Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Scout
"This is so fancy," I mutter while filling Silas's ridiculously expensive blender with ice, protein powder, almond milk, and frozen strawberries. Following the directions, I put the lid on, then lock the container inside a shield that promises to vacuum seal and blend simultaneously.
The blender is still loud, shrieking through the condo at six in the morning like the world's angriest alarm clock. I grin as I pour two tall glasses of bright pink smoothie. It smells amazing, which means Silas will probably hate it.
From the hallway comes a gravelly growl. "What the hell is that noise?"
"Breakfast," I chirp, setting a glass on the counter. "I noticed you only have coffee before the gym. That's not enough calories. It slows down your metabolism." I wait, looking over my shoulder with my brightest smile. "You're welcome!"
Silas appears in the doorway looking like murder in sweatpants.
His dirty blond hair sticks up on one side, sleep-mussed and somehow endearing despite the scowl.
Those blue-gray eyes are flat and cold. He's shirtless, all broad shoulders and defined abs on full display.
Six foot eight of barely contained morning rage wrapped in gray sweatpants.
The bandage on his shoulder's visible. Even freshly woken and radiating hostility, he's unfairly attractive.
Honestly, it's rude.
"It's six in the morning."
"Early bird gets the worm."
"What if I don't want the worm? I love silence."
A bit of his hair is sticking up on the side. I stare at it, willing myself not to think it's cute. He's Oscar the Grouch, not a puppy. Puppies don’t have razor blade edges.
I cross my arms. "You are seriously grumpy in the morning."
"I'm always grumpy when someone wakes me up by blending something at maximum volume."
"It just so happens I got permission for you to return to the ice."
Silas's hand stops where it was scratching his beard. "You did?"
He sounds uncertain. I beam anyway.
"Yes, Bossy. I did. In practice, you'll wear a red 'No Contact' jersey, but you can do skating drills. Nothing that requires bending or contact. The Havoc have a game tonight. You'll be benched, but you'll be with the team."
Silas's face screws up. I'm not sure what he's going to say, but he surprises me with a grated-out, "Thanks."
"You're very welcome." My smile's so big it hurts. "You need to be ready to go soon. I've got a car picking you up at 7:30. Now come drink this smoothie."
He scowls and mutters something about rookies who get fined for being late but I get to run a juice bar in his kitchen. I ignore him and sip my smoothie, watching him over the rim. He stands there glaring at the pink drink like it personally offended him.
Then he picks it up and chugs the whole thing in four long pulls.
Victory tastes like strawberries and vindication.
He sets the empty glass in the sink and stalks back down the hallway. His bedroom door closes with a loud thump.
I hide my smile in my smoothie. When I head to the shower later, I notice he's already left. In my head, I'd planned to help him carry his bag downstairs since he shouldn't risk his shoulder. But I guess I didn't mention that plan.
If I had, he probably would've accused me of smothering him.
At noon I climb out of an Uber in front of Enzo's house.
My house, once upon a delusional time. The brick still gleams like money.
The glossy red front door still sticks on the bottom hinge.
I know it will smell like smoke and cologne before I even step inside.
That scent used to make me feel safe. Now it just makes my stomach turn.
I'm here to pick up the last of my things. Clothes in the back of the closet. Books from what used to be my office before Enzo turned it into a home gym. The framed photo of my mom I couldn't look at during the final months of her life.
I should've texted first. Or better yet, coordinated a time when he'd be gone. Part of me wanted to walk in here and prove I could walk back out without falling apart.
The door swings open before I can knock.
Enzo stands there shirtless in gray sweatpants. His hair is artfully messy in that way that probably took twenty minutes to perfect. Behind him, three women drape across the leather couch like trophies. One of them is wearing what looks like Enzo's shirt and nothing else.
Classy.
His grin is knife-sharp. "Scout. Didn't know you were coming by. You should've texted. I would've told the girls to put pants on."
“Not on my account.” My pulse spikes but I keep my face neutral. "I'm just here for my things."
"Things," he echoes, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes drag over me like I'm inventory. "Funny. I always thought you wanted me, not things."
"Don't flatter yourself." I push past him into the foyer.
