Page 8 of For Pucking Keeps

The mob is never kind. Always willing to chew you up and spit you out, assuming they are privy to the actual truth. Nine times out of ten they are clueless but none of it matters. Truth. What truth? Whether they are loving you one moment or hating you the next. Fame is fleeting, paid press lingers in the air polluting your existence, stifling every breath you take. Once the wind shifts and said air clears, nothing is ever quite the same. You are left with a bad taste in your mouth and a shit load of mistrust. Ugh, I want to climb underneath my covers, never to be seen again. But I refuse to run from it. I will face the firing squad, take the hits and keep moving forward. It’s a picture. I’ve survived worse.

“It’s gone!” Julia says in disbelief as she continues typing vigorously through the phone.

I blink slowly and pull myself back to the present. “What’s gone?” I ask, my voice laced with exhaustion.

“The picture.” She laughs, sounding almost impressed. “I just realized. You have someone more powerful in your corner. It appears Torrance Bailey has one hell of a PR Team. The picture has been removed and most of the posts have been taken down. The only one that remains is from one of thoseTikTok fangirl puck bunny pages.” She blows out a breath.

“This is good, right?” I ask in relief. The last thing I want to do is damage control. I need to write, not spend the entire day trying to debunk lies. But Torrance had protected me, like he said he would. I owe him a thank you. If anything, it gives me a reason to reach out at least. I originally thought Julia was calling to bitch me out about my looming deadline. I guess I am grateful for the reprieve.

“This is great. But that doesn’t mean your readers, or the press, are going to forget about it so easily. What’s the deal with the hockey player? Is this book related?”

“Of course,” I replied quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, I can almost see her pursed lips. “I only met him last night through my neighbor, whose brother plays for the Vipers as well. He offered to help me with my hockey knowledge so I can actually write this book,” I say matter-of-factly. I leave out everything else, wanting her to think this is nothing but what it is. A professional exchange. Yeah, go ahead and lie. It sure as hell felt like more. Ugh.

“Uh huh,” she says with not an ounce of belief behind it. “So, I am expecting a hockey romance in the next few weeks. A sport you know next to nothing about. I don’t know, Alex. This is not Jaz’s brand.” She sighs, and I can feel the weight of the incomingconversation before she utters her next words. “Alex, it’s been months, and as your best friend, I know you’ve had it rough. But I need some pages soon. I need to see some progress. I need words on paper. I need Jazminne Starr to earn her keep. You know I am here for you. I supported your move. I have stood on the frontlines for you and battled your family and kept your location secret. But all of that ends today. Everyone knows where you are now. Everyone. You’ve got to come out of hiding and pull yourself together.”

I didn’t think I could hang my head any lower. Julia is right. I need to pick myself up off the ground and get back to work. I need to deal with the fallout of the last few months. I’m a grown ass woman. Yeah, I let my fiancé and my other best friend knock me down. Well, lay me out is more fitting. I ran, but running doesn’t look good on me anymore. I checked out of life to lick my wounds. With all the media attention, my time has officially run out.

The world has seen Jaz Starr out and about. I can’t make it go way, not really, regardless of how good Tor’s people are at getting things removed. I owe Julia. I owe my readers. I owe myself, and I am not in the business of letting myself down. If I have nothing else, I have me. I will take Tor’s help; I will write this book and walk away better for it.

“You’re right. I am grateful for everything you’vedone for me. I will talk to my family. I will deal with Shaun. I’ve been stagnant and existing in a half-life.” I sigh. “Hey, look at it this way. I didn’t need a therapist to pinpoint my problems. I figured them all out on my own.” My attempt at a joke falls flat when she doesn’t reply. I can almost feel her gearing up to say more so I give her what she wants to hear instead. “I will have the first few chapters for you in a couple weeks,” I say as the long stretch of silence between us continues to go on longer than I would like them to. I know she’s worried and she is trying not to express her fears for me.

“Alex—”

“Jules, thanks for the heads up. I will call you back when I don’t feel like the grim reaper is knocking at my door. Love you.” I don’t give her a chance to say more as I hang up. I am feeling too raw and exposed. I don’t want to hear the pity in her voice. I know she doesn’t pity me, but it will be what I irrationally perceive. Julia doesn’t deserve my anger; she’s always had my back, no matter the circumstances. I will do my best and deliver like I always do. I won’t let her down.

Standing slowly, I drag myself across my room and throw open my blackout curtains and let the blessed grey Seattle morning light the space. Mount Rainer is covered in a cloudy haze in the distance as the city begins to wake up beyond the windows.Morning dog walkers, kids with oversized backpacks skipping down the street to the local elementary school, and the occasional joggers and power walkers pass by at random. I take a minute to savor the quiet and let the hum of this new city seep into my bones, renewing my strength and resolve. Turning, I pick up my phone and open up my messages that have been muted for months. Hundreds of messages await me. Messages I’ve ignored from not only my family but from the two catalysts who caused me so much pain and heartbreak. I watch them all appear, one apology after the other, reliving the past from the months prior and letting myself feel it all. I listen to their worried voice messages and angry texts from my sisters. My mother’s pleas for me to reach out, to reassure her that I am okay. I swallow down the guilt I feel for leaving without a word, because I know it was something I had to do. I don’t regret protecting myself and choosing me for a change. I will face it all though, one phone call at a time. Okay, maybe after a gallon of water, pain pills and the hottest shower I can stand.

If I can clear my conscience, then maybe, just maybe, I can finally sit down and let the words flow freely. I am itching to write after last night’s game, and I think I found my muse in a sexy hockey player: Torrance Bailey.

