Chapter 31 #2
“I know. I’ll be right there to kick your ass if you don’t.”
I laugh. I’m glad he switched with Ax to sit with me, but there’s no way I’m saying that out loud.
I smack him in the back instead.
Every time I walk in the back entrance of the Garden in Boston, I feel the shiver of excitement. Playing in the place where so many hockey greats played before gives me a rush, and today it’s extra because I have something to prove.
I’m right behind Sabien as we push into the visitor’s locker room for our pre-game skate. Restless to get on the ice for the morning skate, I get down to the business of hockey, clearing my head and changing into my gear.
“I’m so ready for this game,” I say to Ax as he sits next to me and starts undressing. I’m way ahead of him, looking forward to hitting the ice where I live, where nothing can distract me, where I get lost to hockey.
“I’m stoked to have you back on the ice for this one,” Ax says. “A win on Boston’s home ice would be sweet.”
“No would be’s, Ax baby. We’re going to kick the Brawlers’ asses.”
He laughs. “Hey, how about pizza on Monday at your place?” He grins and pulls his pants off.
I try not to let my smile slip, but the suggestion feels like a punch to my gut because I know he’s talking about the deal he made with me and Brooks when she moved in. Maybe the good news is he can move back in with me when she’s gone, but the idea only makes me feel sick.
“Well?” He tilts his head and examines me.
“Good idea. I’ll talk to Brooks.” I force my grin, and I’m not sure if he buys it, but I stand because I’m more than ready to hit the ice, to erase all thoughts of Brooks.
Sabien, Link, and a couple of the other guys are right behind me as we take the ice.
My blades scrape against the fresh shiny layer, making that sound that evokes every positive memory I have since I was four years old.
The cold air envelops me as I push into a swift glide, feeling like a comfortable old sweater, like I’m Mr. Freeze and I need the ice and the cold to live and breathe.
We race each other like we’re kids and call it warm-up drills before Coach Nash blows the whistle and puts us through our paces.
I’m dripping in sweat and happy by the time I return to the locker room and take my time getting to the shower, letting the contentment soak in before I go back to the team’s hotel for a nap.
“Who wants to walk back to the hotel?” Ax says. “Come on, Brody.” He prods me.
“I’m too ready for a nap to ruin the mood with a walk. Coach won’t like it.”
He scoffs. “Since when do you worry about what Coach will think?”
Keeping my voice down, I say, “Since I got benched last game.”
“Right. You have a point.”
As I slip my sneakers on, my phone buzzes, vibrating on the cubby shelf, and I pick it up. I don’t recognize the number, but the call is from Las Vegas. An instant zap of alarm runs through me like I’ve touched a live wire, and the hairs on my arm go up in warning.
When I check my messages, I see that I have three of them from the same number in the last hour. Shit. Something isn’t right.
Whether I should or not, I swipe the call on and answer it as I gather my things and leave the locker room for the relative privacy of the hallway. “Who is this?”
“Bigelow.” He pauses, and I place him. “Remember me?”
I don’t like the way he sounds. It’s not the friendly concierge voice I remember. “Why are you calling me? And how did you get my number? Never mind. I can’t talk. I have a game—”
“Fuck your game. I’m calling because you owe me.”
I stop in my tracks and lean against a wall. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Fuck you. I don’t have time for this, and I don’t owe you anything—”
“If you hang up, I’m going to sell the most salacious version of events that happened in Vegas, including the fact that you’re not married to—”
“Fuck. Alright.” I take in a deep breath as my heart hammers, and I barely stop myself from punching a wall.
This isn’t good. If he outs the fake marriage, it may not be a big deal for me, but it would kill Brooks’ career.
She’d lose all credibility and possibly her license for fraud. Fucking Bigelow.
“Bianca promised that I would be compensated and sent me a small sum of money, but that isn’t enough. Things have changed. I was fired for helping you, and you need to take responsibility.”
“Look, I’m sorry you were fired. We can talk about arranging some compensation in a few days. But right now—”
“If you don’t wire me ten thousand by tomorrow, I’ll have no choice but to sell my story. I could call Bianca for more money, but that doesn’t seem fair since you have so much more money than she does, and the whole mess was your fault in the first place. She worked hard to bail you out—”
“I told you we’ll have to talk about this next week. I’m playing a game tonight, and nothing is going to distract me from doing that.” I hold my breath and hope to hell he doesn’t call my bluff because no way am I going to let Brooks take the fall.
“Fine. I’ll call Bianca to wire me the money, and you can pay her back—”
“Fuck no. Don’t you dare call Bianca.” The last thing she needs is the threat of her career being ruined. Because of me.
He laughs. “Well, well, well. The hockey frat boy actually gives a shit. How much is she worth to you?”
“You piece of shit.” I can’t let him call her. I’m overwhelmed with relief that he hasn’t—or has he?
“Have you already talked to her? So help me if I find out—”
“No. Like I said. I know who has the money.”
“I’ll wire you ten thousand—”
“The price went up to twenty-five thousand.”
I hold onto my shit, barely, and take a fucking deep breath, nodding at a stick boy who walks by me.
I only need to stall Bigelow until after the fashion show.
After Brooks and I stage our fight, we’ll have a falling out, and it shouldn’t take more than a few days for us to end things publicly.
That’ll take the sting out of his threat.
“We have a game and a charity fashion show coming up, so I’m busy. Next week—”
“I want twenty-five grand.”
“You’re a fucking piece of shit. Like I said, I’ll arrange something next week. In the meantime, if you say one word to Bianca, I’ll—”
“I won’t. She’s too good for you, you know. She’d never really marry the likes of you.”
“That’s something we can agree on.” I end the call and shove the phone in my pocket with a shaky hand. I hope to hell he’s not lying about talking to Bianca.
I don’t eat, and I don’t sleep. The one thing I do is call Brooks. As I press her icon on my phone, the bikini-body cartoon, I’m hyperaware that this is the worst possible preparation for a hockey game I’ve ever had. And I don’t give a fuck.
She’s surprised to hear from me.
I tell her I should make a move on Nora rather than rely on her to misbehave.
She’s insisting that I can’t be painted as the bad guy, that it has to be Nora and her who are the targets of social media outrage, not me. She’s counting on Kara’s help with that.
Now, with Bigelow’s threats hanging over our heads, unbeknownst to her, I have some work to do to make sure Brooks comes out of this situation whole. Since I haven’t heard from Bigs the Blackmailer, I’m assuming he’s going to sell us out whether I pay his blackmail money or not.
During the game, I’m so fucking distracted that the team would have been better off if I were still benched. We lose in overtime. But even guilt over missing an easy shot doesn’t bother me as much as the need to neutralize Bigelow’s threat.
“Where are you going?” Sabien asks as we’re leaving, and I’m heading for the bus to the hotel.
“Come out with us in Boston,” Ax says, trying to maintain a positive attitude, though his smile lacks its usual enthusiasm. “Where’s Brooks? She should come too.”
“Brooks isn’t here.” I give Ax a look that silences him, and I only hope he’s not thinking she’s been kidnapped or run off with the pool guy—anyone would be a better option for her than me.
“I have some things to do. I’m staying in Boston.”
I spot Jett, and he motions for me to meet him in the parking garage, so I take off while Sabien calls after me.
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
I don’t answer, and I hear Ax’s concerned words. “What’s going on? Is he okay? Is something wrong with Brooks?”
But as guilty as I feel about leaving them in the dark, dealing with Bigelow’s threat to out my fake marriage with Brooks is something I need to handle with as little fanfare as possible.
Hell, I’m not even telling Brooks what’s going on. The plan will work better that way.