He follows close enough that I can feel him at my back. His voice drips acid. "You really think you're going to find better? You'll just latch onto some other guy. Fix his meals. Wash his socks. Take notes on how he likes his shirts folded. You're not a girlfriend, Scout. You're staff."
I stop in the middle of the living room, hands clenched. The women on the couch watch us with bored interest, like we're a reality show they've seen twelve times. I hate this. I hate all of it.
The second I pushed back on Enzo's flirting, the moment I had a problem with his parade of side pieces, he lost interest in me. He started nitpicking everything I did. I should've seen it coming the first time I found someone else's lipstick on his collar.
"I'm dating Silas," I blurt out.
My eyes widen the second it leaves my mouth. Enzo makes me stupid. If I could snatch the words back and stuff them down my throat, I would.
His grin dies. Something ugly flashes in his eyes. "I knew it."
My stomach drops. He couldn't know. I just made it up. But the flash of fury on his face feels like victory anyway. Petty and small but victory nonetheless.
"Figures you have to entice him with pussy just to get his attention," he sneers, circling closer. "Big, broken bastard like him. You probably think he needs you just like I did. Newsflash, Scout. You didn't save me. You just made it easier to cheat."
My throat tightens. I force words through it. "You couldn't keep it in your pants if your life depended on it."
"Better than being boring." He moves closer, voice dropping to something soft and cruel. "How long are you going to keep riding my coattails? You still work the job I got you. You're still living off my connections. You're nothing without me."
Tears threaten but I blink them back. Fury cuts through the hurt, sharp and clean. "Throw the rest of my stuff out. I don't want it."
I grab the two boxes of stuff he’s got ready for me and shove past him toward the door.
He calls after me, laughter sharp and mean. "You'll come crawling back when that machine of a man freezes you out. It's what you do. You're forgettable, Scout."
My chest seizes but I don't cry. Not here. Not for him. I spin on my heel at the door and spit the words at him.
"Go fuck yourself, Enzo."
I slam the door behind me. My hands shake so hard I can barely pull out my phone to call an Uber. I stand on the curb clutching the boxes while trying not to cry in front of Enzo's building.
The driver shows up seven minutes later and loads the boxes without asking questions.
You're okay. You're fine. You're strong. I repeat it to myself until I pull up outside the Rainier Bank Center. At the arena, I throw myself into work because work is safe.
Work is something I can control.
I can smile and make sure everyone has everything they need in order for the night to be a success.
I track down a set of keys Ivy lost, help Juliet make press packets, and even film a TikTok with Mollie, the extremely shy social media liaison.
She’s the newest hire and barely old enough to drink, which makes her the right age for an influencer.
“Please do this dance with me?” Her words are sweet and shy. “No one else will do it.”
I take pity on her. “Okay. Let me put this stuff down and then I’ll try. No promises that I’ll be any good at it.”
After setting down a carrier tray of coffees and the stack of merch t-shirts I'm running down to the promotions crew, I watch Mollie do a quick dance.
It only has a few steps, repeated three times.
She looks amazing doing the simple dance.
I feel stupid doing it, but I figure she needs help.
Most of the players growl at her when they see her coming.
"Is this right?" I ask. I walk through the simple steps of the dance, then finish by looking straight at the camera and doing jazz hands. Mollie laughs and tucks her shiny red hair behind her ear. "You did it perfectly. Most of the other people here in the office won't do my dumb dances."
"They're not dumb if they help introduce more fans to hockey."
She beams at me. "That's what I've been saying! I've been telling Beck that."
"Beck as in Beck Tate? The captain?"
"Co-captain. He shares it with Alex Thorne. God, don't give him more credit than he deserves." Her cheeks turn bright pink. "He's also my big brother. It's kinda how I got this job."
I wave her off. "It seems like you know your stuff. Besides, I don't see anyone else filming dances while they talk about the team." I give her a wink. "Plus, if you're a nepo baby, I'm a double nepo. I got this because of my ex husband."
"It seems like you're working hard." She looks pointedly at the stack of stuff I abandoned. "One nepo to another. I notice the hard work you put in."
My face flames. "Thanks, Mollie. Same." Tilting my head at the t-shirts, I say, "Want to walk down to the tunnel with me? Maybe you can grab one of the players for an interview."
She frowns. "I'll go downstairs with you, but I don't think anybody wants to do an interview. Believe me, I've asked."