“You’ll get used to it,” I assure her. “In a few days, you’ll be a pro at it.”
“I suppose,” she says glumly, but then it’s as if a light is switched on. “But hey…you played so good tonight. Two goals and an assist. You are on fire.”
Chuckling, I tap my thumb on my knee. “Yeah…well, I was just on tonight. Sometimes you are just way in the zone, and I was there.”
“I’m proud of you,” she says. A warm sensation spreads through me from her praise. It really means something to me.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask her. “Wearing anything sexy by any chance?”
“I’ll lie to you and say I’m wearing a red lace teddy with fishnet stockings and stiletto heels. Do you like?”
“I definitely like,” I rumble into the phone. “But seriously…what are you doing?”
“I’m actually doing some work,” she says, and I hear an enthusiasm in her voice that I’ve not quite heard before. It’s as if her spirit has lightened somewhat.
“Tell me about it,” I say, wanting to know exactly what my girl’s doing that’s got her feeling good.
And I listen to her talk to me about a new line of apparel that they hope to roll out in the winter and how she’ll be responsible for helping to pick fabrics and setting production schedules. All the things I never thought twice about when I wore a Vengeance T-shirt or a baseball cap. How in the hell that shit was made?
It’s pretty cool, actually.
She eventually winds down, guiltily apologizing to me. “Ugh…I’m sorry to ramble on like that.”
“Don’t be sorry. I enjoyed learning about that stuff. I enjoy learning about you, Brooke, so don’t apologize. Keep it coming.”
She gets very quiet and I’m wondering if I said something wrong. Before I can inquire, she says, “I don’t think this is a fake relationship anymore, is it?”
“Not in the slightest,” I agree with her. A satisfied smile she can’t see but can probably hear in my voice takes over my face. “Is that okay by you?”
“You know…I think it is.”
* * *
—
Tacker had come out of the bathroom not long after I’d hung up with Brooke. He’s dressed similarly to me in a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt. I decided to end the call because she actually had work to do and it was a little after midnight and I was exhausted. I’m sure Tacker is too. He’s been playing at peak performance level, but it sure takes it out of you on the physical side, especially right after a game.
But he sort of putters around, rearranging the items in his suitcase, and taking a few moments here and there to text someone. I figure if he’s not ready to turn out the lights yet, I might as well try to get to know the dude.
“So where did you end up getting a place to live?” I ask him, figuring I’d delve into something personal—not dealing with hockey, but not too nosy.
“Apartment over off Ridge,” he mutters as he uses his thumb to scroll through something on his phone. “It’s about a five-minute drive to the arena.”
“Cool,” I say, and wait to see if he elaborates or offers more.
He doesn’t.
“Had a chance to explore the area?” I ask him. “Brooke and I did some hiking over at Papago Park and it was pretty amazing.”
“Nah.” He looks up, cuts me a brief glance, and then bends over to hook his phone into the charger plugged in beside his bed.
“I heard there was some good restaurants over that way.”
“Not much for eating out.”
Tacker pulls back the covers on his bed and sits on the edge, taking his phone back in his hands. His thumb swipes in quick succession, right to left. He doesn’t say anything else and I want to bang my head. He’s now officially become a challenge to me.
“Want to go hiking with me sometime?”
“Not much for hiking.”
“Got any hobbies?”
“Working out.”
I wait for more.
There’s nothing.
I stretch my brain capacity trying to think of something to get him to engage. To even look at me and act like he might want to be friends with one of his teammates. I mean, how will he even know unless he tries?
Then I decide to do something bold.
Daring.
Stupid as fuck.
“Brooke and I started out as a fake relationship so her dad wouldn’t murder me for having a one-night stand with his daughter,” I blurt out, then watch him expectantly.
His head pops up, eyes wide as he stares at me. “Come again?”
I nod. “Yeah…I’d picked her up in a bar the night before training camp started. We had a one-night stand, but the next morning I knew it was stupid to have left her and not gotten her full name or number. And I ran into her at the arena, and I was like, holy shit. Pay attention to this, Bishop, because this type of coincidence happens for a reason. But her dad walked in on us while we were sort of making out, and he went apeshit.”
I pause for effect, and Tacker is still listening to me with intense interest in his expression.
I barrel forward. “So yeah…Brooke just sort of blurted that we had been dating for a few months secretly, and then she told him we were engaged.”
“Why did she do that?” he asks, and that gives me hope.
“She was worried he’d take it out on me at practice, or that it would even jeopardize my position on the team.” I don’t tell him that her worry stemmed from losing her mother earlier in the year, as that would only bring Tacker’s loss to the forefront.
Tacker nods in understanding, but apparently my story isn’t interesting enough to keep his attention, as he starts to look down at his phone again.
“And then as we were hanging out more and more to perpetuate this lie, we found out that we actually like each other.”
Fuck, that sounds lame. Like something I’d say in grade school to my geek loser friends. Tacker glances at me, gives me a half smile, and then drops his gaze back down to his phone.
Sighing, I prepare to admit defeat, but then his eyes snap back to me. “Wait a minute…so the engagement is fake? I heard some of the guys saying you got Brooke a ring.”
