Chapter 3
MADDOX
On Monday morning, my agent is silent at my side as we walk down the hallway toward the Vancouver Warriors owner’s office. My stomach is doing somersaults, and I have to swallow profusely to keep the protein shake I chugged on the way to the arena from coming back up.
On the outside, I look cool and calm, but on the inside, I’m a nervous mess. We’re headed right for shark-infested waters, and I’m bleeding buckets.
“Say something,” I mutter, slanting a look at Dougie. The man has aged heavily in the time I’ve known him, but considering he was my father’s agent and has been around our family for pretty much my entire life, it was bound to happen.
At fifty years old, Douglas Trelix is the best of the best. I’m lucky to have him on my side, even if he can be a real hard-ass when I need him to be anything but.
“That’s one hell of a shiner you got there.”
“You should see the bruise on my stomach.”
Somehow, my nose isn’t broken, but it’s fucking ugly. My bruised right eye and sore abdomen made sleep last night nearly impossible. I think I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a few hours before I finally managed to pass out just before the sun came up.
“Don’t say anything when we get in there unless absolutely necessary. We both know how you can get,” Dougie says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know damn well what it means. You can get real defensive, and now is not the time.”
I blow out a harsh breath and come to a stop, turning to face him. My fingers curl before I shove my hands in the pockets of my slacks. “So, I’m not supposed to defend myself? I didn’t do anything wrong last night. Even you can admit that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You saw the articles this morning.
Have you checked your Instagram? You’ve been trending since the first photo leaked.
Nobody knows the real story but you, me, and your family.
Everyone else sees the best player in the NHL spending a night out getting beat up in front of a dirty bar littered with used needles with his little brother.
The same brother who they happened to catch throwing a wad of cash on the road and who was arrested for starting a brawl in that same bar a month ago. ”
“Noah doesn’t need to be involved in this,” I say sternly.
Dougie laughs humourlessly. “Too late. Now, get your ass in that office so we can get this figured out.” He grabs my shoulder and squeezes as we start walking again, closing in on the office door. “Don’t speak unless you have to. Let us handle this for you.”
My brows pull together. “Us?” He ignores me, and my gut pinches. “Who is us, Dougie?”
Again, he ignores me, and I scowl as he knocks on the door, his knuckles hitting just below the gold plate declaring this Alexander Torello’s office. Footsteps come from the opposite side, and I steel my spine. Whether I’m ready for this or not, I refuse to let anyone see me falter.
With a goosh of air, the door swings open, and Alexander himself greets us. His expressionless face cools the air, filling it with a thick tension that tries to rattle me. Harsh brown eyes meet mine as he takes me in, assessing in a way that makes my skin prickle.
“Maddox. Douglas. Come in,” he commands after a brief moment.
“Nice to see you again, Alex, even under these circumstances,” Dougie says smoothly, his confidence unwavering.
He walks inside, and I follow, only stopping to nod and say a quick hello to the man holding my entire career in his hands.
Pleasantries aren’t on the table today, so there’s no point in trying.
“Hello, sir.”
He nods stiffly and shuts the door behind us. Only after he’s moved out of the way do I look to the side of the office and narrow my eyes on the man resting against the arm of a leather sofa, looking as cool as a goddamn cucumber.
“Dad.”
“Son,” he replies.
Anger beats like a kick drum in my chest. My eyes say everything to him that I can’t. What are you doing here?
Relax, his say.
Right. As if.
“Alex called me in this morning after the story broke,” he explains out loud, but it falls on deaf ears.
Oakley Hutton is a Vancouver Warriors legend, and even though he retired fairly early on in his career, it was never because he was losing his skill. If anything, he was continuing to get better each season, his age be damned.
His relationship with the organization is tight-knit.
The very angry owner watching our encounter at this very moment shared a handful of Saturday dinners with us while I was growing up, his late father being the previous owner during my father’s career.
Maybe that means I shouldn’t be surprised to see my father here right now.
It doesn’t even matter. This isn’t my father’s career, nor his business. It’s mine, and I should have been notified before he was brought into the mix.
“Your dad dealt with his fair share of publicity nightmares over the course of his career, Maddox. And considering your brother is also involved in this, I wanted him here. Is that going to be a problem?” Alexander asks me.
Shoving back my annoyance, I shake my head. “No, sir.”
“Good. Then let’s get right into it. The press is swarming like flies on a cow’s ass.
This won’t blow over easily. They have video footage of you getting your ass kicked by that guy outside of Ralph’s.
They have statements from a few of the people outside who said it was, in fact, a drug deal gone sideways, and the photos of Noah throwing the guy a wad of cash don’t help your case.
