chapter 22

“Seattle comes to town next Tuesday,” Coach Donovan mentioned casually at the end of the weekly strategy meeting. “Reynolds’ first game back in Boston.” Emma kept her expression neutral despite the sudden tension in the room. Two months had passed since the Adams scandal, and things had finally settled into a new normal. The media frenzy had eventually died down, Adams’ replacement on the Board—a progressive-minded woman with extensive sports management experience—had integrated seamlessly, and Emma and Alek had found a comfortable balance between professional collaboration and personal privacy. Jack’s return threatened that hard-won equilibrium. “Marketing wants to know if we’re doing any acknowledgment,” Peterson said, looking uncomfortable. “Video tribute or something for his years with the team.” “Standard protocol for returning veteran players is a brief highlight reel during the first timeout,” Alek replied evenly. “I see no reason to deviate.” Emma nodded in agreement. “Let’s treat this like any other former player’s return. Nothing more, nothing less.” If only it were that simple. In the weeks since his trade, Jack had gradually rebuilt his image in Seattle. His play had improved considerably—enough to earn feature stories about his “career renaissance” and “fresh start.” He’d given carefully worded interviews expressing gratitude for his time in Boston while emphasizing his excitement about Seattle’s “supportive management approach.” The subtle digs weren’t lost on anyone, but Emma had maintained professional silence, never responding to the veiled criticisms. The team’s improved record under her leadership spoke louder than any defense she could offer. Now, however, Jack would be physically present—in her arena, facing her team, unavoidably in her orbit for the first time since his dramatic departure. “We should discuss security protocols,” Alek said as they walked back to the executive offices. “Media management, credential restrictions, that sort of thing.” “Already on it,” Emma assured him. “Lisa’s preparing comprehensive guidelines.” “And you?” Alek asked quietly when they were alone in the elevator. “How are you feeling about seeing him again?” Emma considered the question seriously. “Professionally prepared. Personally...” she shrugged. “It’s just another game.” Alek’s skeptical expression said he didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t press the issue. By Tuesday morning, Emma realized “just another game” had been optimistic thinking. Local sports radio buzzed with Reynolds’ return narratives. Season ticket holders had been offered premium for their seats by Seattle fans wanting to witness the homecoming. Security reported credential requests had tripled normal levels for a weeknight game. “We’ve designated separate media areas for pre-game interviews,” Lisa explained during their morning briefing. “Reynolds will hold court in the visitors’ press room, well away from our executive spaces.” “And post-game?” Emma asked. “Similar separation. We’ve coordinated with Seattle’s PR team to ensure no unexpected confrontations.” Emma nodded, grateful for the thorough planning. “Any word from Jack directly? Personal contact attempts?” “Nothing,” Lisa confirmed. “His agent coordinated everything through proper channels.” “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” The day passed in a blur of meetings and routine management tasks, but Emma found her concentration repeatedly drifting to the evening ahead. Not because she missed Jack or feared confrontation, but because his return represented a chapter not quite closed—an epilogue that needed writing before she could truly move forward. At home that evening, preparing for the game, Emma found herself taking unusual care with her appearance. She chose a structured navy dress—professional but flattering—with the hockey stick and pen pendant Alek had given her months earlier. Her “battle armor,” as Mia had dubbed it when she’d called to offer moral support. “You look perfect,” Alek said when he picked her up. They’d taken to carpooling to games, a small domestic routine that brought Emma surprising comfort. “Confident but not trying too hard?” she asked, only half-joking. “Exactly that.” His kiss was brief but reassuring. “Ready for this?” “As I’ll ever be.” The arena buzzed with unusual energy for a Tuesday night game. Seattle’s strong season start had generated excitement, but everyone knew the real draw was Jack Reynolds facing his former team—and by extension, his former wife. Emma maintained her typical pre-game routine—brief visit to the locker room to wish the team well, quick check-ins with key staff, then retreat to the owner’s box where she watched games with selected executives and occasionally her grandfather. Tonight, Franklin had insisted on attending despite recent health concerns. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he’d declared when Emma suggested he watch from home. “Some battles require family reinforcements.” As the teams took the ice for warmups, Emma’s eyes inevitably found Jack. He looked good—focused, fit, the haunted expression from his final Boston days replaced with determined intensity. He didn’t glance toward the executive box, keeping his attention strictly on his pre-game routine. “He’s lost weight,” Franklin observed, following her gaze. “Looks like he finally started taking conditioning seriously.” “Seattle’s been good for him,” Emma acknowledged, surprising herself with the lack of resentment in the observation. “Fresh start, clean slate.” “Sometimes that’s what people need.” Franklin patted her hand. “You gave him that, whether he appreciates it or not.” The game itself proved unexpectedly compelling hockey. Both teams played with playoff-like intensity, trading goals through two periods to reach a 2-2 tie. Jack played well but hadn’t scored, though his line generated consistent pressure. During the second intermission, Emma stepped into the owner’s box bathroom to refresh her lipstick. When she emerged, she found herself face-to-face with Veronica Wells. “Ms. Mitchell,” the supermodel greeted her, looking impossibly elegant in designer jeans and a Seattle team jacket. “I hope I’m not intruding.” “Ms. Wells.” Emma maintained her composure despite the surprise. “Security usually doesn’t allow visitors to the executive level during games.” “I can be persuasive.” Veronica smiled without warmth. “I wanted to speak with you directly.” “About?” “Jack, obviously.” Veronica glanced around the empty hallway. “He doesn’t know I’m here. In fact, he thinks I’m in Milan.” Emma’s confusion must have shown on her face. “We’ve reconciled,” Veronica explained. “Two months ago. Very quietly.” “Congratulations,” Emma said automatically. “But I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.” “Because despite everything, I believe you care about his wellbeing.” Veronica’s perfect features softened slightly. “He’s better in Seattle. Healthier. Actually attending therapy rather than just claiming to.” “I’m glad to hear that.” “It needs to stay that way.” Veronica’s voice sharpened. “Tonight is significant for him—proving he can move forward, facing the past without being consumed by it.” “What exactly are you asking of me?” Emma crossed her arms, defensive. “Nothing dramatic. Just... if you encounter him, be kind.” Veronica’s gaze was direct. “Not because he deserves it, but because cruelty would set back months of progress.”