EIGHT

TOR

Five a.m. An hour earlier than I usually wake up and it felt ungodly. The musical chimes of my phone had gone off like firecrackers on the 4thof July. I knew it would happen. I anticipated it so much that I had barely slept. My eyes popped open before the notification of being tagged in multiple posts alerted me to my worst fear. As exhausted as I was, I didn’t hesitate to make things right. With my PR team and manager, Parker, on speed dial he coordinated the shutdown of most of the articles and the removal of the photo circulating around the web in a matter of three hours. Considering I never use my team for anything like this, Parker seemed excited to flex his muscles. I pay him well enough, but the man was almost giddy and awaiting my call this morning. But the damage wasalready done. Just thinking about the things I read this morning has me clenching my jaw tight in anger as I push myself into a faster run. Damn, the brutality and scrutiny of humanity knows no bounds. None of them were aimed at me, of course. Unless you consider the criticism for the choice of woman on my arm, based on her size and shape, a dig at my life choices. It’s bullshit. No, all the vitriol and negativity was turned in Jaz’s direction. One photo and she had been weighed and measured in more ways than just her character.

A fiancé? She had been engaged to be married from what the numerous comments stated. Yes, I read them all. Exhausted and bleary eyed, I read as much as I could about my mysterious Supernova. I can’t help my curiosity; I want to know more about Jazminne Starr. The more I read, the more questions I want answered. The only way I can get the answers I seek is to ask the woman herself, and the only way I am going to get her to talk is to make her feel comfortable enough to let me in. If she is anything like me, I know it won’t be easy. But we have hockey. She needs my help, and I will help her in any way I can.

“Tor, I’m in love,” Devan’s gruff daydreamy voice cuts through my thoughts, making my pace falter on the treadmill I’ve been running on for the past—well, how long have I been running? Sweatflies off my face as I turn to see him walking toward me. He looks worse than I feel but his smile is as big as it always is. Slowing my pace to a jog, I look around the team gym to see more of my teammates mid workout. I hadn’t noticed, so lost in the events of my long morning to care about anything else but all things Jaz. I need to put a stop to all of it. I will help her, but it can go no further than my expertise. I have no room in my life for anything but hockey. It has to, no, it needs to be this way. I have a cup to win. My team is my responsibility.

I’ve been down this road before. I can’t let anything or anyone pull my focus away from hockey. I’m not in the habit of making the same mistake twice. My attempt at relationships in my earlier days in the NHL failed miserably because I was in a committed relationship with my career. No, I was never unfaithful. I didn’t fuck around with puck bunnies like Ridley and Devan. Honestly, I let my former girlfriends walk away from me due to my lack of interest rather than truly hurting their feelings. Oh no, treating a person like they don’t matter doesn’t hurt at all, Tor. Ignoring them and forcing them to bow out of their own accord, without conflict doesn’t really make you a good guy. Coward.

“Earth to Tor.” Devan waves his hand in my periphery to get my attention before stepping up on the treadmill next to me. Again, I have allowedmyself to get distracted by my thoughts when I should be here, in the present, training.

“Yeah. What were you saying?” I quickly reply, slowing the belt down to a walking pace as I grab my towel off the side of the machine, wiping the sweat off my face. Glancing down to see my progress, I blink in shock at the seven miles I have run. Turning my attention back to Devan, I notice the dark circles under his eyes, and the exhausted look on his face and scoff. Unbelievable.

“Really, Dev? We’re at the start of the season. You know better than to come in here hungover,” I admonish. Yes, focus on your teammates, Tor. You’re the captain of this team for a reason. This I can do. Trying to understand my emotional attachment to a stranger, not so much.

Devan groans but it sounds more pleasurable than painful. “I’m not hungover, not like that. Anyway, I?—”

“I thought you and Ridley took Lia home last night?” I ask, then pause, not wanting to hear what shit he and Rid got up to. I shake my head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. You two. . .” I point to Ridley, who is lifting weights vigorously on the other side of the room, earbuds in his ears and oblivious to the world around him, then back Devan. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Hey. What the fuck, Tor? I am not hungover, atleast, not in the usual sense.” He smiles playfully. “We took Lia home. Ridley tossed her on her couch with a glass of water and some ibuprofen and we left. He drove me back to my car and I went home.” Devan holds his hands up in surrender when I roll my eyes in disbelief. “Seriously, I can’t speak for Ridley, but he doesn’t look like he went out either.” He throws his arm out to the man in question. I look back over to Ridley, and although he is focused on his routine, there’s a scowl on his face that I make a mental note to ask him about later. “I have a book hangover,” Devan mumbles the last bit so softly, I have to strain my ears to hear him over the noise of the others in the room.

“You have a what now?” I ask, grabbing my water bottle and taking a long sip. I arch a brow, a hint of a smile on my face as Devan’s eyes light up in excitement, widening. His smile brightens as he suddenly wakes up from the lethargy he walked into the room with only minutes ago.

“I went home last night after hearing your girl, Jaz, talk about her books. I wanted to call her bluff the next time I saw her. I had to see what the hype was all about. You know for research,” he says reassuringly. “I downloaded an e-reader app. . .Kindle, yes, that one. Then bro. . .” He clutches his chest with both hands and does a happy dance, swaying his hips back and forth, making our goalie, Bast, look up fromthe yoga mat he was stretching on. It isn’t lost on me that I didn’t correct him on calling Jaz my girl. I let it float around in the ether, loving the sound and the feeling of excitement it elicits.

“Devan, since when do you read?” Bast chuckles from the floor.

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