Page 61 of Break the Ice
“I was wondering if you’d like to expound on that,” he says. “We’re in week three of Mr. Hawk’s disappearance. We have reason to believe he may have been murdered. Has anything new come to mind about that night?”
Punching at the panel on the treadmill to increase my speed, I shake my head and begin jogging. “I just said I gave my statement, detective. For any other questions, you’ll have to reach out to my lawyer.”
“And who would that be?”
“I don’t know. I fired the last one. How about you don’t call us? We’ll call you.”
“Suit yourself, Alpha,” he says with a shrug. “Like I said, I’m a fan. But Mr. Blackman mentioned you had a meeting with Mr. Hawk that night. I wanted to know if you had any new details about that meeting.”
Blackman, you motherfucker.
I shake my head, dialing up the speed again and jogging even faster.
“I’ll leave my business card just in case. Good luck on your next game against the Aces.”
The detective sets the flimsy card down next to my towel and hydroflask and then sees himself out. My legs pump harder ‘til I’m tapping out at a sprint on the treadmill. I run another half mile like this, slowing down with sweat shining on me.
Enough time’s passed by.
I pick up my phone and dial Mitch.
“The investigation’s ramping up,” I pant. “Anything new?”
“Nothing significant. But I’ve been tailing this Gomez throughout the day. It seems they’ve definitely come across a new lead.”
“Stay on top of it. I fucking mean it, Mitch. This can’t be traced back.”
We hang up quickly like we usually do. The new turn with Seattle PD should be enough to stay on my mind, but that couldn’t be a bigger lie. Thoughts of Marisse return and confirm what I’ve slowly begun to realize.
I’m fucking obsessed. I’ll do anything to protect the truth from getting out—and to make sure Marisse is mine.
Our next two games are away from home. The first is a game against the Vegas Aces where things get so heated, a brawl breaks out when two of their defensemen sandwich Kai and cause him to slam into the glass. We’re on them in an instant.
Other players dart onto the ice along with coaches and referees.
It takes five minutes for the brawl to be broken up and everybody to be separated. Blood’s spilled and bruises are quick to swell.
The second game’s competitive, a close win by a single point by its end, but it’s nowhere near as explosive. We clinch a one-point lead in time for the buzzer and head back to Seattle on a high note.
My performance during both games is dissected ad nauseam by sports analysts. With my contract expiring, they’re convinced I’m about to drop the dead weight that’s the Wolves and sign to a more successful team like the Philadelphia Liberty.
If Hawk were still around, they’d say he should be worried.
Partially true considering I still haven’t made up my mind.
Morasca returns to the team like our last brawl never happened. He’s still sporting the stitch marks along his nose, but he doesn’t dare address who gave them to him.
The rest of the NHL world is caught up in the scandal of Hawk’s disappearance. Seattle PD has made no secret of the fact that the investigation has been relabeled as a potential homicide.
Gomez is no stranger, constantly around, observing and pulling team members aside for questioning.
The tabloids fill with endless speculation. Insiders and anonymous sources provide details about the night of the Wolves party at the Onyx. Some truths, lucky guesses, and a whole lot of lies that confuse the conversation even more.
I have reporters asking me about it at postgame press conferences and paparazzi chasing me down outside the grocery store.
An experience almost everybody else on the team has. Dirt about other things that happened at the party leak, like Woodrow Channing’s sloppy behavior and the orgy between some of the players and Ice Girls.
Surprisingly, and also sorta ironically, I’m left out of most of the gossip. For once, the league’s bad boy is out of the spotlight.
