Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Mollie
I'm sitting on the sidelines watching as Beck and Thorne race from one end of the practice rink to the other. Beck is back to training full time, as Rosie is feeling better. It’s comforting to have my brother back.
When Thorne beats Beck by a half a second, he fist-pumps. "Yessssss. I told you that you were getting old."
Beck knocks Thorne's shoulder with his own. "You had an advantage."
"What, being cooler than you?"
Beck snorts. "Is that what you're calling sleeping with a different girl every night of the week?"
Thorne's grin fades and he rolls his eyes. "Don't be jealous. I haven't done that in a while, not that you've been around enough to notice."
"What, suddenly you're not the biggest manwhore on the team?" Beck shakes his head. "You earned that title by sleeping with three puck bunnies in one day, man. Two of them at the same time!"
My cheeks burn when Thorne turns his head to look at me, and then continues the conversation in a lower voice. Do I already know that my crush is a ho? Yes. Do I like my brother rubbing it in my face?
No, I don't.
I've memorized which version of him shows up on which days.
Low on sleep Thorne is sharper around the edges, slower to joke.
Comfortable Thorne leans into doorframes and lets his guard down with the rookies.
And then there's the version I almost never see.
The one that appeared in his cabin on the Fourth of July.
That one is quiet and specific and aimed directly at me.
I’ve been turning that version over in my hands for three weeks, like something I found on the ground and can't figure out where it belongs.
Standing, I start to gather my stuff. I came down to capture some footage, but I've got more than enough. My cramped office will be a nice, quiet place to upload video files to various platforms. It also has a distinct lack of bro-ed-out hockey players.
As I'm packing up my stuff, Scout Nash and Juliet Monroe come up to me. Scout pushes her blonde, curly hair over her shoulder and gives me the most genuine smile.
"Hey!"
“Hey. How have your migraines been?”
She rolls her eyes and smiles. “It turns out that if I have a certain type of cheese, I get a migraine 24 hours later. Isn’t that the craziest nonsense you’ve ever heard?”
“Wait, so gouda is fine but one of those funky aged cheeses makes you sick?”
“It’s a little unclear still. I’ve cut all cheese out of my diet. I’ll start reintroducing fresh mozzarella, ricotta, cream cheese, and cottage cheese eventually.” She shrugs. “I haven’t had a headache since, so I’m pretty sure that we’ve caught the culprit. The cheese-prit?”
I groan. Scout’s always full of terrible, not-quite jokes, but the way she says them is so damn nice I can't do anything but laugh. "It’s been a while. We should get together soon."
"We should convene the Coven," Juliet says. "Preferably with a lot of tequila."
I wrinkle my nose. "Tequila gives you rugburn on your face."
Both women give me an alarmed expression. Scout reaches out and touches my wrist. "What now?"
I wave a hand. "It's something my friend Indie says."
"Ohhhh." Juliet nods. "Got it. Well—"
As she's speaking, two tall men come around the side of the rink.
One has almost-shaved dark hair and wears an obviously expensive suit.
An agent or a lawyer, I'd bet. The other is in a Los Angeles Sharks hoodie and jeans, with long, messy, dark hair that's pretty en mode for hockey dudes right now.
Actually, scratch that. It's always a classic hairstyle with hockey players. His eyes scan the three of us, lighting up when he sees me. His accompanying smirk makes my stomach flip.
I can’t help but stare. The stranger has the kind of cheekbones that make you wonder if his parents were some kind of lesser gods. There's a scar through his left eyebrow, thin and old.
He moves the way the biggest person in every room moves, like he's already decided the space belongs to him and is simply allowing the rest of us to use it.
Then he turns his head, and I notice the small device tucked behind his right ear, half hidden by his hair. My stomach drops before my brain catches up with why.
Konstantin Kuznetsov is taller than I expected, which is saying something because I already expected tall.
Dark hair pulled back, a scar through his left eyebrow that didn't come from hockey, and the cochlear implant tucked behind his right ear that he makes zero attempt to hide.
I should have recognized him immediately when I saw the familiar dark hair pulled back.
I know Kuznetsov's numbers the way I know my own.
Forty-seven goals last season, sixty-one assists, more penalty minutes than any forward in the Western Conference.
Plays center, left wing, right wing, wherever you put him, which sounds useful right up until you remember that Los Angeles buried the story of what he did to Dabrowski so fast it made your head spin.
His own teammate. Four days in the hospital.
Whatever Dabrowski said or did, Kuznetsov's response was so far outside any reasonable boundary that the Sharks' front office paid significant money to make sure the details stayed private.
