Chapter 1 #2
Any tips for the press?
I stare at the screen as three dots flicker in and out of existence. The least I can do is follow his advice on handling the press. I don’t need to make things worse for myself after all those penalties…social media will do that on its own.
Brady Sullivan: Stick to the facts. Don’t apologize.
You’ll just look guilty. Acknowledge the penalties, say you let your emotions get the better of you and you won’t let it happen again.
Stay calm, stay firm. You owe it to your team to not let rats like Marachino get under your skin.
And for the love of all things holy, don’t take the bait. The press will push hard tonight.
He’s not wrong.
The NHL press cycle is brutal after a loss, especially when you’re the reason for the headlines they’ll be printing in a few hours. They’ll circle like sharks, asking the same question in ten different ways to see if they can make you crack.
Shoving my phone in my bag, I take a deep breath and allow Brady’s advice to settle in.
No emotion. No outbursts.
Just grit and control.
I walk into the press conference with my jaw clenched and my answers rehearsed. They ask the same thing over and over again.
Did I initiate the fight?
Do I regret it?
Will I retaliate?
I give them nothing but cool, controlled responses.
After what feels like forever, the cameras get out of my face and I can breathe again.
Grabbing my stuff, I head toward the team bus with the rest of the guys. The second I step into the parking lot, a feminine frame leaning against a post draws my attention.
Melissa. Right, I forgot that she flew in for the game.
Usually, I’d welcome the distraction of my pick of the season. But right now, I can do without having to put up another smile and pretend everything is fine.
She straightens, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. Her skirt is short and she’s wearing my number across her back. She’s definitely someone who draws attention, and I won’t lie…having her waiting here for me does something for my slightly bruised ego.
“Are you okay?” she asks, putting her hands on my face, a small pout forming on her lips. “That last call was undeserved.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I tell her, pulling away from her and the sympathetic expression on her face.
If she can’t keep it fun and light, then she won’t be able to stay.
I don’t want someone who’s going to feel sorry for me every time I get a penalty or get thrown off the ice. It’s part of the game.
She reaches for me again, but I wrap my hands around her wrists and gently lower them down to her sides. I lean in for a kiss, knowing that this is a good way to keep her from talking too much and asking more questions I have no energy to answer.
A small cough followed by the click of heels on the pavement, catches my attention. My gaze lifts over Melissa's head. A flash of blonde hair and a fiery expression of pure disgust is clearly visible across the parking lot.
Avah Johansson.
I haven’t seen her since our little run in at Lucas and Hannah’s wedding. But I should’ve known that she’d make her appearance sooner or later.
“Seriously, roll your eyes a little harder,” my voice is loud and clear across the parking lot.
I loved riling her up that night at the wedding.
It was obvious that she wanted to avoid any altercation with me.
It was almost like she felt bad for talking to me the way she did.
Which, of course, only makes me want to push back harder.
If she wants to make me feel like trash, then why can’t I return the favor?
“Hopefully they’ll fall out,” I add, grinning as her eyes narrow. She shakes her head, still walking to her car before she halts.
Yes, I think inwardly. I hit a nerve.
“I should be so lucky,” she tosses back. “Then I wouldn’t have to be a witness to your sleaze every single game.”
She turns her back on me again, and I swear I can feel her rolling her eyes at me.
“Listen, Doll,” I say, looking down to where Melissa is watching me with a slight frown on her face. “I’m glad you came, but why don’t we meet up at the hotel? But only for a few minutes. From there we’ll be flying back to New York.”
We didn’t travel together since wives and girlfriends make their own plans for away games. I didn’t think she’d come all this way this early in the season, especially since away games don’t really allow a lot of free time. Team obligations take most of our time when we travel.
And honestly, I prefer it that way.
Otherwise I’m stuck with having to carve out time I don’t have only to keep up appearances.
Melissa follows my gaze to Avah, before gently nodding. She stands on her tip toes and kisses me again. This time it’s a kiss that has one of my teammates wolf whistling. Melissa gives me a suggestive smile before walking off.
She might not be the best conversationalist. But she has her strong points.
I watch as Melissa walks off toward her car, while Avah’s retreating frame is in my peripheral vision. As Melissa leaves, I jog after Avah. Why I feel the need to continue this sparring match is beyond me, but somehow this is more exciting than the prospects of meeting Melissa back at the hotel.
Avah unlocks her car as I make my way up to her. Just as she opens it, I put my hand out and shut the door again, boxing her in and forcing her to turn to face me.
“What do you want?” she asks. “Got tired of Botox Barbie already? She’s only been to two games, there’s a full eighty left.”
