“But you have a history with them, right?” Persephone asked from where she leaned against the wall in Langley’s office.
“Maxim is Caz’s best friend. I’ve known him for around two years. And Sterling…” Another warm shiver danced over my skin as our heated argument at Scythe last week raced through my mind.
“I only recently met Sterling,” I finally answered Langley.
Langley nodded, settling into the leather chair behind her desk. “This could be a great angle,” she said, the gears churning behind her eyes. “As you know, this year’s main charity organization is Ronald McDonald House. We’ve been mapping out strategies to ensure we uphold their family-oriented mission statement and how the Reapers can represent that image off the ice. Having brothers on the team and running promo spots to showcase that would go a long way to showing the nation what the Carolina Reapers truly stand for.”
“They didn’t look like the kind of brothers that knock back beers on Saturdays,” Persephone said, gracefully taking a seat in the empty chair next to mine.
I barely held back a laugh. Whenever they were within ten feet of each other, they looked one wrong blink away from an eruption. And Sterling wasn’t the asshole Maxim had said he was. “That’s an understatement.”
“Everyone has family drama,” Langley said, waving us off. “This is a business. I want us to earn a ton of donations for Ronald McDonald House this season. If highlighting the famous brothers loosens investors’ pockets, then it’s a win.”
I nodded, seeing her point. I couldn’t help but admire her—she was practically a legend in the public relations game. And even though I wasn’t gunning for her job, I was gunning for her approval. And I wasn’t the only one. Asher Silas had hired two game day event coordinators, and only one of us would be kept on for next season. Sean Cook was straight out of college just like me, but without the familial ties to the industry. Having Langley’s approval at the end of this season would go a long way in Silas’ eyes, especially when I proved my worth without my brother’s name attached to mine. Which I would do.
“Do you think you could get them to cooperate for promo spots?” She asked me, and I blinked a few times, wondering if she’d intended the question for Persephone.
“Me?”
Langley laughed. “You know them better than we do,” she said, motioning to Persephone.
“Sterling was traded before I got a proper chance to truly know him,” Persephone said. “But I know Cannon is so thrilled he’s back.”
“Can you do it?” Langley asked, and the weight of the question punched me in the chest. The panic was nothing like when I’d been trapped in that elevator, or any other small, confined space. That panic was ice-cold and debilitating. This panic? It crackled with an adrenaline-fueled challenge.
Because that’s what this was.
A massive, fuck-all of a challenge.
Getting two brothers who hated each other to smile pretty for the camera? Locking myself in a closet seemed an easier feat.
“I’ll make it happen,” I said, hoping like hell I was telling the truth.
Langley and Persephone smiled at me before they shared another silent, secret look.
“Good,” Langley said. “Keep me posted on your progress with them.”
I nodded and pushed back from my chair, heading toward her door. She’d given me a chance to prove myself as the new employee on the docket, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to let her down.
Even if it meant I had to tie the brothers together and yank their asses into submission, I would.
I suppressed another laugh as I headed out of the arena. The idea of willing either of those hulking, delicious men into submission was ridiculous enough to have my head spinning.
I was so screwed.
“Caz?” I called as I pushed opened the unlocked front door to his brand-new home in Reaper Village. Had to hand it to Silas, the man was a business genius. And herding his players into one easily monitored yet secluded location? Totally brilliant. Not only did it boost morale for the team, it gave them a sense of privacy in a world desperate to expose them. And since my big brother was one of those celebrity athletes subject to stalkers, overzealous puck bunnies, and bloodthirsty paparazzi, I was super grateful for it.
“Back here!” Caspian hollered, and I walked down the hallway, dodging unpacked boxes until I ended up in the kitchen. The space was all clean white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a giant marble island in the middle.
The same marble island that Maxim Zolotov leaned against.
“What are you doing here, sis?” Caz asked as he unloaded groceries into his bare fridge. “And why didn’t you bring those scone things with you?”
I huffed out a laugh, sitting my purse on the clean island. “One, I’ve barely settled into my apartment, let alone have time to bake for you.” I shook my head. I loved my brother and often went out of my way to make his favorite treat—maple cinnamon scones—but I was here in a business capacity. “And two,” I said, motioning to his glorious kitchen. “You have all the tools necessary to make them yourself now.”
He glared at me in faux shock before returning his groceries.
“You didn’t answer the first question,” Maxim said, his strong arms folded over his chest as he looked down at me. He had that tiny lilt of an accent to his words, something I’d grown used to over the two years I’d known him.
I looked up at him, narrowing my gaze. “Whenever you talked about Sterling before, you said he was a selfish, playboy of an asshole. Why didn’t you ever mention that he happened to be your brother?” Not that he owed me any explanation, he was my brother’s best friend, not mine. We were friendly, sure, but not on a level where I deserved to know every detail of his life. But…why hide a brother?
“Did you ask him the same thing?” he asked, the hard line of his jaw popping just a fraction.