“What are you doing here?"
I whip my head around to find Juliet bristling. She isn't talking to the hockey player, but to the sharply dressed man in the suit.
The man grins and says, "Well, hello to you too. Scout, you're looking—"
"Get out," Scout blurts. Her cheeks are the approximate color of a fire engine. "You're not welcome here."
Juliet pushes in front of Scout. She might be the tiniest person here, but she is clearly ready to go to war. “Enzo Morelli, you’re banned from the facility.”
Hmm. I try to place why the name Enzo Morelli feels familiar. Then it clicks.
Enzo is Scout's ex, Silas's least favorite person on earth, and a man who had been arrested for running a sports betting operation through his client list. The fact that he's standing in our facility right now, smiling like he owns the place, shows either extraordinary nerve or extraordinary stupidity.
Glowering at him, I'm thinking it might be both.
Juliet puts her hand out as if to guard Scout.
It's a little funny because Juliet is maybe five feet even, and that's with her heels.
She glares at Enzo, flips her short brunette hair, and turns to us.
"We should go. I can't wait for Silas to find out that Scout's ex was allowed within a mile of her. "
They hurry off. Enzo watches them leave with a smug grin.
I scan the guy again, frowning. He sees me looking and raises his hand. "I’m Enzo Morelli. And this is Konstantin Kuznetsov, the power forward for the Seattle Havoc. I'm his agent." He shows off the visitor pass that he undoubtedly had to get to enter the building. "I haven't met you, sweetheart."
"That's enough." Beck's hands land on my shoulders and make me jump. "Enzo, you're not allowed to be here. Let's go."
He and Thorne thread around me, shooing him toward the exit. Thorne looks downright murderous.
"We'll see who's allowed or not soon enough. Right, Konstantin?" Enzo spits.
Konstantin cocks his head skeptically at Enzo. "You have beef with the team?"
Enzo scoffs. "Hardly."
"You fought with our biggest defenseman at a gala event. Got your ass whooped, too," Thorne corrects him. “Bout to repeat the experience.”
Konstantin sucks his teeth. "I didn't realize that there was a problem here."
Thorne zags toward him, forcing him back a step. "Now you can get out, too."
"I just received an official offer to join the Seattle Havoc," he says, rubbing his chin.
"As power forward," Enzo chips in helpfully, giving Thorne a filthy smile. "Guess your management is about to clear out some of the dead wood."
"That's it." Beck isn't the biggest guy in the room, physically, but he doesn't put up with nonsense. He never has. "This is your last warning, Enzo. Start walking or I'll lay hands on you. I can promise that it won't be pretty."
"All right, all right." Enzo jerks his chin toward the door. "You coming, Kon?"
"It's Konstantin," he says, looking down his nose at his agent. "And I think I'll stay. You made quite a splash."
The faintest of foreign accents colors those words. He’s from Russia, I think. Or maybe he was born there and raised in the States.
Enzo raises his hands. “All right, all right!” he half-laughs as my brother and Thorne herd him towards the exit.
I’m left with Konstantin. He looks me up and down with an unreadable expression. I offer him a handshake, blushing. “I’m Mollie Tate.” He takes my hand, and the brief contact zings electricity up my arm. “I’m the Havoc’s social media coordinator.”
“A pleasure.” His eyes twinkle. “I’m new in town. Are you interested in showing me the sights?”
I swallow. “The sights?”
“Yeah.” He waves his hand around. “You know. The Space Needle, Pike’s Place. That kind of thing. Whatever you usually show out of town guests. Or we could go to your favorite dive bar instead, maybe?”
He smirks and leans in. And for a second, I get it. He has a whole masculine charm around him that makes me want to lean in, too.
“It’s Pike Place. Not Pike’s.” I pause, thinking. “That’s probably more of Jessa Laramie’s job, but I’d be happy to–”
“Like fuck you will.” I whip my head around to see Thorne closing in on me, and he is furious. “She’s the team captain’s little sister. She doesn’t have any interest in showing you around anywhere.”
Thorne inserts himself between Konstantin and me. His chest heaves from running back to us.
My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “Thorne!”
“Hold on.” Konstantin holds up both hands and steps back, looking between us. “I didn’t mean to step on any toes. If she’s your sister–”
Thorne looks disgusted. “Not my sister.”
“What?” Konstantin looks like he needs a map. “Wait–”
“Alex Thorne. Center. Co-captain.” He folds his arms across his chest.
“Ah.” Konstantin rubs his neck. “I see.”