Page 38 of Sweet Redemption

“Remember, husband,” Liv warns. “Hands to yourself.”

It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve all slept in a bed together, but it might just be the last.

HENDRIX

Hey. Are you at the arena?

Just finished morning skate. Why?

I need to talk to you. Don’t leave.

You realize tonight is the first preseason game?

I want to get outta here and catch a nap before I have to be back.

This won’t take long.

—Text from Olivia to Hendrix

What the fucks echo through the Revolution locker room, followed by a few whistles before my dumb-fuck teammates realize they’re sexually harassing Olivia St. James. The team owner’s niece and the coach’s sister-in-law.

Pretty sure more than one dick shrivels behind their towel with that realization.

Her catlike green eyes flick from man to man, clearly less than impressed as she crosses her arms over her chest as those eyes sharpen on me. “We need to talk.”

“Hello to you too, Livvy.” I grin as Leo chokes, pulling up his sweats.

I pull her in for a hug, her head barely coming up to my shoulder before she presses up on her toes and growls—actually fucking growls like a feral fucking cat. “In private, Sinclair. I love you, but this conversation isn’t for the entire locker room to hear,” she whispers against my ear before pulling back and nodding toward Coach’s office. “I’m sure Deacon won’t mind . . .”

Coach Deacon Kane. Head coach of the Philadelphia Revolution.

He’s a great coach and a good man. And outside of this arena, he’s what I’d call friend-adjacent. Hell, this entire town is basically an epic game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. And between my friendship with Liv and my sisters’ friendship with Coach’s wife, Liv’s sister, there’s my winning answer in two damn degrees. But inside this building, he’s the coach. My coach. My new coach. One I haven’t proven myself to yet, considering the first game of preseason is tonight.

My head pounds like I’m trying to fix one of those math problems with numbers and letters. The kind I always sucked at. The kind Britt basically did for me in college.

“Seriously?” I pull back and stare down at the tiny powerhouse who’s as likely to stab you with one of her red-soled heels as she is to smile at you. “I’ve been on the team for about ten minutes, Olivia. Not really jonesing to kick my coach out of his own office.”

“Guess it’s a good thing he loves me then.” Her eyes narrow as she waves at my brothers. They get smiles because she’s been dying to get the three of us on her roster of players for years. Because of course, she’s one of the best agents in the industry. Only problem is we’ve already got one of the few agents who’s better. And you can be sure that list is minuscule. “See you at the wedding, guys.”

Fucking hell. The wedding.

Ryker’s wedding is coming up, and that’s a whole other shit show.

I follow her to Coach’s office and crack my neck when she pokes her head inside.

“How’s my favorite brother-in-law?” she coos—actually fucking coos—playing Deacon the way Liv has always played us all. This woman knows how to get exactly what she wants, and a minute later, Deacon is stepping aside as Liv and I walk in.

“Good luck, Sinclair,” he offers as he claps his hand on my shoulder.

Liv shuts the door, and I wince as she closes the blinds too. The next thing I know, the team is going to think I’m fucking Olivia St. James. “Okay, Henny . . . consider this the intervention you never knew you needed.”

My head snaps back like I’ve taken a hit on the ice with no helmet. “I hate to break it to you, Liv, but I’m not an addict.”

“Bullshit.” She hops up on Coach’s desk and crosses her legs, her hands digging into the chipped wood. “You’ve been an addict most of your life, and my best friend is your drug of choice.”

I open my mouth, but before I can get a word out, she throws her hand up, effectively shutting me up. “I’m not here to debate the merits of your marriage, Hendrix. I’m here to tell you your being home is fucking up someone I love very much. And considering you’ve already fucked her up once, I’m going to need you to deal with it—now.”

“Fuck. You,” I seethe, anger rolling off me in waves. Anger I’ve got to fucking check. Because while we might be behind a goddamned door, this room is far from soundproof. “You’ve been one of my closest friends for most of my life, Liv, but you just took a flying fucking leap across that line.”