by April Cronin
As to how she had gotten the scratch on her leg or the dirt on her clothes was anybody's guess. Rough sex maybe? Perhaps she had taken a lover out back and then decided to claim Peter had assaulted her afterward? She didn't know. But the article was certainly taking a stab at it.
“Hockey star set up by infamous Puck Bunny!”
The headline read, and then went on to paint a rather unflattering picture of the “victim,” saying that not only had she slept with a recent teammate of Peter's according to a source close to the hockey player, but that someone involved with the girl had admitted that the whole thing was a lie, that she had been angry when Peter had turned her down previously and that after learning he had just signed a big extension and was worth a lot of money, she had decided to accuse him of assault for a payoff.
The second source also indicated that Peter and his current teammate weren't her only targets. She had apparently slept with a couple of other hockey players as well. One that had been traded the year before, and another from a team up north that was staying in the city at the time for a game. It was pretty stupid in Darla's opinion. Sleeping with men because they're rich or famous? Was that what girls did for fun these days? And so what, Peter hadn't taken the bait, was that really any reason to accuse him of assault? Ruin his entire life because he wouldn't sleep with you? Had she no morals at all? What about a conscience?
Of course, how she had gotten into the other one's beds to begin with was beyond Darla. There was nothing that she could think of that was striking or unique about the girl. She'd been slim, with little to no breasts, or curves of any kind for that matter, and she had dull hair, and common eyes.
She supposed with the right amount of makeup that she was passably pretty, but good enough to score a guy like Peter? Not likely. She had to admit that even she had found the young Russian attractive. And Andre, well, perhaps he was cute in his own way, though average really if she was honest, but even he was above some of the women he slept with, especially that Orsini girl. Then again, tail was tail.
Allen cleared his throat. “I think the young man is innocent. I thought so in the beginning, and this only reaffirms my suspicions. I don't know what happened in that alley, but I don't think he was involved in it.”
“Yeah, that's what I thought too.”
Allen looked at her skeptically.
“Alright, alright. So I thought he was guilty as sin at first.” She exclaimed holding up her hands and turning her palms toward him in surrender, “after we talked to that Andre guy though, I knew she was lying. It's like you said, it just didn't add up. I should have listened to you in the first place. Gosh, how many times am I going to have to kiss your ass before you let me forget it?”
He laughed, picking up his coffee and taking a gulp of the now tepid liquid. “At least until your nose is brown.”
Darla wrinkled her nose, repulsed by the mere thought of what he was suggesting, then jabbed him in the gut again. Like most women, she hated to admit when she was wrong, but he didn't have to make her feel so damn contrite about it! “Piss off,” she said teasingly.
Despite the renewed interest of the press who now sat like vultures both in front of and behind his home, hoping for any scrap of information he might toss their way, Peter braved the flashing lights and cameras thrust into his face, straddling the Ducati and backing it as quickly as he could without running anyone over out of the garage and down the driveway.
Denver Collins, the Slashers backup goaltender, being a single guy himself, had agreed to meet Peter at the practice rink on the outskirts of town to get in some ice time with him. Given the stress of the past few days, and the almost blatant rejection from Harmony, Peter felt the need to put some pucks into the back of the net, and Francois was still back in Canada with his wife Denise, who was due to give birth to the couple’s first child any day now.
Peter was gone before any of the media types could get a bead on him, but he still made it a point to take a few back roads along the way. He was more than a little glad he'd bought the motorcycle now. Not only was the wind at his back a certain sense of freedom, but it made for one quick getaway too. Something he needed for sure. Never before in his life had Peter felt like more of a prisoner, or as though he were living in a fishbowl.
Growing up with a famous mother had prepared him somewhat for life in the spotlight, but nothing of this magnitude. In his first season with the Slashers, he'd pretty much been able to go anywhere he wanted to without being noticed. Unless of course, he went out with Dean or Donovan. Sure he got hit on every now and then, but the girls never seemed to have any idea who he was, at least not when he was out alone, or with Viktor.
Even though Viktor had been with the Slashers for seven years now, he wasn't as highly known around the league to fans. A key piece he might be, but he didn't have the same flashiness that players like say Patrick Kane or Sidney Crosby did, so he was pretty much able to come and go as he pleased. Hell, even Andre would likely have been able to do the same if he hadn't advertised himself so often. But Andre wanted the ladies to like him, to come to him and beg him to take them home, he didn't care if they were only interested in him because he was rich and famous, he was just looking to get laid, not married.
Now that he was receiving so much negative press though, Peter doubted he'd ever be able to go out in public again without being noticed. He just hoped people could see through the lies, he certainly didn't want any trouble, and the thought of hiring a bodyguard depressed him.
Pulling up to the rink, he parked his motorcycle, and carrying his helmet with him, walked in and stopped at Jean's office. She looked up from her computer and smiled at him with such warmth that Peter couldn't help but sink into the chair in front of her desk.
