Chapter 46 #2
She sighs when she pulls away, brushing her fingers across the stubble on my jaw. “Text me when you land?”
I nod.
“Miss you already.” She kisses me again before climbing out of the car. “Have fun tonight. I know you’ll win.”
“I already have,” I say to myself as she walks into the house, flashing me one last bright smile before closing the door.
“What the fuck?”
In between pulling my gear on in Florida’s visitor locker room, I glance over at Maddox.
He’s already suited up and frowning down at his phone.
I’m not surprised to find him frowning. We’re all on edge after our loss last night in game three and feeling the pressure to win tonight and tie things up.
“What’s wrong?” Griffin looks over Maddox’s shoulder at the phone in his hand. His eyebrows knit together, and soon his expression matches his brother-in-law’s. “The fuck?”
I’m going through my normal pre-game routine, visualizing shots and how I’ll stop them as I get ready, so I ignore them. Or at least try to. That becomes more difficult when my teammates look at me in unison, brows furrowed, jaws tight. “What?”
Griffin and Maddox turn to each other, holding the kind of silent conversation that belies their long friendship. Whatever they’re mentally debating, it doesn’t look great, and my stomach twists.
“What are you two going on about?” Logan asks, taking the phone from Maddox’s hand. Ryder sidles up next to him, and the two of them read whatever has Griffin and Madds in a tizzy.
“Oh, shit.” Ryder grimaces when he looks up at me, and my heart starts racing.
“Someone needs to tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about,” Griffin offers.
Unsurprisingly, saying that only makes me worry more.
“Right. There’s no way anything he’s saying is true.” Maddox looks at Logan and Ryder. “Right?”
“Right,” Ryder agrees. It’s a little too emphatic.
“Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on. Right now.” My hand shakes when I hold it out, palm up, demanding the phone.
“Maybe we should wait until after the game.” Logan tries to pull the phone back, but I snatch it out of his hand before he can. “Seriously, man, I’m not sure you should read that right now.”
Based on their reactions, I’m not sure I should, either, but we have five minutes until we’re expected to be on the ice, and I won’t be able to concentrate if I don’t find out what has all of them looking so panicked.
My mind will conjure progressively more disturbing scenarios as the game goes on, and that won’t help me protect the net.
It’s an online article, and the headline immediately has me on edge.
Trouble off the Ice? Is local hockey star embroiled in a love triangle, or is it all for show?
What the fuck?
Heart hammering, my eyes race across the screen as I try to make sense of what I’m reading.
The sports world has been abuzz with talk of the relationship between Rogues’ goalie Sebastian Navarro and Indigo Bloom—the daughter of movie stars Robert Bloom and Vivian Marsh—after Bloom was spotted multiple times with the star goalie.
Interest blew up after the pair were seen at a local Minneapolis restaurant with Navarro’s parents, sparking speculation that their relationship is more serious than anyone previously believed.
But is the relationship real, a love triangle, or simply a PR stunt to create hype for Bloom’s writing career?
When Sports News Daily reached out to Bloom, she declined to comment, but we were able to connect with former boyfriend, Ryland Howell, who had some interesting things to say about the pair.
Howell, who dated Bloom for a little more than a year prior to her move to Minneapolis, said that she was an avid hockey fan during their relationship, with the Minnesota Rogues being her favorite team.
He told us that, while she never came out and said it, he suspected Navarro was her favorite player.
When we asked Howell why he thought their relationship may be a PR setup, he pointed to Miss Bloom’s writing career.
While Bloom has not confirmed that she is the writer Violet Quinn, Howell speculates she may be feeling pressure from her publishing company to distance herself from her famous parents’ recent divorce and sex tape scandal.
As Howell said, “What better way for a romance writer to do that than to be seen dating a famous athlete?”
What better way, indeed? Especially when readers have uncovered a decade-old fan fiction allegedly written by Bloom that features a hero remarkably reminiscent of Rogues goalie, Navarro?
A low growl builds in my throat as I read this bullshit. Who the hell does this asshole think he is? Is he so insecure about himself that he has to tell people Indie’s dating me as a PR stunt to make himself feel better about losing her, or does he actually believe she can’t pull a famous athlete?
I’m not sure which is worse.
Breathing deeply through my nose to calm my raging heart, I force myself to keep reading.
Howell is in the Twin Cities visiting with Bloom, and while he admits they had been taking a break from their relationship, he told us it was never meant to be permanent.
