Chapter 48 Silas
Silas
I hate this place.
The Secret History pretends to be classy with its dark wood and amber lighting, but it’s still just a bar full of loud people saying nothing important.
I’m stuck at the edge of our usual table, nursing a soda water while my teammates laugh at jokes that aren’t funny.
I should just go upstairs to my condo, but I haven’t been here for very long.
Don’t want to be accused of being hostile. We’re all flying to Vegas tomorrow so my brother can get hitched and tonight, everyone is celebrating. Beer flows, the music is loud, and my little group is getting fucked up.
I don’t want to be the voice of reason, telling the other players that they shouldn’t drink, shouldn’t eat bar food, should just stay home and rest so we can bring it in the next game. So I just keep to myself. My presence is required; my commentary isn’t.
Can I get away with working on a Sudoku on my phone? Maybe in a few minutes. Let everyone get a little more drunk first.
Hunter’s across from me with his arm around Juliet, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. She whispers something in his ear, and his scowl melts into something disgustingly soft. I don’t get it. How the hell did he trick someone like her into marriage?
She’s everything the Huxley brothers aren’t. Polished. Smart. Lovely. I wouldn’t apply any of those words to us three malcontents.
“You look thrilled to be here,” Jett says, dropping into the seat next to me.
I grunt.
“Come on, Si. When’s the last time you talked to someone who wasn’t blood related or wearing skates?”
I purse my lips. “I ordered a black coffee from the barista this morning. That counts.”
“You should have a drink. Go into the main bar, meet some girls. Take someone home.” Jett smirks. “Hell, take a few home. Enjoy your life. YOLO, or whatever.”
I snort. “That’s more your speed.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Jett stands up, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’m heading out there right now. Come meet me when you tire of running stats in your head, man.”
“Not going to happen.” I say it more to his back, because he switched focus the moment he saw the doorway between the private room and the main bar.
Say what you will about my brother, but he is laser-focused on whatever his target is.
He’ll likely find a girl, lock in on her, and have her ready to get out of here in twenty minutes flat.
I’ve seen it happen many, many times.
The doorway darkens, then bursts into warmth as Jessa Laramie stumbles in from the rainy Seattle night.
She is laughing as she shakes water from her hair, golden brown curls tumbling free from a damp cardigan hood.
Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, freckles bright against fair skin.
Her hazel eyes sparkle as she takes in the crowded room.
Scout Nash follows a moment later, steadier in her steps but no less soaked.
Her dark honey brown hair clings in loose waves around her face, drops of water sliding down her jaw.
She moves with quiet grace as she shrugs out of a rain spotted linen jacket and drapes it over a chair.
Her moss green eyes sweep the room, careful and observant.
She doesn’t even look at me.
Jessa is the team’s logistics coordinator.
She helps with short-term housing or how the team gets from point A to point B.
And Scout seems to be a personal assistant that the team shares.
She grabs coffee, copies schedules, and gets dry cleaning.
A gopher, more or less. The two women laugh together as Jessa tosses her jacket onto the nearest table and makes a face at Scout.
“Told you the umbrella would flip inside out,” Jessa teases, wringing water from her sleeve.
Scout smiles, quiet and knowing, and nudges Jessa’s hip with her own as she unbuttons her coat.
Their laughter blends, Jessa’s sparkling, Scout’s gentler, like wind chimes beneath bells.
Then Jessa slips back out through the doorway with a quick promise to find towels, leaving Scout scanning the crowded table.
Every chair is full except one. Her eyes land on it, hesitation flickering before she moves closer.
She sits down next to me.
Scout looks over at me, biting her lip. “Sorry. This is the only seat left. You don’t mind, do you?”
I don’t mind, but I just shake my head stiffly. Her shoulder length hair’s curling from the rain and smells vaguely like eucalyptus leaves.
I tell myself not to notice.
“What’re you drinking?”
I glance down at my tumbler. “Soda water.”
“I see.” Her green eyes study me. “Are you not drinking because of hockey? Or for another reason.”
It surprises me she knows to ask that question. Then again, she was married to Enzo Morelli. He probably wasn’t a hockey player when they were together, but she has been around a lot of hockey players.
I answer, “Hockey. During the summer, I’ll have a beer or two.”
She smiles. “Sure. Have you tried the nonalcoholic beer they serve here? It’s locally made. I’ve seen Olivier serve it before.”
“Yeah. That’s usually what I go for. But the main bar is packed, and I’d have to wait in line. That’s a definite no for me. I don’t like crowds.”
“That’s funny.” Her eyes sparkle. “You play in front of a huge one every game.”
“That’s… different.”
She pushes to her feet. “I’m going to get a drink and grab you the beer you like. If you save my seat, you can tell me how it’s different when I get back.”
“I don’t want–”
But she’s gone, already heading through the doorway. My brows rise. I wasn’t expecting her to be pushy. It only takes her a minute to return with a can of Sprite for herself and a bottle of beer with a familiar blue label on it. She sets the beer in front of me, then pauses.
“Oh. I didn’t ask if you wanted a glass. Let me grab it.”
Scout turns and I have to actually stand up to catch her arm. She jumps at my touch and I let go, returning to my seat.
