33. Violet
Chapter 33
Violet
W atching Crosby and Olivier on the ice together again is almost unbearable. I can sense that Crosby is keeping his emotions in check, but only just. Olivier is restrained only by his own sense of self-preservation. If I learned anything from the fallout of our relationship, it’s that Olivier can follow the rules if it means they give him something. Playing nice through the 3-on-3 game is necessary for him at the moment.
If it weren’t for the presence of The Midnight boys and Allison, I’d likely be throwing up or fleeing the arena. Instead, they stand tall by me, cheering Crosby on and encouraging me to do the same. At one point, Gus worms his way behind me to lift my arms in the air and wave them around until I can’t keep in the giggles from the absurdity.
Allison holds my hand as the clock expires, her support quiet and unwavering.
There’s an undercurrent of dread pulling at me, even when I cheer for Crosby’s trick shot to win the game.
When it’s over, the guys surround us, bodily moving us through the electrified crowd to the checkpoint for credentialed personnel. We huddle together, waiting for Crosby and Henri to wrap up in the locker room and head back to the hotel. Our weekend in Vegas is almost over, and I can’t wait to be home again.
No one says anything, but there’s an awareness that something isn’t quite right in the game. Watching Olivier and Crosby exchange words before pushing and shoving doesn’t sit well with any of us. My nerves are in overdrive as we try to be patient. Something is off. I can’t explain it, I just feel it.
I need to see Crosby. I want to hold him. I want to know what the fuck Olivier had to say.
“Hey guys.” Henri’s voice carries as he approaches. His hair is damp, and he has his gear bag over his shoulder. He pulls Allison in for a kiss before looking around at the rest of us. “Crosby’s in with the audio crew. He had a mic today.”
“No shit,” Gus says with veiled amusement. “That’s either going to be the best sound bite all year or the worst. Fuck.” He shakes his head, walking over to the wall to lean against it.
I don’t feel good that whatever was said between my ex and my boyfriend might get past the censors for a national broadcast, considering the last time they clashed, Olivier ended up with a bloody nose, and Crosby was benched the rest of the game.
My feelings must show because Obie is draping his arms over my shoulders from behind, securing me against his chest like armor. I reach up to curl my hands around his forearms, grateful my best friend knows what I need without asking.
“It’s all right. I’m sure it was just a little shit talk,” Obie says, low enough for my ears only. “Olivier wanted to get in his head, fuck with his confidence.”
I’m about to agree when Ethan steps out from the tunnel, head bent low as he talks with Anders. Unease, anger, and confusion sink like lead balloons in the pit of my stomach. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m wiggling out of Obie’s arms, heading toward them just as they smile and shake hands. Seeing these two men together has dread racing up and down my spine. Something about it isn’t right.
“Do you two know each other?” My voice isn’t as confident as I’d like to be. The pair lift their attention to me. Anders is smiling and relaxed as always. Ethan’s eyes narrow as he tries to paint on a thin-lipped smile. It’s the same one he always wears in my presence now; the friendly man I met my first day is long gone.
“Why, Violet, I should have guessed you’d be down here.” Anders flashes his white teeth. It reminds me of a shark about to bite. “Ethan and I were just catching up. One of the strangest parts of the league is how many people you can speak to without ever meeting in person. It’s lucky we both had players involved this weekend to afford us a chance to meet face-to-face. We’ve even had a chance to swap stories about what a dedicated employee you are.”
There’s heat at my back. I don’t even care which one of the team has stepped up, but the tension bleeds from me when a familiar sandalwood and citrus smell enters my nostrils, and a large hand I know so well rests on my hip.
“Guess it really is a small world after all.” Crosby’s voice rumbles through his chest behind me. I lean further back, trying to wrap him around me. “Everything all right?”
“Of course,” Ethan answers. “Anders and I were just walking out together, wrapping things up.” At this, Anders gives a little nod and disappears along the curved hall. Ethan surveys all of us, and I’m suddenly aware the rest of the group has fanned out around me. “Glad you’re all here. Our drivers are waiting to take all of you back to the hotel and then directly to the airport.”
