Chapter 19 #2
“Tell that to my blood pressure, buddy.” A kiss lands on his temple. “Your dad is going to give me a stroke before I’m thirty.”
The player who hit Grayson is being helped up by a teammate, both of them looking back at Grayson with murder in their eyes. The number on the player’s jersey is twenty-two. He’s broad through the chest, a little taller than Grayson.
“Who is that?” I ask Brody quietly.
Brody glances at me. The grin from earlier has gone.
“Brent Taylor.”
The name is meaningless to me till Brody adds, “He’s Vanessa’s husband.”
My body stiffens. Brent has lined himself up at the faceoff circle, helmet back on.
“Is she here?” The question slips out without my permission.
Brody snorts under his breath. “Vanessa? She’s at every one of his games, front row when she can manage it.” He angles his chin toward the far side of the arena without lifting his hand. “Eleven o’clock, behind the away bench, fur coat.”
I make myself look.
The first thing I notice is the hair, pale blond, almost white in the rink lights, falling in soft waves over the shoulders of a coat I’m pretty sure was made out of an actual animal.
Her dress underneath is dark green and fitted.
Pale skin that will photograph well under these lights.
Full lips painted a deep red I can see from this distance with cheekbones sharp enough to cut a man on impact.
If I were a man, I would also do something stupid for her, possibly something prosecutable.
I look down at my own clothes.
Dark jeans, a white blouse, Brooke’s old gray coat over the back of the bench because the publicist said casual girlfriend, don’t try too hard.
Then there is also the fact that I’ve been wearing my own clothes.
The publicist clearly has never had to compete with a small Russian aristocracy on ice.
My ears are bare. The braid in my hair is coming apart at the bottom, and my boots are scuffed from the salt on the parking lot.
I touch one earlobe before I can stop myself.
“So that’s his type,” I murmur.
Brody glances at me, eyebrows knit. “What?”
“Just trying to figure out where the publicist slotted me. Probably under charity case.”
“Carver. Don’t compare yourself to her. She’s got nothing on you. You’re beautiful on the inside.”
He’s grinning at the last part.
“Are you calling me ugly?” I scowl.
He waggles his brows at me. “Did I say that?”
“If I wasn’t sure I’d break my toe, I would kick you.” I glare at him.
He just laughs and nudges me. “You’re overthinking.” He tilts his head in Vanessa’s direction. “All that is a facade. She is rotten inside. Grayson is head over heels for you. You could wear a potato sack and he would still think you are the hottest thing since sliced bread.”
“You really need to stop trying to make me feel better, Brody,” I mutter. “Somehow I just feel worse.”
He sighs. “Women.”
I don’t pay attention to him. I have never been one to care about my looks. But compared to her, I look scraggly. In terms of looks and dressing, I can’t hold a candle to Vanessa. I look nothing like her, even in the most basic terms.
Is that why Grayson is so comfortable with me? Because I am the complete opposite of his ex?
I tug at my ear again, wishing I had some of my old cheap jewelry to adorn my ears.
I sold the last pair of earrings a couple of months ago.
I don’t even have money to buy more, or better clothes.
Maybe it’s time I start looking for a job.
I can do private nursing, make some money, and at least dress a little better.
I make a strangled sound in my throat when I realize what I’m doing.
I’m not going to change who I am for a man!
But—I glance toward where Vanessa is sitting. It bothers me so much.
Ethan tugs my sleeve. “Miranda.”
I glance down at him.
“Why is your face sad?”
I summon a smile from somewhere. “It isn’t.”
“It is.” He tilts his head, considering me with the gravity of a small judge, then holds out his half-eaten hot dog with both hands. “You can have it.”
The lump that comes up in my throat is sudden and large.
“That’s your hot dog, buddy.”
“I want you to have it.”
I take a bite because saying no will undo me. He beams like I’ve just signed a treaty.
When I lift my eyes again, Vanessa is watching me.
Across the entire arena, she’s watching me, her face unmoving. The corners of her mouth are tight. Her gloved hands rest in her lap. She doesn’t even pretend to look at the ice.
I look away.
Once Ethan has focused on the game, I look at Brody.
“Were she and Ethan close?” The question comes out before I’ve fully thought it through. I keep my voice low. Ethan is back to the rink, banging his palm against the plexiglass at something I missed.
Brody glances down at the top of Ethan’s head, then at me, shaking his head once, hard.
“No.” His voice has gone low to match mine. “She hated him. That’s not nice to say, but it’s the truth. She didn’t want him from the first ultrasound from what I’ve heard.”
