The Snake in the Locker Room
EASTON
The last practice before an away game is everyone’s favorite.
We all dial in a little tighter than usual, running the sets cleaner with no wasted movement. Coach Brennan stays on our heels, as always, and I'm glad for it. My body knows the difference between tired and ready, and right now, it's the second one.
Chicago in four days. I’m not nervous. I’m never nervous until the morning of, and even then, it passes the second I step on the ice.
Right now, all I’m thinking about is getting home. Riley said she’d cook tonight, and we’ll see a movie in bed. And Lord knows, I’m looking forward to having my hands on my girl.
The past week has been amazing with her. Her spark is back full-time, and she’s glowing. I can’t keep my eyes or hands off her.
A smile spreads on my lips as the water from the locker room shower rinses off the last of the soap.
I’m still thinking about her when I turn off the shower and reach for my towel.
The locker room is empty when I come out of the shower, which is wrong.
After the morning skate, there’s always someone.
Hell, the guys are always here, loud-mouthed, and plotting the next big party after the upcoming game.
Wyatt would be finishing tape, Theo on his phone, Kai doing the slow cool-down stretch he’s been doing for years. The room is never empty at this hour.
I have a towel around my waist, and my hair is wet. I look around, and that’s when I notice him. Preston Sinclair is sitting on the bench directly opposite my stall.
Jacket pressed. Hair exactly right. Hands loose in his lap like a man who has nowhere else to be and has bought all the time he needed to get here.
I don’t say anything. I cross to my stall, take out my clothes, and start getting dressed. If he’s going to be in my space, he can wait until I’m ready.
He lets me. He’s patient. Biding his time.
This must be how he builds intimidation. Well, he’s got the wrong person, and I know he knows it.
Cheap antics don’t work here.
“I appreciate you not making a scene,” he says, when I’m pulling on my shirt.
“I could put my fist through your face for a start,” I shoot back.
Now fully dressed, I grab my phone and bag and fully face him.
He smiles. I see the way his eyes light up with interest, and a mix of something dark.
“I’d say you’re invading my privacy, but I think we’ve previously established you’re a stalker. So, to what do I owe this visit, Preston?”
He stands, and this time, he laughs. It lacks warmth, and the sound of it scratches my ears.
“I’ve come to realize that people are generally helpful when you ask the right way.”
He looks around the locker room, and I read the expression on his face. Dislike. He thinks he’s better than the people who come here. “I won’t take much of your time.”
He frowns and mutters the last part under his breath. "Not like I'd want to be here any longer than necessary."
Another look of distaste crosses his face before his eyes finally land on mine. “You’re a smart man, and an… incredible player.”
He starts casually walking around the space. “I’ve looked into you. Your contract numbers are strong, your reputation with the league is solid, and you’ve managed”—he waves a dismissive hand around the space—“to stay largely clean in a sport that doesn’t always reward that.”
His gaze returns to me. “You’ve built something real.”
I don’t say anything, yet, but I know where this is headed.
I’ve heard similar words from a man I lived with for most of my life.
Donovan Blake.
The start of a mildly spoken threat that’ll be acted on. A way to manipulate and curb what he sees as a problem. And Preston… Preston is the apple that didn’t quite fall far from that tree. He’s Donovan Blake, in a different font and form. A younger version.
So, I reach into my jacket pocket and click the recording app on my phone without looking at it. A little skill I picked up after Maya.
“Riley Brooks isn't your problem to solve,” he says. “I understand the appeal. She’s charming, and she’s had a hard time, and you’re the kind of man who responds to that.
I mean, I understand. The err…” He pauses and spins around to look at me like he’s trying to recall something.
“What is it called? Emotional issues? That comes with living in a broken home? Parents divorce? Even as an older child…”
My jaw tightens.
Oh, he’s done his research quite well. Maybe even had a drink and become friends with Donovan, if he knows so much.
He smirks, and I see the twitch in his eyes. He continues.
“But what’s happening right now, the photos, the fan attention, her posting your games on her page like she’s your partner, it’s creating a story that neither of us benefits from.
I mean, considering you orchestrated your parents divorce.
Think of what your fans will say. When they realize you’re a professional homewrecker, and that Riley is just another pawn in your little sick games?
Going after vulnerable women, and breaking loving homes? ”
My fingers twitch, but I don’t ball them into fists. I hold the straps of my bags tightly instead, and he sees it. The smirk is there again.
He’s hoping for a reaction. A hit.
If he got his way in, then I don’t doubt this conversation is being filmed. He’s playing the victim card. Goading me for a story.
“You and I know you’re not the messiah you claim to be, Easton Blake.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You think you’re doing the right thing? But we both know you’re controlling these women. First, your mother. Now, poor Riley. And the world doesn’t see it, but soon, they will.”
He drags in a deep breath and steps forward until we’re only an inch apart.
He says it calmly, his voice barely above a whisper, but every word carries the same hardened edge he's been wielding since he walked in. “I have relationships with people who decide what stories look like. You know Diane Mercer. I assume she's told you something similar.”