Yes. I have a conversation going. Like feeding a young, tender fire with just a bit of kindling, I offer him tiny pieces of information, hoping to fan his curiosity so he stays engaged. “It’s my mom’s ring. Her idea to use it.”
“I’m confused. Are you two together for real or not?”
“Oh, totally for real,” I say confidently.
“So you’re just going to stay engaged?” he asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.
“I don’t think so,” I say as I rake my fingers through my hair. “You see, the plan was to go through with the engagement to get Coach off my back. He had been pressuring me to shit or get off the pot, if you know what I mean. So we figured we’d pull off a fake engagement, let this settle down, and then eventually institute a breakup that was mutually beneficial to both sides.”
Tacker just stares at me, scowling slightly. Then he says, “That’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re not shitting,” I agree with him wholeheartedly. “My mom used the word moronic, but same thing.”
And that right there does it. A slight curving upward at the corners of his mouth. Possibly the first time I’ve seen him smile outside of when the Vengeance scores a goal, and even then it’s a tight sort of smile.
Tacker shakes his head, dare I say in an amused way. “You are so fucked if this gets out.”
“You won’t tell, will you?”
“Nope,” he says emphatically, and it’s not a surprise to me. I knew Tacker wouldn’t be the type to spill secrets or fuel gossip. I mean, he doesn’t talk to anyone so I knew it would be saf
e with him.
Turning to the table, he sets his phone back down and stands up from the bed. “Going to turn in. I’m beat.”
“Yeah,” I mutter in agreement, and as he walks to the door to put the DO NOT DISTURB sign out, I glance over at his phone. There’s a picture of him and a lovely blond woman, faces pressed together side by side and smiling huge at the camera.
His fiancée who died.
He’d been flipping through her pictures.
My gaze cuts back to Tacker as he walks over to his suitcase and takes off his T-shirt. There’s a long, jagged scar on his back that crosses diagonally from the bottom of one shoulder blade to his hip on the opposite side. It’s not the first time I’d seen the scar, as he’s been shirtless plenty of times in the locker room and training area.
I have to assume he got that in the plane crash, but fuck if I’d ever point-blank ask him something so personal. Our friendship is on the shakiest of ground, so new at this point I’m not even sure we’re really friends.
I want to tell him how sorry I am for his loss, but the words seem trite to me. And I’m pretty sure if I were to mention his dead fiancée or the crash, it would absolutely kill any potential friendship at all. I think Tacker’s going to have to decide when he wants to talk about it. My guess is that will be sometime around never.
Chapter 30
Brooke
I pause for a moment as I’m typing an email to Charity—unsure of how to word something—when a soft knock on my door startles me. I look up and see Hannah, the receptionist from the management suite standing there. She and I have chatted a few times in the break room and she’s a really sweet girl.
“Hey, Brooke,” she says, her voice shaking a bit. I notice she’s wringing her hands.
“What’s up?” I ask casually, but an icy feeling of dread starts to seep through my veins.
“Um…Mr. Carlson is here, and he’s in Mr. Rutherford’s office. He’s asked to see you. There’s an attorney with him.”
I actually go dizzy for a moment. Christian Rutherford, the general manager, is with the team in Pittsburgh. They will be playing the Titans tonight at 7 P.M., 4 P.M. our time. I plan on putting the live stream on my computer screen so I can watch it while I work.
Or, at least that was the plan. I’m not sure what the hell is going on right now, but I don’t feel good about it based on Hannah’s demeanor. The fact that the owner of the Vengeance—who I know normally resides in Los Angeles—is here in Phoenix with an attorney to see me is cause for pretty big alarm.
“Do you know why he wants to see me?” I ask her hesitantly, wanting to know, and yet, not wanting to know.
She shakes her head but leans inside my office a bit more to whisper, “I heard them talking about a lawsuit, but I’m not sure what it’s about.”
A lawsuit? What in the hell?
I stand from my chair, dismayed that my legs are shaky. I follow Hannah from the administrative suite over to the management suite, rubbing my sweaty hands on my skirt to dry them off. I’m assuming it’s proper etiquette to shake the owner’s hand and not kiss his ring when I walk in, and well, I don’t want to have gross hands.
Hannah stops at her receptionist desk and gives me an encouraging smile. “Good luck.”
My brain spins as I walk toward Christian’s office, trying to figure out what this could be about. The only thing I have to be guilty about is perpetrating a fake relationship to the people in this organization, but that’s not criminal, nor do I think it’s suit worthy. The person we’ve offended the most is my father, and he would never do anything to take it out on me.
I wish I could just slip into one of the empty offices I pass and call Bishop. He would calm me down. He’d tell me to hold my head high. But I can’t disturb him with this. Not on a game day when his head needs to be in the game and not worried about me. I miss him so much, and it’s telling that he’s the one I want to turn to for security.
Instead, I put one foot in front of the other and walk like I’m on a very short plank to the general manager’s office.
As I approach, I can see Mr. Carlson pacing back and forth behind Christian’s desk with a cell phone to his ear. He’s one of those men who talk with their hands, so while one hand holds the phone, the other is gesticulating wildly.
