Tangled Vows (Willow Brook Falls #3)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

E aston

“A brawl on the ice!” The broadcaster’s voice boomed from the TV, a stack of papers clutched in his hands as his eyes lit with glee. Sports Watch had picked up the story within twenty-four hours of the incident and were eager to report on the “breaking news.” “Sources close to the Thunder are reporting that Coach Danvers and star player, Easton Walker, got into a physical altercation before practice Thursday night. The cause of the scuffle? It’s anyone’s guess as witnesses remain tight-lipped about the incident.”

I ground my teeth together, clutching the remote so hard, I was surprised it didn’t crumble in my hand. The two sportscasters appeared a little too eager to dissect my fall from grace. My hockey career was circling the drain, and they seemed all too happy to spread word to the masses.

“There’s been a lot of speculation online about what led to the fight and what will happen now,” the co-host chimed in. She glanced down at her note card, and the camera panned out as a screenshot of a viral social media post appeared next to her head. “@hockeyfanboy posted, ‘bet Walker insulted Danver’s mustache. Dude looks like Magnum P.I.’” Below that was a grainy photo of Tom Selleck next to one of my coach, and I had to admit, the two did look eerily similar. Against my better judgment, I continued to watch as the comments poured in. “@iceking1993 wrote, ‘What team do you think they’ll trade Walker to because you know they’re not kicking him out of the league. There would be riots.’”

That poster wasn’t too far off base. I had a meeting with the general manager this morning to finalize the paperwork. Since I hadn’t thrown the first punch, they weren’t about to kick me out of the league or officially kick me off the team. I had, however, slept with my coach’s wife, so it wasn’t like I was entirely innocent. In my defense, they were separated and presumably going through a divorce when I dipped my hand into Mrs. Danvers’ cookie jar. If I had known they would eventually reconcile, I never would’ve followed her to her hotel room after running into her at the bar, three Boulevardiers in or not. I might have been a player, but I didn’t fuck with another man’s wife. At least not intentionally.

“Fuck,” I grunted and shut off the TV before running a frustrated hand through my hair. The news of my impending trade would break in the next forty-eight hours. If the press caught wind of why I was being traded, my reputation would be destroyed. Fans would no longer root for me. I’d never be invited to sponsor or participate in charity events—which was something I was as passionate about as hockey—again. All the endorsements I had in the works, gone. No one would respect me anymore, and I couldn’t exactly blame them. I’d lost respect for myself, despite the false pretenses under which I’d allowed Jessica Danvers to seduce me.

Now I was relegated to the worst team in the league and being forced to leave my seaside oasis just outside Boston for central Virginia. At least there were a few lakes within an hour’s drive of the city, and I didn’t mind commuting if I found the right house.

I began checking out real estate in the area as soon as I found out what team had accepted me. A quiet little spot on the lake would suit me just fine. There I could stay out of trouble and away from the public eye until this all blew over. All that was left to do was sign the contract once negotiations were final. Then I’d be on my way to Richmond to hopefully lead the newest team in the league to the playoffs.