Oh, there was a nerve there. Well, I’d guessed that but seeing it was totally different. Not that Maxim didn’t always look…intimidating. He did. The NHL shape—all muscles and strength and dominance—didn’t help, but there was something in his eyes. A kind of guarded anger that threatened to spill out any second. And mentioning Sterling as his brother? You’d think I’d called him an awful skater or something.
“I haven’t spoken to Sterling yet,” I said, not at all deterred by his sharp tone. I’d been around him and Caz long enough to hear more than my fair share of bro-vent sessions. “He’s next on my list,” I said. If I was being honest, I was delaying speaking to Jansen. Not only because of his reaction at Scythe, but because of the way he’d snuck into my thoughts on more than one occasion.
The idea of seeing him again? Catching that scent, staring into those crushing-blue eyes, peeking those whorls of black ink that teased above the collar of any shirt he wore? Warm shivers danced down my spine. I wanted to know where those tattoos led beneath the fabric—
“You put me first?” Maxim grinned. “I always knew you had a crush on me.”
I rolled my eyes. His teasing was another thing I was used to. Sure, I knew the man’s hockey stats, but that didn’t mean I had a thing for him. “Funny,” I said. “You’re always mooching off my brother,” I teased right back. “You were easy to find.”
He smirked. “I’d be easy for you.”
“Good,” I fired back. “I need you to be easy.”
“The fuck you say?” Caz snapped as he shut the fridge and spun around. He cocked a brow at his friend, but there was no real threat in his tone. He knew Maxim liked to mess with me. I think it was like a rite of passage to pick on your best friend’s little sister.
“For my work!” I snapped at my brother, then looked to Maxim.
Maxim laughed, shaking his head.
“Seriously, Maxim,” I said, softening my tone and totally ignoring my grumbling brother. He was the definition of cock-block, not that I had any interest in Maxim. Just, my brother being who he was, not many guys had the balls to pursue
me. And even if they somehow made it past Caspian’s wicked intimidating grill-sessions, they often couldn’t stand the heat of the life. Which was fine. I’d had one relationship, and that was just about enough as far as I was concerned.
“Would it be possible for you to play nice with Sterling?” I asked. “Langley wants to do some family promos to highlight our sponsorship with the Ronald McDonald House this season. It would be super beneficial for the organization, the team, and our image.”
All teasing left Maxim’s eyes as he shrugged. “I’m a professional,” he said. “I don’t let anything stand in the way of the game. If it’s good for the team, I’m in.”
“Great,” I said, sighing a little. One down—
“Don’t expect Sterling to be as mature as me,” he said.
I furrowed my brow. “Why didn’t you ever mention him? Why is it such a secret—”
“Not much of a secret anymore,” he cut me off. “Now that you and Langley want to parade us around—”
“Not what we’re doing,” I interrupted him and fashioned him with a glare for good measure. “This was me asking. I’m not threatening your contract if you don’t comply.”
He tipped his chin up.
So that was a plead-the-fifth on the brother questions. Got it.
“Okay,” I said, blowing out a breath as I grabbed my purse. “This has been super fun.” I glanced to Caz, who was in the middle of building a sandwich four slices of bread high, before returning to focus on Maxim. “Maxim, thank you for being a professional. I’ll text you the details as soon as I know them.” I spun on my heels, my heart hiccuping a little at the thought of my next obstacle—Sterling. A huge obstacle, since he’d done everything to avoid me since he’d seen me being friendly with Maxim.
“You can text me any time,” Maxim called as I walked toward the front door, and I rolled my eyes.
I settled into my car, butterflies flapping in my stomach. Somehow I knew convincing Sterling to do anything with Maxim beyond throw punches would be ten times harder than it had been with Maxim. But the challenge sparked something in my blood…
Or it could be that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Sterling since the night in the elevator. I quite possibly hated him for that reason alone—the last thing I needed right now was a distraction, but holy hockey Gods, Jansen Sterling was the distraction. All carved muscles, crushing blue eyes, and a smirk that promised pleasure. And he’d been so…sweet in the elevator. Not mocking my fear, but helping to disarm it. That alone would be enough to have me intrigued, but add to it his pure, primal vibe at Scythe? It was a terribly irresistible combination.
Getting him to agree to the promo spots might be impossible, but I couldn’t deny how much I wanted to be the one to get him to agree.
I just had to hope like hell he’d listen.
3
Sterling
The locker room hummed with the kind of palpable excitement that only existed during preseason. There was always an energy before a game, but it changed depending on our record and where we were in the season. If we were doing well and headed toward playoffs, it was a fierce, almost cocky atmosphere. If we were playing like shit, there was always a bitter tang of desperation in the air. But preseason? That shit was magic. Anything was possible.
We had yet to find out who we were as a team or whether our individual talents might be swallowed up by massive egos or welded together in a united purpose.
For the last few weeks, we’d been practicing, and it wasn’t like I didn’t know the lines or couldn’t remember how to depend on Nathan or Hudson, but this wasn’t the same team I’d left three years ago. There were two new rookies this year alone, and a lot had changed in the year the expansion draft had forced me to Bangor.
One of them, Hudson Porter sat on my left, putting on his gear.
“You’re seriously considering retiring after this year?” I asked, pulling on my Under Armour shirt over my head.