The LA native claims he was unable to leave Hollywood, due to his position as Robert Bloom’s personal assistant, so he suggested the break to make things easier for Indigo.
Howell claims he was unaware of Bloom’s plan to create public interest in her pen name with a relationship but that he’s in town to bring her home.
Sports News Daily has reached out to Navarro’s agent for comment, but we were not able to connect.
This is an evolving story, and we will update it when we hear from Bloom’s or Navarro’s representation.
Whether fake, complicated, or genuine, one thing is certain: the public is invested in this unlikely pair.
So SND wants to know, do you think Sebastian Navarro and Indigo Bloom are really dating?
Or is this all a PR stunt to help Bloom’s writing star rise?
It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep myself from hurling Maddox’s phone across the room. All the calm I worked so hard to build shatters like glass. My heart races, pressure builds in my chest, and my hands shake. “What the fuck?”
“You all right, man?” Ryder places a hand on the back of my neck, since my shoulders are covered in protective gear and squeezes.
“Not really.” I’m fucking pissed. How dare that selfish piece of shit do this to her?
“There’s no way she’s faking anything,” Griffin says seriously.
“Of course she’s not.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I’m pissed about. I know all of this is bullshit.” The gear I’m wearing usually feels like a second skin, but right now, it’s oppressive.
“Do you think she’s seen this?” Logan asks, taking the phone from my shaking hands with a deep frown.
“I don’t know. I should call her. She’s going to be so hurt that he did this.
Doesn’t the asshole understand how much she hates this kind of attention?
And here he is, creating speculation about her private life.
It’s exactly why she left LA.” I’m going to beat the shit out of Ryland Howell if I ever have the misfortune of meeting him.
“I’ll text Lex to give her a heads-up, just in case. Rally the troops.” Ryder steps away from me and grabs his phone from his locker, quickly tapping away.
I need to check on Indie. Make sure she’s okay.
Earlier, I’d thrown my phone in my duffel bag, and I reach for it now to dig it out.
“It’s time, men.” Coach Fry’s deep voice is cold water dumped over my head.
“This is what we’ve been working for. I know we’re disappointed about our loss last night.
No one wants to be down by one going into game four, but this is our chance to tie things up.
Time to go out there, play our asses off, and show the Sharks that they’re not the apex predator in this barn tonight. ”
Everyone on the team cheers, hyping themselves and each other up. Everyone except for me, Maddox, Griffin, Ryder, and Logan. They’re watching me as I dig through my bag, frustration growing with every second I can’t find my damn phone.
“Navarro. You good?” Fry’s eyes narrow, the amber skin of his brow furrowing.
Shaking myself out of it, I force myself to nod. “Yeah, Coach.”
“Good. Then let’s get moving.” He slaps me on the back as I reluctantly abandon my efforts to find my phone, get to my feet, and move on autopilot toward the visitor entrance to the ice. “We’re counting on you tonight, son.”
We’re counting on you.
The simple phrase reverberates through my head, growing louder and louder.
They’re counting on me.
My parents are counting on me.
Indie’s counting on me.
I don’t have time to freak out about some Hollywood weasel.
Maybe he’s in the Twin Cities, maybe he’s not.
It doesn’t matter. Indie’s with Lola and the rest of the ladies.
She’s safe. She’s fine. There’s nothing I can do to change any of this right now, so I need to push it out of my mind. I can’t afford to let it take up space.
Right now, I need to focus on the game. I need to win it for the men and women of this organization. And I need to win it for Indie. Because if I fuck up after this article came out, my girl will never hear the end of it.
My chest tightens. The gear I’ve worn daily for decades grows heavy. My helmet is stifling.
It’s hard to breathe.
“Hey.” Maddox’s concerned voice breaks through the ringing in my ears.
When did that start?
“Breathe. It’s going to be okay.”
I nod. The movement feels wooden. “Yeah. Of course.”
I must sound convincing because Maddox nods at me, pats me on the back, and focuses his attention on the ice as the announcer introduces us to overwhelming boos and jeers from Florida fans.
When it’s my turn to step onto the ice, it feels like my body weighs a thousand pounds.
Everyone is counting on me.
I listen for the sound of cracking ice, ready for it to swallow me whole. All I hear is static and the hammering of my pulse in my ears.
I can’t fuck this up.