Chapter 34
Gunnar
The thud of sticks slapping pucks and the rumble of voices punctuated by whistles echoed through the arena. I paused inside the tunnel as I looked over the ice, homing in on my target.
Most of the CATS were now friends with Zaila, so they had to be aware of the issue Jay and Jeff had caused with my staff, and evidently Jeff’s antics were once again dragging down the team—something Silas had told me just as Leon had popped his head through my door earlier, stating that the board had convened and requested me in the conference room.
Now that I knew what that had been about, I returned to the Jeff issue.
As I rounded the corner into the arena, Jeff grinned at the offensive line, skating lazy circles as if he owned the ice.
Stol, Naese, and the rest of the players avoided looking directly at them, like spectators at a fight they didn’t want to stop but didn’t dare join.
My jaw flexed. This ends today.
I descended the steps to the rink, boots echoing. Heads turned. The chatter died. Players nudged one another as I walked toward the boards.
“Cross.” My voice carried, low and lethal. “Locker room. Now.”
Jeff’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, then returned, cocky as ever. He flipped his stick up, resting it across his shoulders as though this were some game. “Sure thing, boss. We need to strategize about my brand, right?”
Murmurs rippled through the players.
My brand.
The words slashed across my conscience. I didn’t wait. I turned on my heel and strode toward the tunnel. Jeff followed, sauntering like he was on the way to a photo op.
As we entered, the locker room smelled of sweat, soap, and old leather, which was the Wildcatters’ cocktail. The other players trailed in behind Jeff, unwilling to miss what was about to go down.
Jeff flung himself onto the bench, sprawling like a teenager in detention. “What’s the emergency? Didn’t like the posts Zaila queued up for me?” His grin widened. “She’s got a real eye for my best angles.”
The words hit like a sucker punch. My vision narrowed. Zaila. He’s dragging her name through this filth. I forced my hands to unclench. “You think this is a joke, Cross?”
Jeff shrugged. “Not my fault your golden girl figured out what sells. I mean, the engagement numbers don’t lie. Fans love me. Sponsors love me. Maybe she does too—”
“Enough.” The word cracked like a whip.
Jeff leaned back, smirk still in place, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes now. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. If she wants to build my rep while she’s crying over her mom, that’s—”
I moved before I thought. I slammed my fist into the locker behind Jeff’s head, rattling the metal. Jeff flinched despite himself.
“Zaila’s mother died last week, Cross, and you took advantage of that.” I raised my eyes so that I met each of my players’ stony gazes. “Her laptop was on her desk, not with her. I know because Zaila was with me last week.”
Cormac and Maxim nodded, and Stolly and Naese crossed their arms over their chests, eyes narrowed, looking like club bouncers.
“This organization,” I said, my tone sharp, “is built on respect. For the game. For the team. For the people who give their lives to it. You, Cross, have shown none.”
Jeff scoffed. “I’ve shown plenty. You just can’t handle that I’ve got charisma. You old guys—Cormac, Stolly—you’re all jealous. I’m the future, and Zaila saw it. She—”
“Say her name again,” I growled, “and you’ll leave here in an ambulance.”
A hush swept the room. Never had I threatened violence. I had never shown even a crack in my control. That’s why I’d let the guys follow us in. I needed them to keep me from doing something rash, as well as act as witnesses as I tossed Jeff to the curb.
Cormac stepped forward, folding his arms over his massive chest. “We won’t tell if you want to follow through on that.”
Maxim cracked his knuckles. “Half-assed drills. Late to practice. Trash talk about wives. And now this crap with Zaila?” His accent thickened with anger. “I’d be more than happy to teach him a lesson.”
Jeff barked a laugh. “You guys are pathetic. Hiding behind Daddy Evaldson because you can’t handle a little competition. I’ve already got a brand. I’ll be fine without you.”
I stared at the pathetic little shit for a long, cold beat before I smiled. “Good. Because you’re done here.”
The words dropped like a guillotine.
Jeff blinked, the smirk sliding off his face. “What?”
“You’re off the roster. Right. Now. Your contract buyout papers will be on your agent’s desk within the hour. Security will escort you out. You are no longer a Wildcatter.” I leaned closer. “If I have my way, you’ll never play in the NHL again.”
A stunned silence. Then, as if a pressure valve had released, mutters of approval rolled through the room.
Jeff surged to his feet, face mottled red. “You can’t do that. I’ll take this to the press. I’ll tell them everything about your little intern sweetheart and how you let her run—”
Cormac moved in, fisting in Jeff’s jersey, yanking him nose to nose. “Say one more word about her,” he said, “and you won’t have a face left to take to the press.”
Jeff swallowed hard. For the first time, genuine fear flickered.
I inclined my head toward the door. “Out.”
Two security guards appeared, no doubt brought by Silas, who now stood just inside the locker room door. Jeff tried to shrug them off, but they hauled him toward the exit, his protests echoing off tile and steel. He was still in his skates.
When the door slammed shut, silence fell like a weighted blanket.
I turned back to the room. “You give me your best. Every day. You respect each other.” I thumped the large, handpainted Wildcatters logo on the wall. “That’s the deal. If you can’t do that, you don’t belong here.”
After a beat, Cormac stepped forward. “We’ve got your back, boss.”
Nods passed from man to man. For the first time in weeks, the air felt breathable, almost relaxed—as close to right as it could be. The players would get back to an equilibrium quickly.
But my chest didn’t lighten. I needed to find out what had happened to Zaila. I needed to fix it.
Shit. I’d known Jay was a problem. I’d known Jeff was, too. But I hadn’t handled either situation correctly, and Zaila had paid the price.
The organization’s halls were quiet, almost as if the staff held its breath.
I passed through the social media bullpen, and the faint whispers between employees silenced.
Tim had told me Zaila was gone, but my guts twisted when I noted her empty desk, her dark office, her laptop still sitting open, much like the wound I’m sure it caused her to be accused of disloyalty.
I’d now done what the team needed, protected my players and removed Jeff’s cancerous presence. Cormac was happy, and the rest of the players were relieved. The organization would be stronger for it.
And yet…Zaila wasn’t here because of my fuckup—my hubris that had told me I knew best how to deal with any situation.
Just like with Karl. I’d been sure I should go to that party, sure it would be fun.
Instead, because I’d mouthed off to the wrong people, angry with my brother for trying to keep me safe, I’d done much worse than simply hurt him.
I’d gotten Karl killed. And I’d brought this situation to Zaila’s feet because I’d decided I could get Jeff to see reason.
My overconfident foolishness had wrecked everything again.
My dead, beloved brother.
My grieving, beloved woman.
I kept fucking up with the most important people in my life.
I tried to call her again, but I was directed to voicemail; she must have turned off her phone. Dammit. I really wanted to talk to her, to make sure she was okay. She hadn’t responded to my texts, but I still sent another.
I turned away from Zaila’s empty desk and walked toward the exit. Each step was heavy, final, the weight of a man who had won the battle but failed to secure the only victory that mattered. I had to make this right with Zaila.