Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

“Evie,” she said, flashing me an apologetic look. “It’s nothing. I mean, it means nothing. It’s just a stupid article. You know better—”

“What article?” I asked, gripping the edge of the seat so tight my hands hurt.

“A dumb one,” she said. “Just don’t look for it. It doesn’t matter. I have an alert on my phone for any mention of our names and it popped up.”

Another round of laughter erupted from behind us, and I clenched my eyes shut for a second. “Show me, please?” I asked once I could open my eyes again. “It’s either you’re going to show me or I’ll look it up on my own.”

“Fine,” Fiona sighed, pulling out her phone and handing it to me. “It’s just a gossip rag,” she said, swiping so I could see what she’d seen. “You really should ignore these things. It comes with the territory. It doesn’t hold a shred of truth, Evie. You’re amazing and you know where you stand with Maxim.”

Her words faded into the background as I read the headline on the news article.

One of These Things Is Not Like The Other; A Look Back at Maxim Zolotov’s Previous Lucky Charms & How They Stack Up

Beneath the headline was a row of six pictures, each one featuring Maxim with another woman, except for the last picture was of me.

A really bad fucking picture.

One they had to have snapped when we were on a morning coffee run—Maxim looking edible in a pair of Reapers sweats and white T-shirt, me looking like he’d pulled me out of the gutter in one of my bleach-stained band T’s and some wide-leg cotton pants, my hair messy and thrown in a topknot.

I swallowed hard and read the article.

Pictured above are Maxim Zolotov’s previous confirmed “Lucky Charms.” The one thing each of these women have in common is that they’ve all done their part to keep the beloved Carolina Reapers in the top ranks of NHL contenders. That’s right, Zolotov likes his women like he likes his rabbit’s feet—lucky.

But, it’s easy to tell that one of these things is not like the other, and we’re not simply talking about the most obvious. Zolotov’s most recent lucky charm isn’t walking any NYC runways any time soon, but it goes deeper than that. Previous lucky charm arm candy Melina Nowak was a prima ballerina who was featured in Vogue. Paulina Diaz was a four-time Emmy winning actress on a highly acclaimed network. Sheri Dubois was and still is a renowned entertainment news host, and Candice Martin and Katy Lambert are Victoria’s Secret models.

Evangeline Walsh, a photography grad-student, has some work to do if she plans on being Zolotov’s lucky charm for the long haul. Will she be the one who breaks the lucky streak? Or will she be yet another addition to the long line who’s come before her?

We’ll keep you posted on all the Reapers deets as stories unfold!

My fingers trembled as I finished reading and handed Fiona’s phone back to her.

Don’t cry. Not here. Not here.

The crowd erupted into a frenzy of noise, giving me some cover to let out a shaky-as-hell breath. Tears bit the backs of my eyes, but I managed to get to my feet and clap.

The Reapers had just won the division championship, and thousands of people were cheering as my heart shattered to pieces.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Maxim asked once we were both back in the hotel room. “You haven’t said a word to me other than congratulations.”

I stood in front of the little desk next to the TV, fiddling with the pen, rolling it back and forth.

“Evangeline,” he pled, crossing the room and turning me to face him.

The wall I’d built to hold all my pain, embarrassment, and heartbreak behind crumbled the second his eyes locked on mine. He actually looked worried, and it hurt all the more.

Because it was a lie.

All of it.

The way he’d made me feel, the way I’d thought I was special.

“Talk to me,” he demanded.

And I broke, anger boiling in my chest as he reached for me. I dodged his touch, and he flinched as if I’d slapped him.

“You told me I was the only lucky charm you’ve ever had,” I snapped, honestly angrier with myself than him. I was the one who believed him. I was the one who’d deluded myself into thinking I was more than just a way to win a game for him.

“What?” he asked, confusion flitting over his features.

I rolled my eyes, grabbed my phone, and found the article in record time. I shoved the phone into his hands, then stomped past him to where my suitcase lay open on the little bench by the closet. I packed while he focused on the article, reading it and grinding his jaw as he got to the end.

Maxim turned around, phone extended toward me, his eyes flaring wide at the sight of the bag next to me. “Wait, that’s it? You read one bullshit article and you’re bailing?”