Now, we know that wasn’t what happened, but I’m going to need you to take a drug test before you leave here today and another before the game Tuesday. ”
“Not a problem.”
I’ve gone twenty-six years without touching drugs, and I’m not about to fuck that record up now.
“Then there’s the other matter we need to discuss,” he adds, and my stomach drops.
“What other matter?”
Dad steps up beside me, the air tense between us. “Roy Heights.”
My blood runs cold as memories rattle the walls of the mental box I keep them locked inside. “What about him?”
“I got a call from him this morning. He tried to make it seem as if he were doing us a favour by letting us know beforehand, but we know that was just an attempt at a power play. He filmed a segment on Sports Weekly this morning to ‘come clean’ about what really happened between you two eight years ago. That dirty bastard has been waiting for something like last night to happen so he would have an opportunity to bury you,” Dougie says, his voice tight, strained.
Dad places a sturdy hand on my upper back and moves it up and down. “All he has is lies and a bitter soul. It won’t work, son.”
“This is why you’re here. Not because of what happened last night,” I note as everything starts to click into place. “What did he say on the show? What lies? Did he mention her?”
My boss steps into my line of sight and scowls. His eyes are dark. So dark. “First, we need a plan on how to clean this up fast. There’s not much truth to what he’s claiming, but there is some. We’ve done a good job of keeping it hidden, but there’s only so much we can leave up to chance.”
“What did he say?” I ask again, and even as Dad digs his fingers into my back in an attempt to silence me, I can’t seem to stop talking. Not after I’ve heard Braxton’s father’s name for the first time since—
“He said that you fired him as your agent when you were eighteen because his daughter broke your heart and that because of your arrogance back then, he struggled to find any more clients. When he was asked about the events of last night, he also hinted at past drug use and violence as a reason why the relationship between you and his daughter never worked. He blames you for his terrible career and is proving that he isn’t afraid of lying to get even,” Dougie says.
It’s all lies. Well, almost all of it. His daughter didn’t just break my heart.
She tossed it into a shredder and then took the pieces and stomped and spit on them.
Still, that isn’t why I fired Roy from his position as my agent all those years ago.
That came after he ruined the first year of my career with his fake promises and my misplaced trust.
I draw in a slow breath to try and keep from throwing my fist into a wall. My composure is slipping quicker by the second, and as three sets of eyes watch me cautiously, I only get more wound up.
“When does it go live? What can we do?” I mutter.
“This afternoon. There’s nothing we can do to stop it from releasing. The only thing we can do now is try and deal with the aftermath of it,” Dad says.
“There’s nothing we can do? Seriously?” I look at Alexander when I ask the question, my stare incredulous. “You can’t really be letting this get out.”
His eyes narrow. “What is it you would like me to do? This is your mess, Maddox. You’re lucky I’m not cutting my losses with you and letting you drown in this.”
“He’s right, kid. This story is going to come out whether we like it or not, and we need a way to cauterize the bleeding before your career has the chance to die,” Dougie adds.
I grind my teeth together. “He’s a dead man.
He sold me lie after lie, and I believed every single one because of her, and it nearly cost me everything.
Is that not enough for him?” Glancing at Alexander, I release a tight breath and focus on speaking calmly and letting my appreciation show.
“You saved my career once, and I appreciate that you’re willing to do it again. ”
He nods. “You’re the best player in the league. Regardless of our personal relationship, I would have done the same thing for any member of my team in this position. You were young and na?ve when you made those decisions. This side of the problem is not on you.”
“We can’t say the same about last night,” Dad says, completely in parent mode now. “You should have called me as soon as your sister called you. Noah’s life decisions are not your responsibility; they are mine.”
I swallow my laugh. “We both know you’re the last person Noah wants help from.”
He tries and fails to hide a wince. “Regardless, this mess could have been dealt with better.”
“We already have a few ideas on what to do next, but we want your opinion before we go forward,” Dougie says.
I turn to him, catching his brief, encouraging smile. “What are you thinking?”
“We’ll start with lifting your image from the gutter it’s fallen in.
Some charity work, fundraisers, an official statement denying Roy’s claims and the accusations from last night, that sort of thing.
You’ll need to walk a straight fucking line, kid.
If someone asks for a comment, your answer is that you don’t have one.
Avoid the press as much as you can. Keep up appearances, post on social media like normal.
The goal is to make this look like one last-ditch effort from a bitter, washed-up agent to get revenge and a robbery gone wrong outside of that bar. ”
My stomach churns as nerves spark through me. “And if that doesn’t work?”
It’s Alexander who answers, his words clipped. “We’ll cross that bridge if we get there.”