My stomach knots.
“Then why is she fighting for him?” It comes out almost a whisper.
“You want my real opinion?”
“Please.”
Brody’s jaw works for a second. “When Gabriel died, Grayson was on the verge of quitting the team. Vanessa only wanted him for the glory and the celebrity status, I guess. She chose to cheat with a player who was on his way to the big leagues.” His voice is whisper soft as he leans closer.
“You didn’t hear it from me, but I think she got pregnant on purpose.
The two of them were having issues, and she thought Grayson might leave her. ”
“And when Gabriel died?”
“Ethan would have been two or three months. She was cruel to Grayson while he was grieving. Nobody was happier than us when he divorced her. She agreed to the divorce easily because she thought he would never make it big. Now she can’t stand it.”
“But—” I look back at Grayson on the rink. “I don’t understand. He’s been popular for the past two years. Why now?”
Brody makes a thoughtful face. “You’re right. Maybe it’s you.”
“Me?”
He sneers in Vanessa’s direction. “Women like her—no, people like her don’t like it when others pick up their discarded toys and treat them better and want to play with them.”
I bristle. “Grayson’s not a toy.”
“No, he’s not. But in her eyes, she still has a claim on him.
It was always a sore spot for her that he divorced her so publicly.
She had still been shopping around when he dropped her, and that really pissed her off.
Now he has a human fiancée, one her son adores.
Want to bet she’s got an itch about the whole thing? ”
I don’t know if she’s got an itch about anything, but it makes me grind my teeth. I don’t know much about Vanessa and Grayson’s relationship, but whatever I am able to piece together does not paint her in any sort of good light.
“Did she ever try to see Ethan after the divorce?”
Brody leans forward. “No. Not that I know of. She left without a second glance. The pack refused to hand over custody, and she never asked for it. But she made sure that the whole pack viewed it as Grayson forcibly keeping Ethan. That’s why Grayson has never let Ethan interact with the pack so much, not after one of his female friends tried to kidnap Ethan to give over to Vanessa. ”
“Kidnapping?” I stare at Brody, my mind reeling.
“It failed. She was caught before she could get far, but it made Grayson incredibly paranoid after that. He’s never trusted any of the pack females aside from Linda after that.”
I study him cautiously. “You keep saying ‘pack.’ What do you—?”
“Brody, you’re up!” Coach Ramirez barks, and Brody grins at me, grabbing his helmet.
“Gotta go.”
I watch him hurry on to the rink and hold Ethan tighter.
On the ice, the puck is back in play. Grayson weaves between two defenders. Brent shadows him with the focus of a man who’s been waiting a long time for this matchup. Every check Brent throws sits just barely inside the rules: a shoulder lift, an elbow, a shove against the boards.
Grayson takes it. He absorbs hit after hit and keeps moving, but something is working behind his eyes I have not seen before, a slow simmer that makes the air around him feel different.
The hits keep coming.
By the second period, Grayson has been driven into the boards four times. Twice it was Brent, once a winger I don’t know the name of, the fourth time the entire opposing defensive line piling on like they’d rehearsed it.
Why isn’t anyone stopping this?
At this point, Grayson’s team is trying to block Brent from getting close to him. But I know Grayson. He likes to get even.
Out on the ice, Grayson skates past Brent close enough that their shoulders brush. He leans in, saying something low against the side of Brent’s helmet. Brent’s head snaps around, but Grayson is already gone, gliding back to position with his face giving nothing away.
Brent loses his next faceoff because his concentration is shot.
A laugh escapes me under my breath.
“What’s Daddy doing?” Ethan asks curiously.
“He’s teaching his bully a lesson.” I rest my hands on his shoulders. Grayson is being sneaky-aggressive. Every time Brent throws a heavy check, Grayson absorbs it, then three plays later dumps Brent into the boards from an angle that looks legal to the ref but lands hard enough to make Brent gasp.
The third time it happens, I’m on my feet shouting before I catch myself. Ethan is hooting beside me, jumping up and down on the bench. The teammates around us are pounding the wall. Brody grins like it’s Christmas.
“Yeah, Wolfe!”
Grayson’s eyes flick to our bench as he skates past. Just once, for half a second, the corner of his mouth lifts.
In the third period, with eleven seconds left on the clock, Grayson scores the winning goal. A clean wrist shot, glove side, top corner. The arena explodes. Ethan’s screaming, I’m screaming.
The buzzer goes. The team pours over the boards.