CHAPTER ELEVEN #3
I tear off the water bottle cap and take another swig, regrouping.
“Anyway, there Danny was, telling her she was beautiful and he felt whole with her. And I don’t know.
She stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing and called me, crying.
I believe she got swept up. He was charming that way, and he knew what to say.
He knew she was afraid she’d die, that she was lonely, that she felt unattractive, and he used it. ”
“That’s … big of you.” He clenches the water bottle so tightly that it crackles with his unspoken judgment.
Maybe I should let this story paint me in a bad light, making me far more undesirable than my granny pajamas could, but I’d rather be seen as unattractive than weak. “I’m not a pushover.”
He sighs. “You have a bad habit of drawing the wrong conclusions from things I say.”
“Maybe I do.” A rueful chuckle flies out of me as I set my water down.
“There’s a logical part of me that understands Flora was manipulated.
She’s always been my best friend. A lifetime of selfless decisions upended by one.
And she did stop and have the courage to call me and tell the truth.
So, I’ve tried. I want to forgive her. I miss her so much. But, God, I still kind of hate her.”
This time, he doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. We simply watch the shimmering sea, and the foaming waves, and the kids throwing a Frisbee recklessly close to us.
He finally scoops me out of my chair, tosses both of our sunglasses on the blanket, and carries me into the ocean, which feels like a more-than-friends move, until he sets me down in waist-high water and gets back to the root of his investigation.
“And that’s what led to the Stanley Cup being stolen? ”
I throw out my hands, spraying us both with soaring droplets.
“Those are the events that preceded it. Well, that and me hunting Danny down, only to find him in bed with yet another woman. The night his team won, she announced on social media that they were engaged and had been seeing each other for months—since the week I’d found out I was pregnant.
So, all his teammates knew he was cheating.
Some of their wives probably knew too. Such a shame his monumental accomplishment was tainted. ”
Despite the lack of respect for me, I do feel bad for the rest of his team and all the teams that won before them and were featured on that Cup. Another one was made in its place though, and I’m sure the original will turn up someday. If I’m feeling generous.
“A shame.” Cash smirks, splashing some water on his chest, right over his 3D fleur-de-lis tattoo that blends with his gambling collage. “And the mess you’re caught up in now has something to do with hockey?”
“Not exactly.” I dip down, letting the next subtle wave wash over my neck. “A guy I worked for after I graduated college—the one who knew my dad and graciously let me walk away, even though I had other jobs lined up—made me promise that if I ever entered the scene again, I’d only do it for him.”
“He suspects you were involved in the Stanley Cup?”
“Yep.” I laugh because it’s all so twisted.
“A wild conclusion to jump to, but it’s the view he holds nonetheless.
So, I am indebted because I didn’t hold up my end of the deal to never use my skills for anyone but him.
He has a big job he needs done. And after it’s completed, I think he’ll leave me alone.
But you know how that one-more-job thing turns out sometimes. ”
“This job is not your ending.” He clutches my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’ll find you a way out.”
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t let go. “What about yesterday? What happened?”
“Someone was following me, tracking me down, and then …” I stall there for a beat, watching anger harden his features to stone. “Then the lunatic showed up at my mother’s house and invited himself to stay.”
His dimple appears, shouting that he appreciates my razzing, even if he adopts his stern tone to redirect me. “Cute. What really happened?”
I guess there’s no reason to hide it. “I got an anonymous note.”
“Still have it?” he asks, and when I nod, he tacks on, “I’m going to need more information, and I’d like to involve Axel. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
His hands sail into the water, docking on my hips with a sensual perusal of the string ties a second before I’m launched into the air and thrown over his shoulder.
I haven’t been dunked since I was a kid, but I hold my breath in time and gracefully tuck and roll, rising to smooth my wet hair behind me and face him, unable to tamp down my childlike grin. “What the hell, Noire?”
He chuckles and dives beneath the surface, emerging right before me to shake out his hair like some sort of luminous deity.
“Here’s the thing about gambling and negotiations, Sly.
” His palm meets the small of my back, and his chest grazes mine.
“You never leave something on the table unless you know exactly what you’re sacrificing. ”
My heart catches on long before my mind does, pounding my sternum with a hopeful and jittery battle cry. “Meaning?”