Chapter 7
LOGAN
Dearest darling, pain in the ass . . .
Darling?
Trying out pet names.
Wasn’t sure if you remembered me
telling you I had to run out last night.
I was asleep, not drugged, Olive.
And yes, I remember. Everything all right?
Aww. It’s almost like you care.
Don’t push it.
Just need to know what to tell
the cops if they show up.
So romantic, but sadly I didn’t
break any laws.
One of my clients needed
something handled.
So you handled it?
Of course. But it took a few hours.
I crashed at my place and have a
few loose ends to tie up in Kroydon Hills.
Be back at the ranch later.
Is that a threat or a promise?
Both.
—Text from Olivia to Logan
Maggie’s babbling voice echoes through the monitor as I drop my head back on the pillow.
Six a.m. on the damn dot and happy as can be.
This kid is more reliable than any alarm clock I’ve ever owned.
It doesn’t matter if she sleeps through the night or wakes up ten times, she’s up and ready to roll for the day at six every morning.
One of the few things she got from me. A lifetime of early ice times forces you to embrace the day at the asscrack of dawn, whether you want to or not.
I’m just generally not as happy as my little ladybug is.
By the time I make it to her room, she’s standing in her crib, one of her many stuffed animals clenched in her dimpled fist, her brown curls standing on end, and her sleep-creased pudgy cheeks are tight and smiling.
I should switch her to a toddler bed soon.
This crib has been lowered to the option closest to the ground, but I swear, one of these days she’s going to climb out instead of waiting for me.
Patience isn’t in my daughter’s very limited vocabulary.
I have no idea what I’ve done in my life to deserve her, but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my baby girl from anyone, including her own waste-of-space mother. “Good morning, ladybug.”
“Dadda . . . Dadda . . .” she squeals as I lift her from the crib and toss her high above my head, catching her as her belly laughs have me smiling like I just hit the damn lottery.
Our morning routine isn’t elaborate. I learned early on, the simpler the better. We get cleaned up, teeth brushed, and changed before we head down to breakfast.
Maggie has six teeth to brush as of today, and she loves to stand on the vanity to brush each one with a little help when she lets me.
We’re pretty efficient, too, because my girl gets hangry faster than anyone I’ve ever met, and that includes Waverly, who we swear has a tapeworm, given how much she needs to eat.
It takes less than thirty minutes in total before we’re both dressed, and Maggie sits happily in her highchair, eating scrambled eggs and bananas with her hands while I savor my second cup of coffee. Definitely going to need a third today.
Sundays are sacred in the offseason. They’re for family. Monday through Friday, I’m out of the door by seven-thirty to meet the guys at the gym, followed by ice time. But I still get breakfast and dinner with my best girl. That’ll all change less than a month from now.
Preseason training starts with the team in three weeks, and as much as I can’t fucking wait, I also hate how much I’ll have to leave Maggie again.
“Good morning,” Waverly sings with a hard edge to her voice, while she looks around the kitchen. “Huh.”
“Huh what?” I ask, grabbing her a mug.
Force of habit.
We all feed Waves as soon as we can.
It’s just easier that way.
Her hazel eyes scan the room before she kisses Maggie and runs a hand over the loose curls I tried to wrangle into pigtails. “Where’s your wife, Logan? Did she leave you already?”
“Be nice, Waves.” I hold the coffee back as she reaches for it and smile as soon as she glares. “She had a client emergency to deal with in the middle of the night.”
Waverly holds her hands out for the mug, knowing I’ll give in. “That makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” I ask, needing more caffeine to keep up with the women in my life this morning.
“You don’t know?” She snatches the mug out of my hands and hums as she sips. “I saw it online. One of the Kings players got into a fight last night. They said he killed someone. Guess he’s her client.”
“Stop reading that shit. It’s all trash.” Fucking tabloid vipers.
“Trash, huh?” Jasper groans as he walks in and grabs his own mug. “We talking about actual garbage or your new wife, Logan?”
“Fuck off, Jasper—”
“Language,” Pops stops me as he joins us. He might be my grandfather, but he treats Waverly, Rafe, and Jasper like they’re his as much as I am. Ragtag bunch of orphans we all fucking are.
“She’s one, Pops. Pretty sure fuck isn’t going to be her next word,” I argue as I watch Maggie grab another fistful of eggs.
“Good to see you home, kid. Now whose wife is trash?” he asks as Waverly chokes and Jasper grins.
Assholes.
I grab one of the green apples from the bowl and throw it at Jasper’s head.
