I scrub both hands through my hair, locking my fingers at the back of my head.
“I don’t believe this shit,” I mutter as I stare at the ceiling so I don’t have to look at Brooke’s beautiful, pleading eyes just begging me to go along with this ruse.
“Please,” Brooke murmurs. “Will you come to dinner tonight? Help me get him settled down, then we’ll start working right away on how to fix this?”
My eyes drop and I glare at her for a moment. Finally, I give her all I can for right now. “I’m not sure. Let me think about it.”
Then I walk out of her office and head to the team meeting.Chapter 3BishopWhen I hit the team meeting room it’s about half full. I’d been impressed with the auditorium yesterday during the tour, the stadium-style seating being far more plush than I’ve ever seen. Big leather chairs with retractable desktops in the left arms make sure that our meetings are held in style and comfort. While our roster sits at twenty-four with fourteen forwards, seven defensemen, and three goalies, the room can hold easily twice that number.
I spot Dax in the third row on the opposite side and make my way to him.
“What’s up?” he says, offering his fist to me.
I slap at it distractedly as I sit down to his right. “Not much.”
Other than apparently I’m now engaged to the coach’s daughter.
Grimacing, I slouch down in my chair and watch as other players file in. Dax lifts his hand when he sees Legend Bay enter. He played with us for one season on the Vipers before being snapped up by the Florida Spartans when he became a free agent. He’s a lot like me in that the Spartans hated to lose him but wanted to free up some money for the draft, so he didn’t get protected either.
He plops down on my right and we shake hands, and then he leans across me slightly to do the same with Dax as he says, “What’s up, Monahan?”
“My dick when your sister walks in the room,” Dax says back blandly.
Legend snickers, but I don’t react. Talk about dicks getting up makes me think of Brooke, and well…I’m furious with her. I don’t want my dick affected by her at all.
Dax and Legend talk over me, and chatter fills the air as players reconnect and new introductions are made. Every time someone new walks into the room, my gut clenches until I see it’s not our coach and my newly minted future father-in-law.
“Fuck,” I mutter in frustration.
“What’s up?” Dax asks quietly as he leans into me.
I shake my head. “Later,” is all I say, because while I will indeed tell Dax about the insanity of my morning, now is not the time.
Erik Dalhbeck joins our little group. We’ve never played with the dude, but have connected over the years when we visited his team in Los Angeles. He’s an extraordinary offensive-minded defenseman who’s just as natural leading the puck up ice as he is slamming someone into the boards. His free agency put him here in Phoenix with us. We like to hang out with him in LA because the dude is a partying playboy from hell who knows all the best places to go and has many, many hot actress friends who are available for the hookup.
The conversation in the room dies almost immediately, and Dax, Legend, Erik, and I all turn our heads to the door. I think it’s Coach, but I see even someone more polarizing has walked in.
Tacker Hall, notably the most talented player in the league as well as the most tragically inclined. This is his first full season back since taking several months off last year after losing his fiancée in a plane crash. The tragedy is not just in losing the love of his life two weeks before they were going to marry, but in the fact that he was piloting the small craft. From what I remember about the details, he was cleared of any wrongdoing, but the word is that he’s carrying tons of guilt on his shoulders and it’s, well, changed him. I know the guy only slightly, having talked to him at a few awards shows and such. This was all pre-crash, and he was a nice guy, although somewhat of an introvert. Now I’ve heard he’s an asshole too, but I’ll make up my own mind on that.
Tacker walks down the front row, eyes glued to his feet, and takes the very last chair on the far end of the room. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, slouches his shoulders inward, and practically puts a sign up around himself that says LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.
The noise starts back up as people engage in conversation again, but immediately quiets down as the coaching, equipment, and training staff file in. Heading up the rear is Coach Perron.