Page 133 of Caught from Behind

Something my dad knows I’m doing.

Which is why my nape prickles when I see his ringtone come through.

I put my phone Do Not Disturb while I got ready for practice.

Which means that only repeated calls will get through.

Frowning, I reach for my cell, but Knox comes out of nowhere and stops me, snagging my phone and scowling at the screen. “There are ten texts on the screen and two missed calls,” he says. “Something you need to tell me?”

My stomach twists.

Because this was Grumpy Todd’s previous modus operandum—wear me down until I’m forced to give in and listen to him.

Shit.

“I have to answer it,” I say when the call ends and then immediately starts up again, adding when Knox doesn’t release me, “I have to know either way.”

He sighs, but releases me, swiping a finger across the screen and answering the call on speaker.

Fucking Adlers, pushy and nosy and ready to do battle for those they consider family.

“Hello?” my dad snaps, sending my gut twisting further. “Riggs, are you fucking there?”

“Yeah, Dad,” I rasp. “I’m here?—”

“Shut up and listen to me.” His words are a rapid clip of fury.

Fury that has Knox reaching for my phone, as though to hang up.

But before his finger hits the button, my dad keeps talking.

“There’s an asshole here with Ella at the salon and I don’t like the look he put on her face when he walked in. You know how she is with me, all strong and tough, but she needs you, son,” he says. “I can see that clear as fucking day.”

“Dad—”

“I need to get back in there,” my dad says. “Get your ass here.”

“Dad!”

But he’s already hung up.

Knox and I look at each other.

Then we all but tear our skates off.

I grab my keys, and with Knox on my heels, we sprint from the rink.

My tires squeal as I pull into the salon’s parking lot, turn off my car, and jump out, not giving a fuck that I’m running across the cold pavement with no shoes on, nor that it’s soaking into my socks, my feet.

I take the stairs two at a time and burst into the salon?—

“So, you’re here because I upset your wife,” I hear before the door slams into the exterior wall behind me.

Ella jerks, whips around, her gaze coming to mine as some other man rotates to face me, his scowl deep and his expression disapproving.

“Riggs?” she asks, like she can’t believe I’m standing here.

Or maybe because I’m standing in the salon fully geared up minus the helmet, skates, and gloves.

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