Page 9 of For Crosby

This time I laughed. The guy wasn’t half bad, as long as he kept his mouth shut.

CHAPTER FOUR

Crosby

“What the hell does that mean?” I growled into the phone as I stood in the empty hallway outside the locker room in nothing but a towel.

“It means your parents’ assets will remain frozen until they’re disseminated to those they stole from,” their lawyer explained. “This is just the beginning of a long legal process.”

“I get that, but what about me? What about my trust funds? There has to be something available.”

“Crosby. You’re at Alabama because there are no more trust funds. I thought you understood that? Seems the dean and your coach are the few people your parents didn’t steal from. They did you a real solid by getting you in there.”

I could feel my anger pulsating through my body. My muscles tensed and my heartbeat pounded in my temples. “Despite what you think, I’m not some dumb jock. I do understand what’s happening. I just don’t understand why I can’t have the money in my name.”

“Because your parents were the account custodians. The money isn’t actually yours.”

I dropped my head against the concrete wall behind me.

“Remember why you’re in Alabama, Crosby. Fly under the radar and make it to the pros. Then no one can touch the money you make.”

I disconnected the call feeling worse than I had before.

No one had been straight with me. Everyone had been feeding me bullshit since my parents were sent to prison. ‘Don’t worry, Crosby, we’ll appeal the ruling.’ ‘Don’t worry, Crosby, you have your trust funds.’ ‘Don’t worry, Crosby. We’ll keep your mom out of it.’ ‘Don’t worry, Crosby, you’ll be okay.’ And since then, I haven’t been okay. Not even close. My parents didn’t have a chance in hell of winning their appeal. And my trust funds weren’t fucking mine. My entire life had been turned upside down and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Not a damn thing but play hockey and go to school as if I was actually going to be okay someday.

But the truth was I had no one. Everyone who’d been in my life when the money was there quickly disappeared when it was gone. That or they’d been the same people my father embezzled from.

My father was a mean son of a bitch who was the sole heir to my grandfather’s investment company. When my grandfather died, it was just my father running things. The only reason people came around him was because of his money. No one could’ve imagined the greedy bastard was making himself richer by skimming off other people’s investment earnings. With no money, he was a broke son-of-a-bitch who brought his wife down with him.

Now they were spending the rest of their lives in jail.

I’d thought about it relentlessly. About the signs. About their hushed conversations. And still, I couldn’t be sure he’d always been crooked. All I knew was we’d been rich. I never questioned it. At sixteen, I had my own Lamborghini. You don’t question a damn thing when life is that good. You question everything once it goes south. And you realize your wealth was due to everyone else’s loss.

Sabrina

I rounded the corner in the hockey arena, on a mission to find Mr. Hockey. My footsteps faltered when I found him standing outside the locker room in nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips. His eyes were closed and his head rested against the wall behind him. His cell phone was clutched in his hand at his side.

Seeing him in darkness was one thing. But seeing him in broad freaking daylight was something else entirely. The vibrancy of the colorful sleeves of tattoos wrapped around his arms were a stark contrast to his ink free chest. The same bare chest, with chiseled abs, that left little to the imagination yet so much to be desired. And as much as I hated to admit it, knowing what hung under that towel did a number on my determined mind.

I shook my head, clearing away the unwelcome thoughts. “Why didn’t you rat them out?”

His head flew off the wall, visibly startled by my presence. “What?”

I lifted my chin toward the locker room doorway as I passed by it before stopping in front of him. “Why didn’t you rat them out?”

His face scrunched in confusion. “How do you know I didn’t?”

“Well, for one, I got called into the dean’s office.”

“Why?”

“He has video footage from—”

He stepped off the wall and grabbed my arm so quickly, I had no time to resist. He pulled me away from the locker room and stopped us in the corner, practically caging me in.

“That night,” I finished, wrenching my arm free from his grip. “It looked like it came from a nearby building.”

“I know.”

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