Porter strapped on his shoulder pads over bare skin and nodded. “I love this game, but it’s about that time. Kills me to admit it, but the bruises last longer. The injuries don’t heal as fast, and well, the twins are almost two. I’d like to see them grow up in person as opposed to Facetime, and Elliot is fifteen.” He shook his head. “I only have a few years left with her before college. Time is passing.”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I said quietly. Hudson was in his mid-thirties, and yeah, it was a reasonable deduction, but still a mindfuck to think about. One day we’d all be too old to play professionally.
“You starting today?” he asked, reaching for his elbow pads.
“Nawh. Sawyer’s up today. I’m on tomorrow.” There were no bitter feelings about the schedule, either. We were a team with two excellent goalies, and that was all that needed to be said about that.
You’re weak glove side. You don’t anticipate or react fast enough.
His words sliced through my brain, intruding on the real estate I’d worked my ass off to take back from him. My father had seen me play a total of one time, and that was all he’d had to say when he’d ambushed after the game two years ago. Luckily, Cannon had been at my side, which had only served to remind me that blood didn’t make family.
But as much as I’d wished I could say that little encounter hadn’t affected me, it had. I’d spent the last two years honing my weak spots, focusing glove side.
With perfect timing, Maxim sailed through the door, bobbing his head to something in his ear pods, then took the seat directly across the room. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to stare at a locker with a Zolotov jersey hanging from it, the fucker looked just like our father. Same cheekbones and chin, same arrogant stare that came out of the same dark blue eyes that we happened to share.
Genetics were a bitch.
“You okay?” Briggs took his seat next to me, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
“What’s not to be okay about?” I brushed off what I could. Silas had refused to let me out of my contract, and to be honest, I didn’t want to go. I wanted him to get the fuck out of my locker room, but that wasn’t happening either.
“That’s how you’re going to play this?” Briggs glanced between Maxim and me, then stretched back for his gear.
I shrugged and grabbed my chest protector.
The door swung open, and Brogan “The Demon” Grant stalked through, wearing his typical, perpetual scowl as he walked straight to his spot.
“Glad to see he’s still a ray of sunshine.” I scoffed and slipped my pads over my head. Guy was fast, mean, and accurate as hell with his shot. He also kept to himself. Now whether that was by his choice or a result of his sparkling personality, I’d never know.
“He got arrested in a bar brawl last night,” Briggs said under his breath, earning a quick look from both Hudson and myself. “It’s all over that gossip site. They got pics of Silas bailing him out.”
“Well, he earned that Demon nickname back in L.A. for a reason,” I muttered. We all knew what it was—he had the temper from hell.
“I’m just saying that I’ve seen her around the arena, and she’s fine as fuck,” one of the rookies said from across the room.
Go figure it was the kid sitting next to Maxim, and yes, apparently I now defined twenty-two-year-olds as kids, even though I was only a few years older.
“You’re just lucky Caz is in the bathroom,” Maxim said with a scoff. “He’d beat your ass for talking about his sister like that.”
London. I nearly groaned at just the mention of her name. It had been almost a month since we’d been trapped in that elevator, and I’d avoided her like the fucking plague ever since. Had she known Maxim was my brother all that time? Had she sat there, listening to me say my mother had raised me on my own, knowing exactly why?
Was she with him?
That question sliced me open like a damned scalpel. Those eyes had been in my dreams almost every night since. Her voice was in my head. Her curves were branded on my fucking p
alms from helping her out of that elevator. Her number had also shown up on my phone about a dozen times in the last week. All were filed under unanswered.
She was the Reapers’ newest game day coordinator. The only reason she had to be calling me was about Maxim, and fuck if I was talking about him with her.
He asked first. That’s what she’d said that night at the bar when she’d shown up with her brother and the guy I shared some genes with. Shit still grated on me.
“You think Foster doesn’t know his sister is hot?”
“As if you had a chance anyway,” the kid out of Boston—McKittrick—said, shaking his head at the other one. Shit, I really needed to learn names.
“I would be all over that if Foster didn’t keep her all locked up.” The rookie grabbed his jersey—Greene—and put it on.
“Want to bet on it?” Maxim shook his head, yanking his pads on.
My fists curled. There was zero fucking chance he’d just said what I thought I heard.
“Sterling,” Briggs muttered in warning.
“I’m up for a little wager,” Greene said with a cocky smirk that sent me over the edge.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I said across the room, nailing them both with a glare.
Greene raised his eyebrows.
McKittrick winced and scooted a little farther down the bench, putting space between him and Greene.
“I’m sorry, were you in this conversation?” Maxim cocked his head to the side and looked me over like an insect that needed to be squashed.
“You can’t just bet on a woman. This isn’t some shitty teenage movie.” I stood.
So did Maxim.
“Don’t ever try and tell me what I can or cannot do, especially when it comes to London,” he hissed through bared teeth.
“Guys,” Hudson rose, rolling his shoulders back. He was known for throwing more than his share of punches on the ice.
Sterling: A Carolina Reapers Novel Page 3