Page 177 of Ice Mechanic

He scrubs the back of his head, makes a disgruntled noise and then admits, “I heard you’re going to sue the shop.”

I blink slowly, wondering if he’s pulling a really bad prank. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.” He shows me a document on his phone. It’s got a fancy lawyer crest at the top, and the message urges Evan to ‘provide witness statements’ for a ‘workplace harassmentincident’ that occurred the day we broke up. There’s a whole bunch of fancy lawyer lingo, but I get the gist.

“That wasn’t me,” I say, handing back the phone and feeling absolutely perplexed. “My name isn’t anywhere on that document either.”

“April, you don’t understand.” Evan shoves the phone back into his pocket. “You’re stealing clients from my uncle.”

I want to point out that it’s not ‘stealing’ if the customers are coming willingly because Rebel and I do better work.

“Every time someone calls and tells him they’re going to you instead, he gets angrier and angrier. For the sake of our past relationship, I’ve been trying to calm him down, but he’s not going to hold back any longer if you sue his shop.”

“Hold back from what? I’m running my business fair and square and if he thinks his loyal customers are leaving him and coming to me to get their car fixed, maybe he should look at improving his own place.”

Evan grabs my hand. “My uncle isn’t someone you want to play with. I understand if you want to get back at me. I really regret hurting you and I’d love nothing more than to have a second chance. But if you’re doing all this to get back at me, I’m telling you now that you better stop. It’s not worth starting a fight with a Kinsey.”

“It’s not worth starting a fight with a Brooks,” I say firmly.

Evan’s eyes widen. “April…”

“Goodbye, Evan. And if you ever show up in front of me like this again, I’ll file a restraining order against you and give your uncle no choice but to haul your backside to jail.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

CHANCE

I usedto think the worst thing about playing pro hockey was the risk of concussions, which happens sometimes, even when you’re wearing a helmet.

But I was wrong.

The worst thing about being a pro athlete is that I can’t sit on the couch and drink away my sorrows after a break up—an almost break up. A potential breakup? Whatever it is April is upset. I’m the one who upset her, and it all hurts like crazy.

Sadly, my new coach doesn’t care that my love life is in shambles.

My teammates don’t care that April hasn’t responded to any of my texts.

The physical therapist could care less that I don’t feel like eating.

Forcing my body to move, follow the PT schedule, and focus on training is supposed to be a distraction. I throw myself one hundred percent into my routine.

But none of it helps.

Instead of being able to fall asleep, I end up staring at the ceiling, beating my head against the wall trying to understand where it all went wrong.

Why didn’t I get those text messages from April?

I’m still pondering the question during lunch when my phone buzzes.

The moment I see the name on screen, I push away the food I didn’t feel like eating anyway and answer eagerly. “Hello?”

“Mr. McLanely, I have an update for you,” the lawyer’s crisp tone fills my ears.

I straighten my shoulders. “Did you find any evidence?”

“No.”

---