Page 3 of Snap Shot

Lying liar!

My jaw clenches so hard a headache arises. Hand tugging at my hair, I reach into the locker for my phone.

Wade flips through the stations. “Every fucking channel,” he mutters. Not at all the publicity I expected after this game. “You're an absolutelegend.”

“Seriously? Shut the fuck up, numbnuts.” Jaeg to the rescue. He tips his chin up, tapping me with the folded toque in his hand. “You okay?”

“Fuck no.”

My fingers tremble. Dozens of missed calls from unknown numbers appear on the display. As many voicemails, too. Even more texts. I should ignore most of them but...oh, fuck.The family group chat. I suck air through my teeth, dreading to see what's on the other side of the notifications.

Before I can tap on them, a hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around. “You're in deep shit, Radek.” My agent Cooke grips one side of my collar and unhooks my suit jacket from where it hangs. “Keep movin'.”

I forgot he was gonna be at this game. “I was about to call—”

“No time. We gotta get you outta here.”

“But—”

He snaps and motions to a lollygagging assistant to pick up my gear. “The fucking wolves are waiting.” He leads us away from the interview room. “And we'renotgonna feed them. We're ditching the conference. Here's what we're gonna do instead” —Cooke stops in his tracks and holds me by both shoulders, forcing eye contact— “you're gonna tell me fuckingeverythingso I can figure out what to do about it.”

I nod, gulping down the massive knot in my throat. It lodges itself in my stomach, where my heart now swings by a thread after climbing up from my ass. Which, by the way, isstillon every fucking screen we pass.

“Throw these on.” He hands me a set of dark aviators and helps me into my suit jacket before we're thrust into a sea of microphones.

Cooke stiff-arms through the swarm—a handy leftover skill from his football days in the States—pulling me through the blinding camera lights while shouting “No comment!” repeatedly until the car doors close around us.

My eyes strain as I wrench off the sunglasses. I cover them with a muted groan. The driver jerks the car forward and I’m instantly queasy.

The phone buzzes in my hand. It's another text on the family group chat.

Dad:How's it going buddy?

Mom:Really, Leon?

Dad:I'm trying to ease him in.

Delaney:Pretty sure “easing something in” is what got him into this mess in the first place.

Mom:Laney! That is so rude.

Delaney:Not as rude as having to see your brother's ass on the news.

Mom:Landon Eric Radek, what on earth is going on?

Delaney:Ooooh. Not the full name! You're in big trouble now, buddy.

Dad:Let's all take calming breaths, shall we?

Delaney:I knew you were a show-off but an exhibitionist? Tsk tsk.

Mom:You're not helping.

Delaney:What? He's the one stuffin' that poor woman's muffin' in public.

Mom:Delaney Jo!

Delaney:I'm sending you my therapy bill, hotshot.

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