Power Play (Center Ice Book 2) by Katherine Stark Page B

and understand what’s happening on the televisions screens while people scream and pound beers around me.
    “What’s up with Wright?” I ask her, when he doesn’t show up on the ice for a long stretch. “Why hasn’t he played?”
    “Isaacs keeps pulling him.” Mariko shrugs and chews on her thumbnail. “He’s having a weird streak. The District of Sports blog thinks he’s rattled about the whole farm team threat. But it’s weird, you know? He’s getting way stronger, when he’s on, but then it’s like—I dunno. It’s like he starts to remember that he’s supposed to be nervous, and then it throws him off.”
    “But he’s playing better overall?” I ask. Probably a little too hopefully, judging by the raised eyebrow Mariko gives me.
    “He’s racking up the assists. When Drakonov scores, it’s usually because Wright passed to him. But it’s hard to say.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “He’s just not consistent. He gets—he gets rattled. I dunno.” She punches her shoulders up into the air. “Hopefully he’ll get there. All-Stars Game is in four weeks. A lot of people are pushing for the Eagles management to nominate him. But others won’t mind if he gets sent down to the farm.”
    What’s got him so rattled? I shake my head, trying to puzzle it out. All I can think about is how evasive David Gresham was about this mystery ex-girlfriend of Marcus’s. His submissive. There’s still so much no one will tell me about what really happened at Jefferson & Adams. There has to be another piece to the puzzle I’m missing.
    I can’t ask Marcus—not now that we’re in this . . . whatever it is that we’re in. Relationship? It’s too much for me to hope for. Whatever it is, it feels mighty fragile. I don’t want to ruin it.
    But I also don’t want to ruin my shots at Astro News.
     
     

     
     
    “Good morning, Fiona, darling.” Mum is radiant in late afternoon sunlight streaming into whatever bombed-out husk of a house she’s lurking in now. A shaft of sunlight gilds the side of her face with a saintly glow. “Howre you doing?”
    “Pretty well, actually. You’re looking happy, too.”
    She draws a tight smile. “We’ve had a break in our story. The rebel leader has agreed to an interview with me, and he’s going to allow me access to their training facility, provided I don’t release the story until after their next putsch.”
    “That’s fantastic, Mum! Seriously. That’s huge.”
    Mum bats her eyes, basking in the praise the way she always does. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just reaping the benefits of a sterling reputation for journalism.”
    I manage to keep myself from rolling my eyes where Mum can see. “I’m very proud of you, Mum.”
    “And how about you, Fifi dear? How is your story coming along? Gunther’s very eager to read it, you know.”
    My heart sinks. “You told Gunther Bernhardt about my story?”
    “Well, of course I did. He’s mighty impressed with it. Said it showed a great deal of maturity in thought and ambition, after all. Dismantling the mythos of the sports industrial complex . . . It’s brilliant, really, and Gunther thinks so as well.”
    The pit yawning inside my stomach widens. I’m no longer sure I want to keep digging into Marcus’s past—at least, not in the way Mum thinks I’m trying to do. There’s another story, though, that I can see winking at me on the horizon. Something about BDSM culture, and the long-term effects it has on people. David left the scene, after all, after whatever it was that went down with their group of friends. What’s the real story there?
    “So . . .” I draw out, and Mum’s eyebrows immediately furrow. “I’ve been kind of running against a dead end on the sports corruption story.”
    “But Fiona. There’s endless other avenues to explore. We both know it’s an issue; it’s just a matter of finding the right lead.” She scowls. “No cold cases, only—”
    “Only cold trails. Yes, Mum, I know.”