Chapter Nineteen #4
Ashton is silent.
“Ashton,” I growl. “Did you—”
“No,” he finally says roughly. “I’d made some suggestions, but Scott also had a hand in where we took our business. The fact that Winter worked at Starrs Strategy was more of a bonus. She’d be getting good money from the deal because we were offering a bonus for discretion and fast work.”
Winter doesn’t want handouts. If she finds out that someone associated with her parents’ killer gave her this opportunity, I’m not sure she’d handle it well.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I internally groan.
“Everything I’ve done is for her benefit,” he tells me coolly. “It’s never out of ill intentions. Care to explain why you’re this invested in the matter? Why you keep biting my head off over this girl?”
This time, it’s me who’s quiet.
“Thomas, I swear to God. If you laid a—”
“What?” I cut him off through gritted teeth as I slow at the intersection that leads to Hoffman’s house. “If I laid a hand on Winter, what would you do? Quit? Bitch me out? Tell on me to Janel? Go ahead. Finish that sentence.”
It’s a dare.
A challenge.
A warning.
Because we’ve both done fucked-up things.
I was drawn to her feisty attitude and broken spirit because like calls to like. Ashton has been drawn to her because his family is the one who caused it.
We’re not the same. We just have vested interests in the same girl.
“If the wrong people hear about my vested interests, it would hurt her more than help her,” I remind him. “So if you step in, it isn’t going to help. If you even think about removing her from this event—”
“Christ, Tom,” he grumbles, cutting me off. “I didn’t call to fight or listen to your veiled threats. I called to explain myself because I feel bad about all of this.”
He doesn’t get a response from me because I’m not sure what else I can say. Our motivations are different, even if our end game is the same.
For Winter to be happy.
“Do you want what’s best for her?” he eventually asks, voice calmer than before. He knows he won’t get anywhere otherwise.
I swallow, thinking back to yesterday.
The redness in her eyes.
The weight on her shoulders.
The words whipped like a weapon until they sliced my skin.
“Yes,” I admit into the phone.
Ashton makes a noise.
We fall silent.
For one second.
Two.
Three.
Then, Ashton says, “Then you need to cut it off with her, Tom.”
He doesn’t list the reasons why, but I can hear them clear as day between the lines.
Because of my wife.
Because Winter deserves better.
I pull up to the front of Hoffman’s house, where cars from the other players line the driveway, road, and front lawn. I see Jesse Clarkson outside on his phone before he raises a hand to wave in my direction.
My jaw clenches, teeth grinding at the thought of letting this all go.
You need to cut it off with her.
Problem is, I don’t want to.
“I could say the same for you,” I point out. There’s no ice in my words, but the accusation is there regardless. He knows he can’t hold on to the guilt forever. He can’t twist fate’s hand to make sure Winter and her sister wind up okay for the rest of their lives.
Eventually, he has to let it go too.
He has to let them make their own choices without influencing them. He says he didn’t play a hand in Winter getting this job, but I don’t think he’s being honest with himself. And he’ll be just as much of a reason why she’s upset if she ever finds out.
Ashton makes a thoughtful noise. “I know,” he eventually murmurs. Then an even quieter, “I know.”
Knowing there’s nothing more to say, I hang up and set my phone down.
There’s still no message from Emaly.
None from Winter either, not that I expect it.
Swiping a palm down my face, I lean my head against the rest and close my eyes. “What a shit show,” I say to myself.
I startle when the passenger door opens, and Clarkson slides into the seat.
“You trying to bail?” he asks, eyebrows arched curiously.
I make a face. “Wasn’t going to.” However, it sounds like a great plan now.
“Good. Come on, then.”
Neither one of us makes a move to get out.
“Got something on your mind?” he questions casually. He’s not pressing. If I tell him to fuck off, he’ll shrug and make other conversation. That’s how he’s always been.
“Do you ever get sick of playing therapist, Clarkson?” I ask of the captain who’s always had a knack for knowing the right thing to say. “You really need to start charging people for all your precious words of wisdom.”
I’d watched him offer advice to plenty of people during our time with the Penguins and saw what a difference he made.
He’s always believed talking it out helps unravel the blocks that get in our way on the ice.
Not once has he ever expected reciprocation if it meant strengthening the team.
Guess that hasn’t changed, even if our jerseys have.
Clarkson raises a shoulder. “If there’s something bothering you, I’d rather hear about it now versus seeing it six beers in.”
Fair point. “I haven’t been drinking” is my only response.
To which he raises his brows in disbelief.
Reasonable, considering I tend to wind up so drunk that he has to drag me to a spare room to sleep it off.
I’ve clearly never shied away from drinking, even after watching my parents drink until they’re numb.
I’d like to think I know my limits better than they do and can stop whenever I want.
But lately…Lately, I haven’t wanted to risk it.
Maybe because alcohol doesn’t get rid of anybody’s problems. It only adds to them.
I can drink reality off for a night and wake up to it the next morning with a wicked hangover that only makes it worse.
It doesn’t make me feel any better than them.
Numbing is still numbing, and I’d rather feel the effects of life rather than bury them.
Clarkson’s phone goes off, and his jaw clenches when he sees his stepsister’s name on the screen before sending it to voicemail. I’ve been around him long enough to know that’s not normal. Unless we’re at practice or a game, he always picks up her calls.
“Everything good?” I ask hesitantly.
He and Belle have been tight-knit for as long as I can remember. Nobody knows the depth of their relationship or the history of their family. But he’s been protective of her for years, and I have a feeling it isn’t because their parents got married.
His shoulders go rigid as he glares at the screen. “Fine,” he grumbles.
Clearly, he isn’t. “That’s a woman’s response when she’s pissed off. Want to try again, or is this going to be a full-on back-and-forth where I call you out for lying and you deny it? You suck at it, by the way.”
His glare turns to me, but all I do is grin.
I’m not sure what he mumbles under his breath, but he eventually sighs. “Belle and I are disagreeing about something. She’s being a giant pain in my ass right now.”
Is that all he’s going to give me? “Hasn’t she always been a pain in your ass?”
His lips twitch a fraction upward before neutralizing.
My grin widens. “That’s a yes,” I muse.
He rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll talk to her later. We should head in before the rest of the guys try cramming their way into the back seat.”
I snort. “They’re too afraid of me to willingly get in my vehicle.”
Clarkson knows I’m right because he says, “That’s because you always look mad when we’re together. They don’t want their dicks ripped off if you’re in a mood.”
I stare at him. “Maybe that’s just my face.”
“Maybe,” he relents. “But I’ve seen you smile before. There’s obviously something going on that’s putting you on edge. Don’t know if it’s the press, your father-in-law, or a combination. But you have more people on your side than you think you do.”
Here he goes with his sappy bullshit again. “The team should get used to my resting bitch face. I have a feeling it’ll be there for a while.”
He tilts his head. “Why?”
“Maybe I also have a stepsister who’s a giant pain in my ass,” I retort with a smile.
The look he narrows me with is comical. “Watch it.”
I raise my palms up. There’s his overprotective nature. “I’m just saying, it could be true.”
He shakes his head and opens the door. “You coming in or not?”
I sigh and shut the car off, glance at my phone one last time, and mumble, “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Because I have a feeling that if I don’t, I’ll wind up staring at my phone all night like a girl waiting for her first crush to call.