Page 20 of The Hockey Stud

Palming my phone with a sense of urgency, I quickly dial Ryland’s number. As soon as he picks up, I waste no time and demand, “Who entered the locker room while Cheswick was away from the door?” My tone comes out sharper than intended, almost a bark, betraying my impatience and concern.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dover flinch at my harshness. He draws in a slow, steadying breath, clearly unsettled by my abruptness. Realizing my mistake, I soften my voice and offer a quick apology, mumbling, “Sorry. Who entered?” I try to sound less accusatory this time.

Ryland seems prepared for my question. “I figured you’d want to know, so I made a note of the exact times when no one was stationed at the door,” he explains. “It was only three minutes and forty-four seconds, if you’re curious.” His attention to detail is reassuring, and I find myself silently grateful for his thoroughness. I had been wondering about the duration, so at least Cheswick must have made his trip to the restroom—or wherever he went—remarkably quick.

Ryland continues, his voice steady as he consults his notes. “During that window, only two people entered the locker room. The first was David Matthews, who works as part of the locker room staff. The second was Perry Lewis, who is also on the locker room staff.” He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing the significance of what he’s about to say. “But only Lewis was actually scheduled to be on duty tonight. Matthews wasn’t supposed to be here at all.”

A knot of suspicion tightens in my stomach. “Do you know where Matthews is now?” I ask, my voice low and tense, unable to hide my concern.

With a furrowed brow, Dover responds, “He’s still in the locker room.” His frown deepens, mirroring my unease as the implications settle between us.

“Cheswick, with me.” I stride forcefully into the locker room, pushing the door open so hard that it slams against the wall with a loud bang, echoing through the confined space. The abrupt noise draws the attention of several people inside. A few curious eyes flicker in my direction, but I deliberately ignore their stares, too focused on my purpose to care about the sudden disruption. It’s only at that moment, as I scan the unfamiliar faces, that I realize with a jolt that I have no idea what Matthews actually looks like.

Uncertain, I glance over at Dover, silently asking for help. Dover catches my eye and, understanding my predicament, gives me a subtle nod in the direction of a man at the back of the room. The man—Matthews—finally turns around, and as his gaze lands on us, his expression shifts. He frowns, lines creasing his forehead, but there’s no sign of guilt or nervousness in his demeanor. Instead, he just looks puzzled, clearly unsure why he’s suddenly the center of attention. “What’s going on?” he asks, his tone tinged with confusion.

“You shouldn’t be working tonight,” I snap, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. My words hang in the air, sharp and accusatory.

Matthews doesn’t flinch. He simply shrugs, his manner casual, almost indifferent. “I swapped shifts at the last minute with Kyle,” he explains, as if this should be obvious. “He called me earlier today, said he’d been puking most of the day. So I worked his shift.” His explanation is straightforward, delivered without hesitation, and he meets my gaze steadily as he speaks. “I get the next game off because he’ll cover my shift then. It’s not usually a big deal, so what is going on?”

“Did you notice anyone lingering near Hilton’s cubby while the team was out on the ice?”

“Actually, the only people who have been inside the locker room are Lewis and me, so I suppose that means we’ve both been in here at some point during tonight’s game.”

Dover glances around the room, scanning for any sign of Lewis. “Where is Lewis now?” he asks, his tone growing more urgent.

“He left a short while ago, just before the rest of the team arrived back here.”

I mutter a curse under my breath, barely audible. “Shit.”

Beside me, Matthews offers, “I can message him if you want and see if he’s still in the building.”

Relieved by the suggestion, I quickly respond, “Do that,” agreeing without hesitation.

“He can take a few to answer,” Matthews warns.

I simply nod, acknowledging the delay, my mind already racing ahead.

Matthews, who has been working quietly nearby, gestures toward the pile of towels, silently asking if he should continue. I give him another nod.

Just then, Dover sidles up to me, lowering his voice. “Are we sure it isn’t Matthews?” he asks, suspicion evident in his tone.

I turn to face Dover. “He didn’t seem at all nervous,” I reply, my brow furrowing as I try to recall Matthews’s demeanor. I glance back to where Matthews had been working, only to realize with a jolt that he is no longer there.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, alarmed by his sudden disappearance. Turning quickly to Dover, I instruct him firmly, “You stay here,” not wanting to risk anyone else vanishing. Without waiting for a response, I rush out of the room, urgency propelling me forward, with Cheswick close on my heels, both of us determined to find Matthews and get to the bottom of what is happening.

I exit the locker room accompanied by Nash, with Ryland trailing close behind. Ryland had returned specifically to keep an eye on me, making me feel as if I were a child under constant supervision, someone who couldn’t be trusted to stay out of trouble on their own. The hour is late, fatigue weighing heavily on me, and all I really want is to collapse into bed and let the exhaustion take over. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen anytime soon because Levi has insisted that I wait for him in the arena.

Despite our victory tonight, the satisfaction is completely overshadowed by the presence of this one guy—this asshole—who’s been causing problems for us. Like Levi said earlier, this situation needs to be resolved tonight, once and for all. The team is heading out on a five-day road trip starting tomorrow, and I don’t want this lingering threat following me or any of my teammates. The thought that someone else could end up getting hurt in my place is unsettling and makes me even more anxious to see this matter settled before we leave.

As we draw nearer to the security offices, we’re approached by another guy—someone I don’t recognize, but Ryland clearly does. The newcomer gives us a quick update, saying, “They’ve got him.” There’s a grin on his face as he adds, “Dodge hit the guy.” He then winces, as if anticipating our reaction, before continuing, “I’m supposed to give you a ride back to his place.”

“I need to talk to him,” I insist, my voice firm and unwavering as I look directly at the man standing in front of me.

He responds by shaking his head, his expression resolute. “Dodge doesn’t want you anywhere near the asshole,” he says. His tone leaves no room for negotiation, and I can sense the seriousness behind his words.

I narrow my eyes slightly, uncertainty creeping into my voice. “I don’t know you,” I admit, taking a step back as I try to assess whether I can trust him or not.

He seems to sense my hesitation and introduces himself in a straightforward manner. “Steven Wayne,” he says, offering his name as a gesture of goodwill. He then nods toward Ryland standing nearby. “He can vouch for me,” he adds, implying that I should trust him based on Ryland’s credibility.