It kind of sounds like she’s daring me to admit that my attraction to Melissa is superficial and kind of non-existent. And as much as I hate to tell her she’s right, there’s a reason I stick to the arrangement I have. It’s easy and simple.
It might’ve started out as a superstition, but now it’s just routine. It’s clean cut. No strings.
Sure, most of the women want more by game thirty, and that’s exactly what they won’t get from me. I always make sure to tell them that, which plays perfectly into my non-exclusivity clause. They get the jersey they want to wear so badly, I get everything else.
“You sure like to keep track of my dates and their attendance,” I say, watching her carefully. “It reminds me of that little jealousy theory I was working on.”
She scoffs, looking past me toward the bus.
I follow her gaze to where her brother, EJ, is watching us with a narrowed gaze.
Lucas taps him on the shoulder before he gets on, reminding me that this is all but simple.
As much as I like to press her buttons, she’s my teammate’s sister. A teammate I consider a friend.
Even if Avah has her opinions of me, I shouldn’t be here entertaining it, or even encouraging it.
Whatever it may be.
“You know what, Murphy?” she asks, stepping closer, not intimidated by me in the least.
She’s close enough now that I notice her fair Swedish complexion tinged with a blush across her cheeks and her nose. She’s riled up, her emotions showing even if she doesn’t want it to.
“I used to think you have incredible skill and talent. But now, I see the real deal. You don’t have a lot to draw from, do you? You’re controlled by your anger, by your basic human drives. A fight, a woman, a drink.”
She laughs without humor, her words sinking beneath my skin, going deeper than the words of Marachino or any other hockey player who's ever chirped at me. It’s unnerving…unsettling even.
And I have no idea why.
She looks at me again, a small flicker of something on her face. Regret? Restraint?
“So keep your Barbie,” Avah says, opening her car door and sliding into the seat. “By the looks of things, this might be the last season you’ll have a jersey for fangirls to wear.”
She slams the door shut before I can say anything else.
Turning away from the car, I try to ignore the truth to her words. I’m not an idiot. I know I messed up and I’ll be having a chat with Coach in the next twenty-four hours. And even if I get kicked off the team, I’ll still have a jersey. Just not a Rangers jersey.
But still, her words hold truth and I can’t hide from it.
Getting on the bus, EJ’s already up and out of his seat, standing in the aisle like a brick wall.
“What gives Murphy?” he asks, glaring at me in a way I haven’t seen before. “What’s your issue with my sister?”
I frown, since his question is completely out of bounds. It’s no secret that he’s protective when it comes to his sister, but I’m not someone he should be worried about. Avah is nothing but a distraction on a good day, and on the worst maybe even a nuisance.
“No issues man. Just two friends talking.”
He doesn’t move, clearly not believing a single word coming out of my mouth and I can’t really fault him for it. I’ve been around his sister for a year now and never has anyone ever thought the two of us are friends. Our conversations consist of arguing, sparring, verbal decapitation…but that’s it.
I sigh. “Seriously, bro. I have Melissa for the season. No need to worry.”
His mouth tightens, his blue eyes growing ten times colder than before.
From behind him, Nikolai leans in with an amused chuckle.
“Not the best move there, Murphy. You just put his sister in the same category as the woman currently warming your bed.”
“That’s not—”
I stop. Because now I’m the one thinking about it. Not because of logic or reason, but because Nikolai just tossed a grenade with his suggestion while EJ lit the fuse with his protective glare.
And it’s ridiculous.
Avah will never be the warm-body type.
“I know my sister,” EJ cuts me off, not taking his eyes off me. “And I know you.”
His words are like taking a puck to the ribs. I’ve known EJ for a few years, I’ve played with him, spent most of my time with him. I know he doesn’t approve of my personal life, but he’s never been in my face about it. Not until now, and not with this much disapproval.
He knows me…which means he should be giving me the benefit of the doubt.
There are lines even I won’t cross. And for some reason he thinks I will.
I give him the best smile I’ve got. The one I usually give to a woman right before she caves and breaks all her usual rules.
“Exactly, so you can sit down and relax. Your sister is not my type,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder. “And I’m certainly not hers.”
EJ looks at me for a second longer before relenting and taking his seat. I move past him, not missing Nikolai’s chuckle. I have half a mind to join him, because the idea of me and Avah…is ludicrous. Taking my seat, I pull out my phone in time to see a text.
Aunt Kat: I watched the game, Sweetheart. Are you alright? I’m praying for you.
My heart twists, and instead of replying, I turn off my phone. Shoving my earbuds in my ears, I drown out the world and the people in it. I want nothing more than to get home, pour myself a drink, and forget this night ever happened.