He’s an insanely attractive man, and I find it odd that my brain would even go there. I’ve only ever seen pictures of him, but they don’t do him justice. He’s the cliché of tall, dark, and handsome with raven black hair and what appear to be even darker eyes. He looks mysterious and dangerous and I think I’m going to puke.
There’s another man sitting at a small round table near the bank of windows. His head is bent over some documents. He’s short, squat, and bald with the beady eyes of a shark. His head lifts as if he senses my approach and he waves his hand to get Mr. Carlson’s attention. He points at me through the open doorway and Mr. Carlson’s lips tighten into a thin line when he spots me.
By the time I make it inside, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a heart attack the way my heart is racing. I give one last swipe of my hands on my skirt and enter.
Mr. Carlson is setting his phone on the desk, and when he looks back to me, his scowl disappears and I’m rewarded with a smile that’s blindingly white. “Miss Perron,” he says as he walks around the end of the conference room table, hand extended toward me. Shit…hope my hands are dry enough. “I’m so glad you could come over so quickly to meet with us.”
Our hands clasp and I can feel the clamminess of mine against the warm dryness of his. He doesn’t mention my sweatiness, and when he releases my hand, he pulls a chair out for me at the round table.
I take it, thankful to be sitting so I don’t fall if my knees give way on me.
As Mr. Carlson is sitting in the chair adjacent to me, I can’t help the words that come out of my mouth. “Am I in trouble, Mr. Carlson?”
He blinks at me in surprise, his eyes then turning sympathetic. “No, not at all, but we do have something that’s very troubling that we have to discuss with you. And it’s Dominik. Not Mr. Carlson.”
No way I can call him that, so I just won’t call him anything at all. “What can I help you with?”
I’m actually impressed that my voice comes out a bit stronger now that he said I’m not in trouble.
Dominik—and I deem it’s fine for me to use his first name inside my head—nods his head toward the man I have to assume is an attorney according to what Hannah said. His eyes definitely appear sharklike. “This is Fred Gruber. He’s the organization’s lead counsel based here in Phoenix.”
“Hello,” I say politely.
Mr. Gruber just nods at me, his intense stare starting to wig me out slightly.
“Brooke,” Dominik says to get my attention. When I let my eyes slide back to him, he says, “We were served with a lawsuit today filed by Nanette Pearson.”
“What?” I gasp.
“I understand she’s a friend of yours from New York and had been staying with you recently while she visited the Phoenix area, right?”
I nod dumbly, unable to answer the question.
“She’s sued the organization for sexual harassment,” Mr. Gruber says, holding up one of the documents lying on the table before him. “She specifically named Sebastian Parr, Dax Monahan, and Erik Dalhbeck in the complaint.”
“What?” I gasp again, this time sounding slightly hysterical. “I don’t understand.”
“We don’t either,” Mr. Gruber clips out. “That’s why we want to know what you know. We understand you’re directly in the middle of all of this. We figured it would be less…stressful to talk to you informally like this rather than to have to subpoena you to a deposition.”
“Fred,” Dominik chastises the attorney with clear warning in his voice for perhaps taking such an aggressive stance. I get
it. They’re going to play good cop/bad cop with me.
“Brooke, we really need to know all the facts so we can adequately protect our players and employees from this lawsuit,” Dominik says gently.
I nod, sort of understanding that, but I’m also sort of starting to feel numb.
From the top of my head, down to my toes.
“Mr. Carlson,” I manage to say past a very dry throat.
“Dominik,” he corrects.
I swallow as I nod, trying to lubricate my vocal cords. “Dominik…I’ll be glad to help in any way I can—”
“That’s not all,” Fred interrupts, and I can tell by the way he’s leaning toward me that he’s been dying to throw this at me. “Miss Pearson’s attorney leaked the story to the news when they filled the lawsuit this morning. Miss Pearson is claiming that your relationship with Bishop Scott is a sham, and that you are secretly having an affair with Sebastian Parr, which is how you got your new position in merchandising.”
That’s when the room starts spinning, and I can vaguely hear Dominik call my name in alarm. I slap my hand on the table in a desperate attempt to stop the dizziness.
To my surprise, it actually works.
I focus in on Dominik and manage to rasp out, “Not true. The affair part with Sebastian.”
“I believe you,” he says immediately. “You see…Sebastian had reported to Christian Rutherford last week that he’d interviewed Miss Pearson for a potential job within the organization. He went to Christian immediately after the interview, quite upset because Miss Pearson made a pretty vulgar pass at Sebastian. He wanted to report it and get it on the record.”
“Do you believe him?” I ask somewhat bluntly. I have to know exactly how Dominik views this, because I know his opinion will matter the most.
“Christian believed him wholeheartedly,” Dominik says neutrally. “And I have to trust Christian. Why? Do you doubt him?”
“Actually, no I don’t,” I tell him. “Nanette had told me after the interview that she had willingly given him a…um…had oral sex with him voluntarily and at his direction. There was something about it…I just…I wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth, but it just seemed really out there. Is that making sense?”
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