30. Crosby
Chapter 30
Crosby
“ I ’ll support whatever decision you make,” I say.
Violet is sitting on the end of our bed in the fluffy hotel robe, hair artfully pinned to her head in swirls and curls. Her makeup is almost completely finished, but she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes ago to sit down and watch me put my suit on. She hasn’t said much since we made it back from the skills competition. I kneel in front of her, running my hands up her thighs, dipping my chin to look up into her eyes. They’re flat and closed off when she locks them on mine.
“You have to go.” She cradles my cheek, an absent brush of her thumb against the skin there before it drops. “Even before you were trending on every platform, it’s expected that the invited attendees would go to the reception.”
“But if it makes you uncomfortable to be there, I’m sure we can call our friends, and they would come up here to keep you company until I’ve shaken the hands and kissed the asses I need to. Tex has managed to bow out.” I lift the corner of my mouth in a half grin. I get one back before a shove on the shoulder.
“Because Allison isn’t feeling well. You’re the only other Midnight player here, you really have to go. Do you think we’ll have to see them?” Violet asks, voice smaller than usual.
“I’d love to tell you we won’t, but I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “If it’s like any other event the NHL throws, it’s likely we’ll see them. I’m just hoping the celebratory atmosphere and media presence will keep everyone on their best behavior.”
“Even you?”
“I can try.” I cradle her face in my hand. She looks so small in my hold as the faded hurt of her past tries to color her present joy. “But I think my track record speaks for itself. I don’t like how he hurt you.”
With a breath, Violet draws her shoulders back and stands. I watch her slowly walk back to the bathroom.
“He’s not going to hurt me again. Let me finish putting on my armor.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, I’m pulling up THE RUBBER PUCKIES chat.
Me
Olivier fucking Ahlman is here. And he’s brought his agent, Violet’s old boss, with him. The guy is the walking definition of sleaze. I can’t even repeat the things he was insinuating about her.
Nicky
Now I wish I was in Vegas. And I hate Vegas. But I hate that little prick even more.
Gus
Who died in Portland for him to get a spot? There’s no other way he made it in.
Me
I guess he was an alternate. Violet’s really upset, and we have to go to the reception tonight. I think she’s plotting how to spill a drink on his head and get away with it.
Bones
I’m plotting a lot more than that.
Tex
Easy, now. Murder isn’t on the list of things I’ll bail you out of jail for.
Bones
I blame Gus. He brought up death.
Gus
This was not my fault.
Me
NOT HELPING. I want us to get through the evening without death, jail, or mental breakdowns.
Gus
Sounds like a boring night.
Obie
Wellsy, I know your girl. She wouldn’t go tonight if she didn’t think she could handle it. Having you there is all she needs.
Nicky
It’s a busy event. Unlikely you’ll have to see either of them again.
Me
That’s what I’m hoping for. If not… well, Tex, is assault on the list of bail-friendly offenses?
Tex
When it is in defense of the woman you love? It’s at the top.
Gus
We’ll be on standby, buddy.
“Ready.” Violet’s voice is sure. She stands in the doorway of the bathroom in a black cocktail dress, the skirt flaring out at her hips slightly before hitting her calves. The bodice is fitted and cut low between her breasts, with thin straps supporting it. When she walks toward me, she offers a little spin, showing the backless design, her smooth skin bared from shoulders to just above the curve of her ass.
“You look amazing.” I blink in awe. With her hair still up and wine-colored lipstick on her lips, she’s elegant and fierce. She’s to be admired but never touched in a crowd, and it somehow is the perfect outfit for tonight. As I wrap my hands around the curve of her hips, anchoring her in place to watch for signs of uncertainty, I vow no one will make her feel less than the flawless woman she is tonight. “We’ll leave as soon as we can, I promise.”
“It will be fine, Crosby.” She links her hands behind my neck, fingers dancing through my hair. Her touch sends a pleasant shiver down my spine, the desire for her making my fingers twitch where they hold her closer to me. “This is about you, and there are far more friends than enemies in that room.”
“Sometimes, I’m still not sure what I did right to deserve you,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her lips. I’m mindful of her makeup but want her to feel reassured as I gently coax her mouth to part. I swipe my tongue gently against hers, teasing. As her soft moan tries to escape, I pull her more firmly against me. We’re flush, chest to chest and hips to hips, deepening the kiss when I grip the back of her head and angle it where I want her.
Violet’s fingers have stopped toying with my hair. She scratches the blunt tips of her nails against my scalp as she weaves them through the curls to pull at the strands. It’s my turn to groan at the sensation. I bend my knees slightly to tilt my hips and grind up against her, my cock swelling from her touch and taste.
My phone vibrating inside my jacket breaks us apart.
“Fuck.” I laugh as I fight to regain control of myself. Violet’s pupils are wide, but I can finally see the silver flecks in her eyes again, and she smiles at me as she touches her lips, slightly swollen from our kiss. I run a thumb under the bottom one, checking that the line of her lipstick is still intact, impressed when the deep-red color doesn’t transfer.