“How are you holding up?” she asked him in Russian. Jean knew his limitations with the English language, and thus had no problem talking to him in his native tongue if it put him at ease. Seeing the strain in his eyes, the gauntness of his normally full and handsome face, she set all pretenses aside, there was no use placating him, and he was grateful to her for that.
Peter shrugged, “okay I guess.”
Jean reached a hand across the desk, holding it out to him, and Peter took it without hesitation, she reminded him so much of his own mother, and he was glad to have her comfort just now.
“I read the latest,” she said, narrowing her eyes just a little at him, though her voice held a lilt of laughter in it, “and I know you did not have a hand in it, but you let me know when that little scoundrel Andre gets back in town. I need to have a word with him.”
Chuckling, as he knew exactly what she was talking about, had in fact figured out that Andre was behind the entire article, though he had no idea how that was possible, Peter nodded. “I will have him call you when I speak to him again.”
She smiled then, “are you really okay?”
“I think I will be. I came in to practice with Denver, but I wanted to stop and ask if you had spoken to the lawyer, I have not heard anything more about the case, and I was wondering if the test results had come in yet?”
Frowning, she shook her head, then clicked her mouse and brought up a page on her computer looking over some notes she had made on the very subject. “I talked to Ms. Paulino the other day, she hasn't heard anything from the detectives, but she spoke to someone in the crime lab, they should have a report by next week. I am so sorry about all this Peter. I know the league has been coming down pretty hard on all of us lately, insisting we instruct you gentlemen in the proper behavior when you are away from the arena, but I do not see what good it would do in this situation. Do they honestly want you to ignore your fans?”
“I understand what you mean.” Peter agreed. If it had been different, if he had been like Andre, picking random girls up and taking them home with him, he would understand why it would be frowned upon, why it might be considered his fault. But he'd done no more than give a girl an autograph and a picture. What would they have done to him
had he been rude to a fan? Surely they didn't approve of such behavior either.
Perhaps he needed to take more precautions in the future, maybe having an entourage or a bodyguard wasn't such a bad idea, at least out in public. He knew that Andre had a pretty sophisticated camera system installed in the condo the day he'd moved in, at least that's what he had said. No girl was going to wring him for money, he taped all of his encounters.
Of course, as it stood right now, Peter didn't need to get that drastic, not only did he have a roommate that could vouch for his activities inside the house, but no woman in her right mind would want to get close to him with this hanging over his head. Just like Harmony.
Jean picked up on the nuances of his facial expressions, realizing that whatever he was thinking about was causing him distress, he was one of those heart on their sleeves kind of people, easily read, and it broke her heart.
Denver poked his head in at that moment, cutting off whatever Jean had been about to say. “Hey Pete.” he said, waving to Jean as well, “you ready?”
Peter nodded, stood and then bent over to give Jean a kiss on the top of the hand that he still held. “Thank you,” he said, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Jean wondered what, if anything she could possibly do for Peter. A part of her was grateful to Andre for his part in all this, though she knew once the commissioner, and the GM for that matter got wind of it, there would be questions to answer, and she hoped she would be able to protect Peter as well as Andre when that shit hit the fan. But as much doubt as this latest article had probably cast on the girl's claims, it strengthened it in other ways.
People, the ones that thought Peter guilty on principle, due to the mere fact that he was rich and quasi-famous, were bound the think he was responsible for this, and that his sole purpose was to slander the young lady and sully her reputation. She figured that by tomorrow there would be another article, refuting all of this, or perhaps claiming that Andre had wronged her as well.
Jean sighed, it was a never ending battle at this point, and Peter was the one that was continuing to suffer. She hated it. Jean could remember the day she had met Peter, he'd been so shy and quiet, just looking around and trying to study his surroundings.
His mother, being who she was, had given him some exposure, but not nearly of the same variety. His English had been poor at best, though he clearly understood more than he was willing to let on, rather it was his speech that was stunted. For that, Jean and Viktor had been his best allies. He had roomed with a family for the first six months or so, then Viktor and Andre had taken him under their wings, and slowly he'd come out of his shell.
He was such a sweet boy, and reminded Jean often of her own son, their coloring was even similar, though Jeff, her boy, was nearly a decade older than Peter and lived a lifestyle far different than even Jean herself. Jeff lived in California as a screenplay writer while his wife was a casting director.
Even still, Peter didn't just remind Jean of her beloved son, he was in her mind, one of hers. Peter's mother, whom she'd met during the playoffs last year when she'd come to watch a game or two and visit had been so pleased to know that Jean was watching out for her little boy. A woman with substance she had said, a woman who could speak the language and understood the lifestyle.
Jean felt like a failure though, she knew it wasn't her fault, but somehow she still wished she had been able to prevent this. She had no idea how to truly comfort the boy, and it broke her into little pieces.
After a twenty minute workout, in which he and Denver took turns spotting each other as they lifted weights, then did some squats and lunges together, all the while listening to some heavy metal band to ensure there was no need to talk, the two hit the rink.
Peter skated up and down the ice, flying back and forth, stopping and turning on a dime, shredding the ice under his skates. He weaved between cones that had been set up for him, and practiced his stick handling capabilities as Denver stretched and warmed up between the pipes. Signaling that he was finally ready, Peter played around with the puck a little.
