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Casey leans forward on his stick, smirking. “He thinks I’m too close to you.”
It’s my turn for a slick smile. Things between them have moved quickly. “Something I should know?”
“It’s not what you think. He’s just a possessive fucker.”
But that’s exactly what I was thinking, and that Mitch is only possessive about the things he wants to keep. I’ll keep my mouth shut for once; I owe him one for the pep talk. And he’s right. I don’t get to keep someone like Logan without fighting the forces of the universe for him.
“Thanks, Alderchuck. Can’t wait to wipe the ice with that mop on your head.”
“Jealous of my sick flow, Elkington?” He smooths his curls behind his ears, batting his eyes, making it too fucking obvious what he’s doing. There’s a flash of black, and then Casey spinning to flip Sutter the bird as the wild puck bounces across the ice. “Alright. Any more than that and he’ll beat my ass instead of fucking it.”
“I’ll be filing that under ‘things I never needed to know’.”
He skates off, leaving laughter in his wake, and I scowl after him. At least it’s taken my mind off the situation at hand, but what to do?
The buzzer sounds; warmup’s over. There’s no time to come up with a solid defense and there’s nothing I hate more than going into a play without a strategy, without knowing the rules of the game. Logan deserves better than this. If I don’t come up with something, he’ll have to watch me declare my love for my ex in front of the world. None of this was supposed to happen. Logan was the one I wasn’t supposed to lose. I promised I’d never hurt him again.
But here I am, right under Daddy’s thumb like I always have been. I’m not Rhett Elkington, Hockey God. I’m Rhett Elkington, Fool.
“Arrgh!” The satisfying slam of my stick against the crossbar of the empty net vibrates up my arms, and it snaps just before the blade, breaking in two. Anger inflates my psyche with purpose and raging testosterone floods my veins. Thank fuck I’m about to play a hockey game—the only game left on earth where refs are told to let players burn off aggression through adrenaline-fueled brawls—but God help everyone on the ice.
Chapter35
A Distraction
Logan
“Isn’t this a form of extortion?” I say to Kam.
“It’s not extortion, but even if it was, it’s not as if Maxwell’s not doing that to Rhett,” Kam says.
“I’m sure the judge won’t throw us in jail with that amazing defense.” Fuck. We are so going to jail for this. Ari’s wrong. I am too pretty for jail. He’s never seen me in one of my ice dancer’s outfits.
“If you are serious about marrying Rhett someday, blackmail and extortion might be par for the course with a father-in-law like Maxwell.”
Linden put aside a Meyer-sized load of tickets for us, and the herd of us wind through the crowded arena and to our seats. I considered wearing Rhett’s jersey, but instead, I stole one of Jack’s suits. I wanted to look professional for the negotiations, but still like me, and the oversized vibe is the height of fashion in New York right now. We opted for a row in the upper balcony to stay concealed. Most of the Meyers are here to watch the game while the rest of us catch an Elkington.
Rhett skates onto the ice and my skin prickles. I have to watch him from the big screen if I want to see his face but, he’s ogre enough, I know his body on the ice without having to look for his jersey number. His eyes search the crowd for me, but he won’t see me way up here. He turns, kicking his leg out, spinning in the air, and then landing a brutish double axel.
I smile and my dark heart fills with sunlight.
The announcer comments on it and the crowd cheers. But then, two men in suits file onto the ice in their shoes. They escort Rhett off the ice. What the fuck?
“That’s fucking bullshit.” I’m out of my chair ready to pound on those guys, but a strong arm encircles my waist before I get very far, my legs flailing.
“Calm down, kid. We got this. If you try anything, you’ll get kicked out,” Merc says.
“But they’re taking him.”
“No, look. They’re just bringing him back to the bench.”
Yeah, scolding him for sending me a message.
Rhett’s on the starting line with Jack as his right forward. He wins the puck drop, taking off down the ice. For five solid minutes, I watch his ass dominate the play. He passes to Jack and Jack gets a shot in, but the puck hits the crossbar. His kill switch is on, though, and he terrorizes everyone and everything on the ice, earning more penalty minutes than I thought it possible to get in one game. The fans are entertained, and I would be too if I didn’t know why he was so pissed.
Mercy scans the crowd with his binoculars. We used Rhett’s information about the Elkington family box suite to locate where Maxwell was most likely to be. Box suites are open to the ice; Merc can see right inside. “Up there. There’s the fucking weasel. Shit, he’s on the move. We need to go now.”
Merc whips out the box-seat tickets Eddie gave him. One for me, one for Merc. Kam tugs the equivalent of backstage passes over Theo and Bryce’s heads and hands one to the captain.
