Skater (Seattle Sharks 6)

I started to read aloud, “Bridgerton may be one of the Sharks’ most powerful skaters and shooter, but he deceives the public on a daily basis. On the surface, he’s a kind, generous Shark who likes to take his niece to the aquarium on the weekends. In reality? He’s a conceited jerk with a darkness that only seeps out around those closest to him.”

There was a picture of Hannah, looking up at me with abject fear on her face, and the caption, “is an addict with a temper capable of caring for a minor?”

“Holy shit,” Eric said, coming to stand over my shoulder.

“We were at the Ferris wheel. She was scared, but we told her she didn’t have to go up if she wanted. She decided she wanted to, so we all went. Who the fuck did this?”

The answer was right in front of my face, but I couldn’t believe Ivy would do this to me. To Hannah.

“Hailing from a family of drug abusers, Bridgerton hasn’t fallen far from the tree, though he goes to extreme lengths to keep his problem quiet, paying off those who might come forward, even his own mother.”

There was a shot of me handing mom the envelope with $100K. I. Was. Fucked.

“Oh my God, they’re going to take Hannah.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“No one’s taking Hannah,” Eric assured me. “We’ll figure this out.”

I couldn’t even read the rest of the article, but I skimmed enough to see the word, “abusive,” with a picture of me hauling Jessica over my shoulder while she screamed, hitting my back. Then “addict,” with another shot, this one holding the bag of Jess’s heroin paraphernalia.

Then the article insinuated that I’d even been to rehab in the off-season and failed, citing that a facility close to Seattle could neither confirm nor deny my status as a patient, but an inside source had seen me at the facility recently and stated that a “guest” by the name of Bridgerton was being given the VIP treatment.

It was the final sentence of the article that hit me in the chest.

“He pretends to be perfect, but he’s a slave to his addiction, and the last person who should be raising any child, let alone one as vulnerable as his niece.”

I put the iPad down on the table, and Pepper immediately grabbed it.

“There’s no way she’d do this to you. She loves you.” Pepper’s words came out faster than machine gun fire.

“She apparently loves her career more.”

“No. There’s no way.” Her forehead puckered. “I mean, something’s off about it.”

“Yeah, like the fact that the woman I love just guaranteed that I’m going to lose my niece, all so she could get the scoop that would solidify her job.”

“No,” Pepper said softly. “I mean, she’s a reporter, but—”

“Fuck that. Look at those pictures, Pepper. She’s a paparazzi. I was just an easy target.” An easy target that was going to puke at any second.

“Conner,” Eric said, sympathy dripping from his perfect voice. With his perfect life, and his perfect wife, and perfect everything.

“Don’t,” I hissed. My stomach was on the floor, no doubt squeezed out by the pressure on my chest from the vise wrapped around my chest.

“What’s going on?” Porter mumbled, ripping his headphones off.

“You’re going to need to wake up, too, seeing as you’re mentioned in one of the captions,” I told him. “Did you punch one of those druggies when we went to get my sister?” I asked him.

“Hell yeah,” he said with a nod. “Guy tried to steal a purse right off a lady in front of the building when you were coming down the stairs with Jess. Why do you think they ran out of there so quickly?”

“Go figure, you punching someone,” Langley muttered, rubbing the skin between her eyes and flashing a large engagement ring.

“It was a good cause,” he fired back.

She pointed at him. “I’ll deal with you later.” She took a deep breath. “It’s like being the mother of a group of petulant toddlers who won’t listen,” she muttered quietly.

“Nice,” Porter scoffed.

She blatantly ignored him. “Ok, first question. Are you a drug addict?”

I’d been through hell, and done everything possible to never be asked that question. And yet here I was, having my life ripped apart because I’d been stupid enough to fall for a fucking reporter.

“I’ve never done a drug in my life,” I answered truthfully.

She sighed in obvious relief. “Okay, then start at the beginning.”

Three and a half hours, I stood outside Ivy’s door, flanked by Pepper, Eric, and my attorney.