Flipping it up onto the end of his stick, he bounced it a couple of times before letting it fall back to the ice and laying on the fancy footwork as he made his way from one end of the ice to the goal where Denver steadily tracked his movements.
Denver was a good goalie, he was in the second year of his four-year contract, and though he was a backup, he could have been a starter for almost any other team. He understood his place though, and respected Francois with absolution. During the regular season, Denver got plenty of ice time and likewise he knew that Francois' time with the team was nearing an end. Everyone did.
It wasn't that France was too old or anything, on the contrary, he was young, not even thirty yet, but the big goaltender was facing the last season of his contract, and with so many players needing new deals next season as well, it was looking more and more like France would be dealt to another team. Denver would still have another year after that on his contract and would probably get the nod from there on out.
From behind the crease, Denver watched him go left then right, sliding within the folds of the net to block whatever powerful shot Peter made. Faking it once, then twice, Peter let loose with a backhander that pinged off the right post and shot up against the boards. Cursing, he glided across the ice towards it and settled the rolling puck down.
Denver slapped his stick against the ice, “come on Pete, make me work for it.” he mocked, smiling antagonistically behind his mask.
Peter grumbled, but after circling back out to center ice, he made his way across the blue line and towards the goal where Denver trembled with anticipation, his big body moving agilely from side to side as he followed the puck.
Winding up, Peter laid a brilliant slap shot at his doorstep, one that Denver nearly missed, turning it aside at the last minute. Rather than scooping it into his glove hand though, since it was just the two of them and no one was around to blow a whistle, he used his stick to slide it down the ice and just wide of the net standing empty at the other end.
Peter sneered at him, but quickly flew down the ice gathering the puck in again and heading back for another round.
They did this back and forth type of game for a couple of hours, taking a few breaks in between to refuel. By the end of their impromptu practice, Peter had put as many in the back of the net as Denver had blocked. Calling it a draw, they headed for the locker room to strip into gym shorts and t-shirts before working out with a punching bag and doing some low impact cardio.
A quick shower once they'd finished and they were saying their goodbyes and heading out.
Chapter 17
You have been Served
Peter had needed this. Something to occupy his time, exert some physical effort and get Harmony off his mind, even if it was just for a little while. Denver had agreed to do this again next week if he wanted to, and after speaking to Andre during one of their breaks, Peter had set it up. Andre was cutting his visit short, and would be back early next week, having decided he could use a little tuning up before training camp hit as well.
Peter wondered if his friend was being completely honest with him, given the fact that next week was Andre's turn with the Stanley Cup, but he missed his friend, and therefore wasn't going to argue with him if he wanted to cut his trip short. Viktor wasn't due back for at least another two weeks, and though he had Sadie to fill the void, it wasn't the same. Peter was grateful to his teammates, all of them had been more than supportive, but he sorely missed Harmony, and would have given most anything at this point to see her again.
As he approached his motorcycle a few minutes later, a gentleman emerged from a beat up Chevy parked next to him. “Petrovsky Petrovic?” he asked.
“Da. I am Peter,” he replied hesitantly. He didn't see any cameras, but he was suspicious all the same. “You are with the press no?”
The gentlemen, dressed casually in tattered jeans and a t-shirt, shook his bald head, the sunlight
glinting off the smooth surface of it. “No sir, I'm not with the press.” He reached into his car then, extracting a large envelope and thrusting it into Peter's hands.
“You want autograph?” Peter nearly grumbled, keeping his annoyance in check. The last thing he needed was to piss off a fan.
But the man shook his head again, saying “you have been served,” the moment Peter closed his hands on the envelope. Then he fled to the safety of his running car, something Peter hadn't noticed and sped out of the parking lot.
Served? What the hell?
Nervous, as much as truly annoyed at this point, Peter headed back inside, walking into Jean's office and laying the envelope, still closed on her desk in front of her.
“Man give to me just now. He say, I have been served. What is meaning of this?” He asked, still holding his emotions at bay as Jean looked up at him in stunned silence before opening the clasp on the back of the envelope and sliding its contents onto the desk.
Jean took a moment to look over the documents, her brow furrowing as she read each page, going over everything a second time to be sure she hadn't missed anything, then she met Peter's gaze, and the painful emotion that stared back at him was enough to make his stomach turn.
Peter felt sick. He had never seen Jean so stricken, not even at the press conference had her steel reserve wavered. This must be bad.
“Oh, Peter.” She began, laying the papers on the desk and removing her glasses before rubbing at her eyes. “You're being sued.”
Harmony had thought about Peter all night once he had left. And after going over the latest article several times today, she knew, that in so many aspects, he was right. She had been wrong to suggest that he pay her off. Was that not what this entire thing was about? Was it not possible, no, likely, that this girl had fabricated everything just to get money out of Peter? And if he paid her, would that not, as he had said, only encourage her, and perhaps others to continue to try these tactics?