A Secret for a Secret (All In 3)

Obviously I’m worried about Queenie, and distracted. I check in with Queenie after I get to the arena, and she assures me she’s okay, sends me a shot of her team-color-themed manicure, and tells me that she’s still coming to the game, which is a relief. I’m grateful for Stevie and the other wives, because today has been tough enough for her as it is. I just want things to go smoothly tonight.

Most of my family has already arrived in Seattle, apart from Hanna, who’s coming in through LA because of a conference she was attending, and her flight was delayed by a couple of hours, so she’ll miss the first half of the game.

I check my messages on the way from the parking lot into the arena. Based on the family chat, they’ve already dropped their stuff off at the house, fought over rooms, raided my fridge, and made fun of my lack of exciting beverage options for anyone but toddlers. They obviously haven’t found the liquor that Queenie brought over. Or the stocked beer fridge in the garage.

I have a new message from Hanna letting me know she’s finally on her way to Seattle and that she’ll see me after the game—that one was sent about ten minutes ago.

There are private messages from my mom telling me she has a very special surprise and that everyone is very excited to see me. “Special surprises” are not a rarity and often take the form of a hand-knit sweater, or a beanie, or a scarf. I have a closet full. I message back to let her know I’m excited to see everyone and that I look forward to the surprise before I pocket my phone and push through the doors to the arena.

I pass the hall leading to the offices and use the back entrance to access the locker room. Normally Bishop and I would have ridden in together, but with my family coming it made more sense for us to come separately.

Bishop is already there, in his underwear. They have a strange print on them that I don’t want to inspect too closely, because it looks like there’s a woman hugging his junk, and it’s magnified thanks to the cup he’s wearing under them. The woman actually looks like Stevie when her hair is pastel purple.

I drop down on the bench in front of my locker. “Thanks for helping us out earlier.”

“Least I could do. It was my fault the media showed up in the first place. Ten fucking minutes after I posted about getting my junk waxed, a million freaking reporters showed up, being assholes, asking stupid questions. I shoulda known better, considering what’s been going on today.” He nods in Corey’s direction.

He’s sitting on the bench on the other side of the room, looking rough. He was quiet during pregame skate, which was highly unusual.

“I saw him in his car earlier; looked like he was getting chewed out by the fiancée about something. You’d think she’d be happy now that there’s nothing standing between her and his bank account anymore.” Bishop slides his feet into his skates and starts lacing them up.

“You don’t think it has anything to do with the actual divorce?”

“Based on how she tried to blackmail Rook back when he started out, and the number of players she’s been on the arm of over the years, there’s a good chance she’s looking for an easy meal ticket. Besides, you’ve been in the shower with him: there sure isn’t anything to get excited about.” He motions to his crotch.

He has a point. Corey is about as well endowed as a Chihuahua.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Rook reaches around Bishop and steals his deodorant out of his locker.

“Hey! What the hell, man?”

“I ran out. I’m borrowing. You’re family.”

“Uh, no, in-law is not the same as a blood relative. And even if you were my blood, I would not lend you my fucking deodorant.” Bishop tries to snatch it back, but Rook’s on his feet and Bishop’s skates are only half-laced.

He pops the cap off, and it hits Bishop in the chest. He grins as he lifts one arm high in the air and rubs the stick all over his armpit.

Bishop makes a gagging sound, then smiles right back. “Reverse cowgirl.”

“What?” Rook frowns.

I elbow Bishop in the side before he can repeat himself, aware that this conversation isn’t going anywhere good. “I have a brand-new one in my bag. Rook, you can keep that one.”

Rook’s eyebrows pop as he finally digests what Bishop’s said. “You son of a bitch!” He hurls the deodorant at Bishop, who ducks out of the way. It ricochets off the wall behind him and lands on the floor.

“I’m fucking kidding, man, but you asked for it. Borrowing deodorant is like borrowing underwear or a toothbrush. The only person who gets to do that is the one whose tongue is routinely in my mouth, and that person happens to be your sister.” Bishop is still grinning, aware he’s skating near the edge.