God, I’d left here four days ago certain that I would spend the rest of my life with Ivy, and now I just needed her out of my life as quickly as possible. As far away from Hannah as the Earth would allow.

“Are you ready for this?” Eric asked.

Pepper remained silent, as she had since the plane, knowing she was smack in the middle of something she hadn’t started or even contributed to.

Why couldn’t I have fallen for someone like her? With compassion and honor, and capable of true love?

Because it was over for you the moment you saw Ivy.

I just hadn’t realized it had been over in every way possible.

“Let’s do this,” I said.

Pepper stepped forward, using her key to open the door. She entered with Eric right behind her.

“I’ll be right here if you need me,” Mr. Barnes said, already having given me the rundown on what I could and couldn’t say to Ivy.

I nodded and walked into the apartment.

The scent of pancakes hit my nose a millisecond before Hannah filled my arms.

“Uncle Connor!” She squeezed me tight, and I held on to her for dear life, praying it wouldn’t be the last time. “I missed you! We have pancakes! I already ate, but there are some for you!”

Her hair was in a ponytail, a riot of curls around her head, and she was already dressed for preschool, which started in thirty-five minutes.

“I missed you, Hannah-Banana,” I told her, my voice clogging. God, what had I done to her? What was going to happen?

“You sound funny. Are you okay?” she asked.

I kissed her forehead. “Right as rain. Why don’t you go grab your backpack? We need to get you to school.” I kept my voice as light as possible as I lowered her to the ground, even though it felt like I was being cracked in two.

“What?” I heard Ivy shout from the kitchen.

I stayed exactly where I was, waiting for Hannah to return.

“Connor!” Ivy came skidding around the corner in her socks, iPad in hand. “I didn’t do this! You have to believe me!”

“Your name is on it,” I said as calmly as possible, watching the door to her guest bedroom, which used to be Pepper’s.

“I can see that, but Connor, please. I love you. I would never hurt you like this!” She stood in front of me, and slowly, I lowered my eyes to hers.

God, I wanted to believe her, to fall into her, into the life I’d had mapped out in my head when I left here four days ago. Her blue eyes were wide, pleading.

I loved her enough to listen.

“So you didn’t write that article?” I asked, hating the hope that leaked into my voice. I knew Ivy and I could weather any storm...but betrayal, especially betrayal that could hurt Hannah.

“No!” Her eyes dropped to the iPad, scrolling. “I mean, I guess a little? I kind of did.”

My fucking heart stopped beating. It just...died. Or at least it felt like it did.

“You kind of did.”

She nodded. “It was a joke. I wrote it forever ago, but just as this...God, it was stupid. But only parts of it! The rest of it, I have no idea where it came from.”

“He pretends to be perfect, but he’s a slave to his addiction,” I repeated, the phrase burned in my memory. “Did you write that?”

The blood drained from her face, and I had my answer.

“Yes,” she whispered, “but not

in the way you think.”

“One question,” I asked quietly as Hannah bounded out of the bedroom, her backpack slung over her shoulders. “Did you write it before or after I took custody of Hannah?”

Before or after it was her life on the line and not just my reputation.

“After,” she admitted.

“How could I have been so stupid?’ I asked in a whisper.

“Hey Banana, how about I take you to the car and let these two finish up?” Eric offered.

I looked over Ivy’s shoulder to see Hannah nodding, her face puckered in confusion. “It’s okay, Hannah, I’ll be right there. And Mr. Barnes is right outside. You remember meeting him, right?”

She nodded.

“I’ll be right there,” I repeated as Eric lifted her into his arms and walked out.

“Hannah,” Ivy whispered, grief etched on every line of her face.

“Don’t,” I snapped as the door shut. “This,” I pointed to the iPad. “This is unforgivable. I get that you needed a story. I do. But you used me. Used Hannah. And now there’s a very real chance that I could lose her, not just for the accusations you make in the article, but the pictures. The pictures, Ivy! That’s my mother, and I’m giving—”

I sucked in a breath, remembering the advice Mr. Barnes had given me.