her soft. So she might have gone overboard tonight, because her hip was screaming at her like an old woman whose canasta partner was screwing up.

She found it much easier to skate drills and push beyond her limits when there was no one around. Lenny, the head of security, was cool with opening up the practice rink for her—cupcakes from Benison’s were the key. This afternoon, Coach Lindhoff had been thrilled to hear from her and had invited her to train with the team ahead of Worlds. She’d declined, citing Rebels’ obligations, but in reality, the true reason for her reluctance to take Lindhoff up on his offer was not quite so noble.

You’re a pussy, Iz.

There you are, Dad! She’d wondered where her father had gone. Probably ducked out for a pastrami sub in Hell’s cafeteria. Since his death, he’d been popping into her brain for occasional visits, usually to tell her she wasn’t working hard enough or injuries were for the weak or coaching was the domain of those who had nothing left to prove.

Tonight she’d put some extra mustard on every glide, bitching at her muscles to work hard and knowing they’d be bitching at her right back later. Like now. But that was okay. Her father expected nothing less. Leave everything on the ice, even during a practice. No distractions, especially boys. Champions don’t have personal lives.

What he meant was female champions don’t have personal lives, because her father had certainly put the person in his own personal life. Where the person was Cliff Chase, the center of the universe.

He had worried about her going to Harvard, so far from home. So open to temptation. After finding her in bed with Vadim, he’d removed the Russian from her orbit. Better not to run the risk that hormonal Isobel would choose her heart over hockey. Every night at college, he’d called, ostensibly to see how she was, but really to ensure that she wasn’t out at some bar, making unsuitable friends, meeting horny boys, risking everything he had worked for. Practice, games, study. These were all that mattered.

Isobel wasn’t the only one whose dreams were destroyed when she took that blade to the skull thirty-seven minutes into her first professional hockey game.