He holds my gaze. “I'm not threatening you, Easton. I'm being honest with you. Man to man.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“The Sinclair name carries weight in this city, and right now it's attached to a narrative about a woman who left me for a hockey player. That narrative has a shelf life. When it expires, what comes next will be a lot less flattering for your side of the story.”
His smile disappears. “You'll be the manipulator. The poorly behaved sports star who isolated a vulnerable woman from the people who love her. The man who tore a family apart. The guy who craves control.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He smiles fully this time.
I look at him.
He’s good. He really is. I can see exactly how six years happened. He doesn’t raise his voice. He makes every single thing sound like reason.
“End this arrangement with Riley,” he says. “Let her come home. She’ll be taken care of, she’ll be fine, and you can go back to being Easton Blake without any of this attached to you. That’s a clean outcome for everyone.”
He waits.
I look at him for a long moment.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say and walk out of the locker room.
He doesn’t call after me.
I stop in the corridor, back against the wall, and stop the recording. Then I stand there for a minute with the noise of the rink above me and think about the fact that he bought his way into my locker room, sat on a bench, and waited for me to come out of the shower.
He’s gone far. Too far to be let off the hook.
Riley is on the couch when I get home, her camera on the coffee table and her laptop open beside it, editing photographs from the weekend. She’s in my sweatshirt, and her hair is up. She doesn’t look up when I come in, just says hey and keeps working.
I sit down on the other end of the couch.
She looks up then.
She reads me fast. She always does. “What happened?”
“Preston came to see me.” I watch her face. “At the rink. After skate. He was in the locker room when I came out of the shower.”
She closes the laptop. “What did he say?”
“I want you to hear it directly.” I pull my phone out, open the recording. I set it on the coffee table between us. “I recorded it…”
She looks at the phone. Then at me.
I press play.
I watch her face while she listens. She goes very still. Her face hardens, and for the first time, I see it in her.
The instincts to fight back. No longer fear or flight.
When the recording finishes, the room is quiet.
“He mentioned your parents,” she says.
“He’s now playing cheap tricks. He desperately wanted a reaction from me.”
“He still believes you’re keeping me against my will, encouraging me to leave him.
I think it’s time I face him directly. Cut off all of the power he has over me.
God, I should have done this already. I’ve given him so much power, and he’s taking more and more.
But not anymore. I’m done with him, and it’s time I make it clear. ”
She grabs my phone off the table.
“Can you send this recording to me?”
I see the fire in her now, and I nod slowly.
She places the laptop on the table and rises to her feet.
“Riley…”
“I need to drive to my parents. I need to see them and tell them the whole truth, and it has to be now. I’m tired of hiding.
I’m tired of cowering in fear of what he’ll do.
He’s gone too far by going after you. I won’t let him ruin you.
No, not this time. It’s over, and I need to make it crystal clear. ”
I stand up and hold her hand to stop her from heading up the stairs.
“Riley, you don’t have to do this because of me. I can handle myself, and Preston is the least of my problems.”
“I know.” She meets my eyes and releases a deep breath, visibly relaxing. “I want to do it because if I don’t say it now, out loud, to the people who need to hear it, he wins the narrative. And I’m done letting him win anything.”
She shakes her head. “God, I can’t believe I let this go on for so long. I’m so dumb. A simple recording is all it could have taken to take him down.”
“Hey…” I pull her into my arms. “Come on, don’t say that. It’s not normal to record someone you love and trust. It’s completely normal that you never considered that. You loved him wholeheartedly. Don’t blame yourself. You’re smart and stronger than you know, baby.”
I instinctively lean to kiss her temple.
Her arms circle me.
“It’s just… I really could have ended things long ago, but I kept giving and giving, and hoping… thinking it was all for the best. I should have… I should have known better. Walked out the moment it became toxic for my mental health.”
“Shhh…” I place a finger on her lips. “You’re out now, that’s all that matters. And you’ve finally decided to fight back and reclaim your life.”
She nods. “Thank you, Easton. I don’t think I’d have been able to get very far without your help.”
I laugh. My eyes rest on her face, and I laugh again. She looks so cute, second-guessing her strength and intelligence.
“I don’t think you know how strong you are, baby.”
I pull her to my chest, and her arms tighten around me. We stay still for another minute, and I let myself drown in her sweet fragrance, nuzzling her soft, silky hair.
“I'm going to call my mom tonight,” she says, pulling away. “And I’m going to ask my dad if I can see him this week. I need them to see my face when I tell them. I need them to know he’s not who he claims to be. I need to put an end to this.”
“I’ll come with you.”
She shakes her head.
My heart breaks a little.
“No. I need to do this alone…”
“I’ll stay in the car. But I’ll feel better being there with you, and knowing I’ll just be a few steps away, if you need me.”
She studies my face for a minute and finally nods.
“We still up for dinner and movie night?”
That brings a smile to her face. “And maybe some of this…” My hands slide lower, cupping her soft ass and squeezing. She melts against me and hides her face in my chest.
“Stop…” she drawls, and I laugh.
“I need to properly wash off the rink and Preston. Shower with me?”
She nods. I throw her over my shoulder and head for the bedroom.