I wince as I scan the room for Stone. Luckily, he’s not present to hear the grim reminder of his brother’s death.
I know if he heard that, he’d probably kill Coen.
Expression going dark and flat, Coen brings his gaze back to Hendrix. “I’ll cover the cost of everything, even if I fucking hurt the people who I hit. It’s not something you have to worry about. And why would you be pissed, anyway? I’ll pay you the value of the car, and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“That’s not the point,” Hendrix snaps.
“You’re right,” Coen says as he bends over his duffel and calmly sets out his practice gear. “There’s no point to anything really, is there?”
Those words are enough to drive everyone away from him. No one wants to engage in a philosophical discussion with a short-fused, angry man who’s clearly looking for a fight.
Hendrix’s eyes slide to me in question. I’m the one the guys most often look to for advice. I merely give a small shake of my head to indicate now is not the time to get into it further.
Hendrix gives his back to Coen, muttering, “Fucking dick.”
The rest of the team moves away, heading out of the locker room.
Not me.
I step in closer to Coen and sit on the bench. “Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly.
His eyes refuse to meet mine as he undresses. “Why do you care?” he retorts.
“Because I believe in this team, and I want it to succeed. You’re weighing it down. But it doesn’t have to be this way. Tell me how to help.”
Coen’s neck twists, his eyes pinning on me, and I expect a sneer. Instead, his expression is clouded with pain. “No one can help.”
I consider such a definitive statement before standing up. I lower my voice. “Not true. Many can help. But you have to want it, and I’m not seeing that you want it.”
The pain recedes and anger flares. His lips peel back in an ugly snarl. “You’re right. I don’t want help. I don’t want anything except for you to mind your own fucking business.”
I back away, holding my hands up in surrender. “You got it, brother.”
“Not your brother,” he mutters low, but I don’t address it.
I leave him alone, not because that’s what he wants but because I truly have no clue how to get through to him.
CHAPTER 4
Jenna
As I enter the elevator that will transport me to the Titans’ executive floor, my cell phone rings. I know it’s Emory by the ringtone. I push the panel button for three and then juggle my purse and the paper bag from a deli down the street. I ran out to get a quick lunch I could eat at my desk and opted for a healthy grilled-chicken salad versus the Italian combo I really wanted. I’ve been so busy since moving here that I haven’t yet figured out a new workout routine, and it’s top on my priority list to find a new gym.
Except I’ve been so busy, I can’t get to any of my priorities.
But I do have time to talk to my sister, so I manage to get my phone to my ear and connect as the elevator rises.
I say, “Hey, favorite sister of mine.”
“Only sister of yours,” she corrects. “How many times do I have to remind you of that?”
I laugh as the elevator opens to the suite level. I enter through the glass double doors that lead into the inner sanctum of operations. Brienne has me in a small interior office across from hers, which happens to be her late brother’s office. I suppose it’s her office now, but she hasn’t removed or changed out the brass door plaque with his name on it.
I move past the receptionist and wind through the cubicles as Emory asks, “Is this a good time to talk?”
“Yeah… I’m getting ready to sit down and eat lunch at my desk. Give me just a sec.”
I walk past Brienne’s office, but it’s empty and the lights are off. She had morning meetings regarding Norcross Bank, one of her family’s many holdings she’s managing along with the Titans hockey team.
Entering my office, I close the door behind me. I set my bag on the desk and blow out a breath as I plop down in my chair. “Okay… in my office, door’s closed, and I’ve got a bland chicken salad staring me in the face. Now’s definitely a good time to talk.”
Emory laughs. “I was just calling to check in on you. It’s been a couple days, and while I am trying not to be an overprotective and overbearing older sister, I’m not sure I’ve gone two days without talking to you in a very long time. I’ve been assuring myself that you’re fine, you are not dead or else someone would have called, but that you’re merely busy. However,” she drawls after a dramatic inhale, “seeing as how you’ve so rudely ignored me for two days, I realized I must call to find out what the hell is going on.”
Laughing, I put my phone on the desk and hit the speaker button so I can talk to her hands-free. Pulling my salad from the bag, I say, “Oh my gosh, Em… I’ve been so busy. But in a good way. Brienne has swamped me with work, but I love it. I’m sorry I haven’t called, but I do miss you. I promise.”
My sister snorts in amusement. “Oh, you totally miss me.”
“Just a little,” I admit. “How’s Felicity? She’s the one I really miss.”
Again, Emory chuckles. “She’s fine, and she misses her Aunt Jenna too. Wants to know when you’re coming for a visit or when we can come for a visit. I promised her we’d come this summer after the season’s over.”
“She’s going to love it,” I gush. “It’s so different from California and Arizona. The mountains here are stunning, and the city is so cool.”
I eat while we chat, mostly about my job and all the exciting things I’ve been learning every day.
I tell Emory about my position as media liaison. My job is to coordinate with all aspects of media pertaining to the Pittsburgh Titans. I coordinate with the vice president of social media and marketing, the news reporters, and print journalists—who, admittedly, I have a special affinity for since my career was in print news editing. This last week has been mostly reading handbooks, meeting with department heads, and learning everything I can, not only about the history of the organization, but about Brienne’s vision for the future. She wants to make sure our story is a true success and one that is portrayed as such to the world. And she’s well aware that all eyes are watching, which puts pressure on me to make sure our messaging is consistent.
“I had some reservations about whether I would ever be interested in anything other than print news, but my God, this is all so fascinating… the different elements that go into marketing and putting out appropriate press on the team.”
“It sounds like you’re the solid hinge that holds it all together,” Emory says fondly, and I hear the pride in her voice.
“A new hinge… but I think that’s a good way to describe it.”
We share a laugh. “All else good?” she asks casually.
It’s an open-ended question that could pertain to anything, but I know my sister is specifically asking how I’m doing mentally and emotionally. This has been a huge adjustment, taking on a new job in a strange city without any family or friends around. More difficult than just putting myself in front of other people. The last several months living in Arizona with Emory, we considered a simple trip to the grocery store a huge victory. To weather the looks of people I’d pass in the aisles as they took in my scars, people who would either avert their eyes in revulsion or look at me with pity. Putting myself out there socially and learning how to be part of an organization and a community has been almost as hard as recovering from my physical injuries.