Page 26 of Holiday Hostilities

I keep my expression neutral, neither confirming nor denying.

“Anyway,” Coach goes on, “I just took a call from Dennis—he’s in St. Barts right now—and he’s requested that we do what we need to do to get this mess smoothed over promptly. He doesn’t want to see our new captain being dragged over the coals and the sports networks questioning his competency.” He raises a bushy brow at me. “I assumeyoudon’t want that either, do you, Marino?”

“No, sir.”

Dennis Lieberman is the Cyclones GM–-and one of the only people who vocally vouched for Slater becoming captain over me. I’d bet my entire year’s salary that Coach is mincing a lot of words right now out of kindness, and Lieberman is actuallyseething while simultaneously crowing “I told you so!” at anyone who will listen.

“Be a good kid and clean up your mess. Get Lieberman off my back by getting the gossip columns off yours. Playing well on the ice ain’t gonna be enough to get you back into his good books, so I’m going to need you there at the gala representing our organization and looking every inch the respectable captain. Lieberman will be attending the gala so you better put your best foot forward. Deal?”

“Deal,” I say, my voice a lot firmer and stronger than I feel. Which is about four inches tall.

But what Torres is saying makes sense. We just won our game. I simply need to focus on presenting a good image and continuing to win. Then, this will all go away and we can get back to regularly scheduled programming.

Coach claps my shoulder. “Happy Thanksgiving, Marino.”

“Same to you, Coach.” I nod, my expression as composed as I can make it.

As Coach strides away, there’s a sudden a hiss behind my right shoulder. “Yiiiiiiikes.”

I turn, startled, to look at Reagan. Honestly, I forgot she was here. I attempt to crack a smile. “Come on. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

But she’s not even looking at me, she’s staring at her phone screen. She swallows thickly. “Aaron. She has a ticket.”

My stomach swoops. “What?”

“To the gala. I checked the guest list and Brandi’s on there.”

“Can’t we get her removed? Have her barred?” The suggestion sounds a little extreme, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And I can’t take any chances, especially when Lieberman will be there.

Reagan considers this for a moment, tapping her sparkly fingernails against her chin, but she shakes her blond and purplehair. “I imagine that would make everything look worse. Add fuel to her fire. Give her even more reason—and ammunition—to make you look bad.”

“True.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to organize my thoughts. “Lieberman is going to lose it if this causes another stir.”

“I don’t think it will.” Reagan now looks thoughtful. “Brandi will likely want to be on her best behavior at the gala, too. She’s not going to do anything that might get her kicked out. My guess is that she’ll do what she can to get close to you, and that means?—”

“Bidding on me in the auction,” I finish Reagan’s sentence calmly, while internally cursing up a storm as I recall one of Brandi’s unhinged texts...

There’s no upper limit on what I’ll spend by the way! Either way, I’ll have you.

Judging by what transpired today, I doubt she’s bluffing.

“Yup.” Reagan nods. “My suggestion is that you find someone to outbid her, or you could end up on a very risqué date with Brandi.”

“Risqué how?!” I demand.

“Don’t worry about that part.” She waves a hand. “Worry about getting back in Lieberman’s good books. Now, I gotta bounce, have a family thing to attend. But I’ll see you at your place tomorrow, yeah?”

Oh, yeah.I momentarily forgot that a herd of people are coming over to my place tomorrow afternoon for a Thanksgiving meal l have not started prepping for in the least. I’m now beginning to wonder if I unknowingly broke a mirror and walked under a ladder on Friday the 13th, because luck does not seem to be in my favor right now.

Reagan bounds off towards the entrance of the players’ area where my teammates’ friends and family are starting to appear.I paste on a smile before returning to the locker room to get changed, trying to be positive.

I can fix this.

In fact, that’s what I’m going to do. Tomorrow morning, I’ll come here for an early skate to clear my head and work this out.

But now, I’m going home to eat an entire pumpkin pie while watching Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving. And probably a pecan pie, too.

Bad luck, stalkers, and my captaincy being questioned aside… It’s a holiday, dammit.

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