“What about you?” Henri asks, relaxed, the picture of a confident captain processing all the information before making a play.
“I have a few more meetings, I’m afraid. Try and keep things from spiraling too much further out of control.” Ethan’s voice trails off, vague and ominous. Then, as if he were a general addressing his troops, Ethan gives one final glare and walks away.
“What’s going on?” I turn in Crosby’s arms, his curly hair damp and his eyes following Ethan’s exit before they crease.
“Not here, Sparks.” He looks around. Everyone pulling in, closing ranks, concern showing in their tight expressions. “Let’s just get on the plane.”
“Weather looks pretty clear for the duration of our flight. A few spotty storms over Tennessee, but we’re hoping they’ll move on by the time we get there. Flight attendants, prepare for take-off.”
The pilot’s intercom turns off, and I stretch my legs out in front of me, eyes unfocused but looking out the small window of the private plane. The lights from The Strip in the distance fade and blur as we speed down the runway and lift into the darkness.
“All right,” I breathe out, turning from the window to the man beside me. His shoulders are hunched from exhaustion or the size of the seat, I can’t tell, but his eyes look far away. The colors are dull and lifeless, reflected by the circles beginning to form under them. Crosby’s joy from the weekend has officially been sucked away by the hasty way we left Las Vegas, the little glowing dot growing smaller and smaller behind us. “Let’s hear it.”
Bodies shuffle around the cabin as everyone gathers to hear Crosby recount what happened on the ice with Olivier. The blatant sexual accusations and the toxic admissions. Silence descends after, thick and heavy, while we all process it.
Crosby threads his fingers through mine, his thumb rubbing along the inside of my wrist. It reminds me so much of the first time we touched that—despite the way my stomach shifts riotously with hints of shame and anger—I take comfort in it.
“What do you think is going to happen?” I ask, leaning heavily against his arm.
“I don’t think Ahlman knew I was wearing a mic. This was an internal directive to build content. It was approved by the network, but it was arranged by our team, so hopefully, it won’t make it to air.” He lifts a hand to run it through his curls, tugging a little at the ends. He tips his head back, a weary exhale blowing past his lips.
“You’re probably right. It’s not like the audio makes Ahlman look too good, and with the way Ethan and Anders were getting along, I’d say they’ll try to bury it,” Henri says. Allison’s legs are thrown over his lap as they sit across the aisle on the couch.
“Let’s hope you’re right. No one needs their sex life splashed all over the media,” Gus counters behind me. I tip my head up to look at him. He smiles, but it’s pinched, an unnatural expression for my usually happy friend. “Trust me, I speak from experience.”
“I’ll never understand why who someone sleeps with is anyone’s business. Ever.” Obie stands from his seat, pacing the aisle in three short strides. I can tell by the set of his shoulders he’s working his way into full-blown protective mode. “The insinuation that Crosby used his relationship with Violet to get to the first line is absolutely stupid. He made the line before they even met.”
“That’s right,” Allison echoes. “Crosby and Violet’s relationship doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
The conversation continues, but I block it out.
I pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, desperate to keep myself small enough to disappear.
“No, no, no, Sparks,” Crosby’s voice is quiet, and his arms strong as he lifts and maneuvers me to sit across his lap. He tucks me against him, safe and secure, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t hide. Talk to me.”
“I can’t help thinking none of this would have happened if I had just stayed away from you.”
“Nothing has happened. We don’t know what will happen with the audio. We don’t know what the team is going to do with it. Right now, the only people who are making a big deal out of this are on this plane.” He hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my eyes to his. “I’m never going to regret taking my shot with you. I’m never going to regret falling in love with you, Violet.”
My heart swells with love. Crosby is so certain , and it gives me the fortitude to push back at the thoughts that want to circle all the worst possibilities that could come out of today’s altercation. He’s right: nothing has happened.
As I look at Crosby, my face now cradled into his warm and calloused palm, I know I can handle any outcome because I won’t be alone. I’ll have him. I turn to press a kiss into his skin. He guides me back to the spot under his chin, my head resting against his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady under my ear. I exhale the last of my fear and fall asleep.