“Saved by the phone.” I sigh, pulling my phone out as Violet steps back. She brushes at my curls that have migrated out of place from her touches. I clear the alert from my phone, a reminder to leave on time, and lace my fingers through Violet’s. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”
The ballroom in The Majestic is a beautifully expansive and functional space with crystal chandeliers and baroque-patterned carpets. It’s been outfitted for the occasion with bold splashes of black, silver, and white, the NHL All-Stars logo projected on the walls and worked into the centerpieces on the tables around the room. There’s a small dais set up at one end for the welcoming toasts and acknowledgments, and a high-profile DJ is situated at the back, ready to transform the affair from formal to party with the turn of a song.
As we enter the double doors, I immediately direct us to the right, edging along the wall to avoid the group of gathered media personnel catching arrivals for more relaxed soundbites to add to their stories. Tara Upton’s interview has likely stirred up more interest in Violet and me appearing together, and tonight isn’t the right night to embrace our newfound popularity.
I have a duty to make an appearance, but after today, I want to get Violet and me settled around people we’re comfortable with first. Her hand is snug in mine, gripping tightly as she steps closer to my side. I know she wanted to stay back at the hotel, the effects of our earlier run-in with her past lingering as she scans the crowd beside me. I lean over to kiss her temple, the smallest gesture of gratitude and pride that she didn’t let those feelings keep her from being here.
“There’s our table.” I gesture to one near the middle of the room but still on the outside of the cluster. It’s not too far from one of the many bars in the ballroom, and I’m a little relieved to see it’s close to an exit. I don’t plan on us being here any longer than strictly necessary. Violet puts on a smile as we approach the group assembled around it. I recognize the defenseman from Detroit, Ben Lawson, and Meghan McDonald, the leading scorer in the Professional Women’s Hockey League. With them are their guests and a few other members of the NHL offices.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts after we’ve offered introductions and taken our seats. I twist over my shoulder to see a woman with black hair and a lanyard with extensive credentials hanging around her neck. “I was wondering if I could borrow Mr. Wells for a moment. It’s about the tournament tomorrow.”
I know I can’t actually say no. The woman clearly works for the network carrying the broadcast tomorrow, but I don’t like the idea of leaving Violet. Despite my constant searching, I haven’t found Olivier or Anders. The last thing I want is them approaching her when she doesn’t have someone from our circle of friends with her. I look at her beside me, the same uncertainty is in her eyes, but she gives me a nod.
“I promise it won’t take long,” the woman says at my hesitation.
“Go ahead.” Violet lifts her chin in gentle dismissal. “I’m going to stay right here. Meghan and I are going to argue with Ben about how long it will be before the PWHL players get invited to participate in this whole thing.”
She looks around the table with a mischievous smile, like she’s conspiring with old friends instead of strangers, but grips my hand tightly when I reach for it. I bring it to my lips, kissing the back and smoothing my thumb along the inside of her wrist.
“I’ll be right back.”
I follow the woman to a small, curtained-off area in the back corner of the ballroom. I can’t see Violet clearly, but I’m still looking around the area of our table when the woman introduces me to a member of the production staff whose name I immediately forget. The guy starts talking, but I’m only half listening, catching words like “locker room” and “wires” when I see a flash of blonde hair weaving through the crowd. It is only professional courtesy that anchors me to the spot long enough to absently agree to the question asked of me.
“Great,” the production member says. His face floats in front of me, smiling, but blocking my view of Olivier Ahlman drawing closer to where I left Violet. “We’ll set things up with your coordinator before the tournament starts tomorrow. Thanks, Crosby.”
“Uh, sure. Great.” I thrust my hand out to shake, my body already in motion to cross the room. I still can’t see Violet, but I know Ahlman is on his way toward her. I shouldn’t have left her.
I offer tight smiles and head nods when I hear people say my name as I persistently push through the tables and bodies in the crowd. I keep my eyes on Ahlman as he stops, my stomach dropping when I note it’s right next to Violet. I can’t hear what is being said. I can only focus on Violet’s body language. Her shoulders are square, chin raised defiantly as she barely turns her head to him.
I’m almost to them when a body steps in front of me.
“Crosby.” Anders smiles in greeting. “So glad to run into you again.”
“I can’t really talk right now.” I make to side-step him, a move he counters. My patience is wearing thin, his presence feeling too coincidental.
“There aren’t any obligations tonight.” Anders slips his hands in his pockets. “I’m sure you have a moment to spare.”
Beyond him, Ahlman has bent to Violet’s ear. Whatever he says has her rearing back from him, twisting to look at him. I see the anger in her delicate features, but there’s a hint of fear in her wide eyes.
“I don’t. Excuse me.” I turn, putting my shoulder into the motion of passing him, a small check to emphasize my point.
Not far from Violet, my hands flexing at my sides. The same protective and irrational anger I felt when I met Ahlman on the ice all those months ago comes rushing back, fueling my adrenaline and need to reach her. I’m two steps away when his hand curls around her upper arm and jerks.