“I don’t want a glass. Sit down.”
She looks at me uncertainly. “Are you sure? Because it–”
“Sit,” I growl.
Eyes widening, Scout slides into her seat. “Jeez Louise.”
My mouth almost twitches. Almost. “Thanks for getting me the beer.”
“Don’t mention it.” She takes a sip of her Sprite, pursing her lips.
“So how do you–” I start.
“What’s– oh, haha–” she says at the same time.
We both chuckle awkwardly. I look at her more carefully. Scout is pretty, the kind that doesn’t need effort. But there’s something guarded behind those green eyes. I wonder what she’s keeping safe.
She shakes her head. “Sorry, you go.”
“What’s your story?” The words come out before I can stop them.
“My story?”
I already regret asking. Conversation leads to questions, questions lead to expectations. But she’s looking at me now, waiting.
“Everyone’s got one.”
She twirls her hair around her finger. “I take care of people. Always have. Sometimes they don’t want it, but I do it anyway.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” She studies my face like I’m a mystery to her. “What about you?”
I shrug. “I play hockey.”
“I know. But what else?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” My brow furrows. “What else would there be?”
She narrows her eyes at me and pins me in place.
“I bet you’re one of those guys who’s like… a secret genius at math. Or maybe a piano prodigy.”
I snort. “I am not. Hockey is just my thing.”
“Hmm.” She props her face in a hand and looks at me. “I’m going to figure you out. There’s always more than meets the eye.”
I’m about to tell her she doesn’t know anything when my agent enters the room. The temperature drops five degrees, and it has nothing to do with the icy Seattle weather outside.
Enzo Morelli strides in like he owns every room he enters.
Expensive suit, predatory smile, the presence that sucks all the air out of a space.
He’s a normal feature at the Secret History.
He was a Havoc player for a long time, then he transitioned into being the best, most cutthroat agent on the west coast.
He’s my agent. Hunter and Jett too. And he’s inked us plenty of colossal deals. But why is he here right now? Tonight is supposed to be close friends only.
I turn to see Scout going pale as she spots Enzo. Actually white. There is obviously some beef there. Not that I wouldn’t expect there to be.
“Shit,” she whispers, shoving back from the table. “I need the bathroom.”
She’s gone before I can blink, cutting through the crowd like she’s running from something dangerous.
Enzo looks at her as she leaves, then approaches our table with that confidence that comes from never hearing no. He’s probably pushing forty, with silver in his dark hair, tan that screams expensive vacations. Way older than Scout, by any count.
“Gentlemen.” He doesn’t ask before pulling up a chair. “Mind if I join you?”
Hunter nods. “Enzo. What brings you here?”
“Congratulations on the engagement,” Enzo tells Hunter, raising his glass. “Surprised you landed someone so far out of your league, little lady.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens but Juliet squeezes his arm. “Thank you,” she says smoothly. Hunter glares at him.
Enzo’s attention moves around the table, cataloguing. When he gets to me, something sharp flickers in his eyes.
“Silas. We should talk about your contract.”
“Not up for renewal until next season.”
“Smart players think ahead.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Besides, there are other opportunities. Endorsements. Media. You could double your income with the right choices.”
I take a drink of the beer Scout ordered. There’s something else here he’s not saying.
“Saw you talking to Scout. I just want to warn you there. It wouldn’t be smart to get distracted by the wrong attention. A player in your position needs to be careful about associations.”
The words hit like cold water. I set down my beer slowly. “Meaning?”
“Nothing specific. General advice. Seattle’s a small market. Reputations matter. That’s all.”
He glances toward where Scout disappeared. When he looks back, his smirk says everything.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” He leans closer, voice low. “I make it my business to know everything about my clients. Their strengths, weaknesses, potential complications.”
Hunter’s paying attention now, that dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “Problem here?”
“No problem,” Enzo says, standing. “Just friendly advice about the future.”
“My future’s fine.”
“Of course.” He smooths his jacket. “Just remember what we discussed, Silas. Seattle’s wonderful, but it's unforgiving to those who don’t play by the rules.”
He’s gone as quickly as he came, but the poison he left behind lingers.
“What the hell was that?” Jett asks. “Did you invite him here?”
“Nope. I wouldn’t invite Hunter’s agent to his elopement party.”
Juliet chimes in. “He seems to show up wherever Scout is. It’s happened twice this week. Four times last week.”
My brow lowers. “What a fucking stalker.”
“I think I should go check on her.” Juliet gets up. “Will you order some fries?”
I let the conversation swirl, taking over, without directing it. All I know is that Scout ran the moment Enzo appeared. He felt the need to warn me away from her specifically.
Which means there’s a story. A complicated one.
I look towards the back of the bar. She’s still going. Part of me wants to find her, make sure she’s okay. The smart part knows I should leave it alone.
Scout Nash is pretty. Sweet. And apparently way too much trouble.
I can’t afford trouble. Not in my career, not with the walls I’ve built, not with the peace that comes from keeping everyone at a distance.
But I’m scanning the crowd anyway. Looking for dark hair and green eyes.
Looking for trouble, whether or not I can afford it.