He catches it quickly and takes a bite. “Better ask Logan, Pops. Waves and I have to go deal with the animals.”
“Speak for yourself. I’ve got studying to do,” she snaps, then pouts when we all stare at her.
“You’re the reason we have the damn animals, Waves,” Jasper groans and tosses her his apple. “Eat something and get moving.”
“Eww. I’m not eating your half-eaten apple. I don’t know where your mouth’s been.” She chucks it back at him but misses by a mile, and we all watch as it lands in the sink. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
“Have fun,” my sister mouths before following Jasper out the kitchen door, and I feel like we’re ten years old again, right before we got caught taking the horses out of the stalls in the middle of the night.
Pops is like a bloodhound. Once he has a scent of something, you’re fucked.
There’s no stopping him until he’s followed the trail.
“You got something you want to tell me, Logan?” He bends down and kisses the top of Maggie’s head, then her hand as she tries to feed him a smooshed piece of banana.
“You didn’t have a wife when you left for Las Vegas.
Far as I knew, you didn’t have a girl either.
Tell me you didn’t marry some stripper, now, did you? ”
“Christ, Pops. No, I didn’t marry a stripper.” But damn if that doesn’t conjure images of Olivia dancing in sexy lingerie and those red-soled shoes of hers. Images I push away. Probably eats her prey too I remind myself and take the seat next to Maggie.
“Explain, son. And don’t make me wait. I’m old. I could die before you spit it out.” At eighty-two, Beau Adler might technically be old, but I’d put bets on him outliving us all.
I wipe Maggie’s mouth, then push her pink sippy cup closer. I knew lying to Jasper and Waverly would suck. I don’t lie to my siblings.
But lying to Pops is so much worse.
I fall back on what Olivia said on the jet.
Keep it simple and anchor it with as much truth as possible.
“We’ve known each other since college and reconnected last year.” Not a complete lie. We’ve known each other for that long, and we did reconnect in a way when she fucked me out of a few million dollars. “It felt right, so we eloped in Vegas.”
“It felt right?” His weathered eyes narrow, and I wait. “Sounds like horseshit, Logan, and I know horseshit.”
“It’s not, Pops.” I don’t tell him it’s love because I’m not sure he wouldn’t hear the lie in my voice.
Guess I better work on that.
“And when do I get to meet this woman who’s stolen your heart?”
More like stole my fucking contract. I don’t have a heart to steal. My daughter and my family have the only pieces of it I have to give. “She’ll be back later today.”
“Good. Then we’ll do dinner tonight.” He rinses his coffee cup and grabs his hat from the hook on the wall by the door. “And Logan—”
“Yeah?” I look away from Maggie to catch the old man’s glare.
“Better make your story more believable by then.”
Fuck.
Olivia
“Aren’t you going to miss this view?” Serena asks as she walks out onto our covered porch overlooking the back-end of Cherry Creek Vineyards.
The house isn’t on the vineyards property, but it backs right up to the rolling hills, and we both love it.
It’s far enough from town to afford us more privacy than our meddling family willingly gives any of us, but close enough that we can be in town in under thirty minutes if need be. And today, it’s needed.
“I will,” I sigh. “But it won’t be for too long.”
She pulls out one of the chairs lining the teak table and eyes my laptop warily. “Why are you here, Liv? I thought you’d be at Logan’s place for at least a full day before you needed to retreat.”
“Retreat?” What the hell? I don’t retreat. “Because our cousin is screwed.”
Serena pulls her feet up onto the chair and rests her pink coffee cup on her knees. “You’re going to have to narrow that down. We’ve got twenty cousins.”
“Ryker.” I close my MacBook and grab my own mug.
I’m running on two hours of sleep from last night and maybe three from the night before.
My days of being fueled by caffeine and chaos are behind me.
I like my bed and a solid five hours if I’m going to function at optimum ability, and that’s not happening any time soon.
“Seriously? Ryker never gets into trouble.” She’s not wrong. He doesn’t. Our other cousins may be a bit of a different story, but Ryker is steady and stable. Apparently, until he’s not.
“Well, he did last night. But he did what he did for the right reasons. And now we have to walk a precarious line to keep him out of jail, on the team, and to spin the narrative in the press so he doesn’t lose every sponsorship deal I’ve worked my ass to get him since he went pro.
” Ironically, the answer to Ryker’s problems and the answer to mine are the same.
I fill Serena in on everything that happened at West End last night and everything that’s going on with our cousin and his new fiancée now, watching as her mouth opens so wide her jaw practically unhinges. “I’m sorry, what?”
Her words are more gasped than whispered as the shock sets in.