Page 8 of On the Edge of Scandal

Chapter Six

Ash

I . . . did not see this coming. Clearly, Bronwyn didn’t see it coming, either, because she looks shocked. It takes a while for her to get ahold of herself but when she does . . . I pity that fool.

What on earth made Brody think this is a good idea? I mean, I get it, but only in thedesperation-is-the-mother-of-stupiditykind of way. Does he actually think she’ll say yes? Or does it not matter to him? I wouldn’t be super surprised by the second, but then there’s the wholeBrody-having-an-ego-the-size-of-a-whalething, so he wouldn’t be thrilled about being refused, doubtless on national television and milliseconds later all over the internet.

Is he really so full of himself he couldn’t imagine the possibility of Bronwyn saying no? I’m not entirely sure what she’s going to say when he pops the question but I’m damn well notassumingshe’ll say yes. I can see some of the girls—the ones who aren’t rigid with anger, at any rate—getting all googly-eyed. It’s not as though they’re Brody’s biggest fans, but I can see how this kind of gesture could be interpreted as romantic. It would be a dream come true for some of them.

I don’t want Bronwyn to know what I really think, because she’s the kind of person who will worry about it afterward, regardless of whether she should—obviously, she shouldn’t give a shit what her coach thinks about her personal life. If it doesn’t affect her performance on the ice, or hell, even if it does, it’s none of my business. What I do want to give her is someone who doesn’t care what she does either way. Neutrality.Make up your own mind. Don’t be swayed by this stadium full of people. I will be the person who tells you to do what you need to do, all the while hoping against hope you’ll tell Brody to fuck off for broadsiding you like this, and stealing your glory.

There’s just a whole lot offuck youswimming around in my head for that guy but I swear I will not let it spill all over Bronwyn. I don’t have time to paint Switzerland on my face, and that would also be awkward given it’s possible we’ll be playing them in the next round, but I can do my best to plaster it over with . . . not exactly disinterest, but impartiality. The only thing she needs to know is I want her to do what’s best for her. Not anyone else who might be watching.

There’s a possibility she won’t look at me, because why would she? Why would a girl who’s been freshly proposed to look at her coach to see what he thinks? Part of me hopes she won’t, because what the fuck input should I have in this major life decision? None, because I’m just some guy. Not a completely unbiased one, either, what with the kind of being in love with her thing. But I put that aside and she’ll never know. Especially not when she’s making this kind of decision.

Do what you need to do. I will be here no matter what you choose.

Which is when she does look at me, and I struggle to keep that objective look on my face. Have to hold myself back from vaulting onto the ice and grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her and saying,How can you even be considering this? He’s a monster.

Bronwyn looks at me for a good few seconds, and in that time, I feel like the arena has fallen into silence, which is nonsense. But still, there’s a tether between us that’s not letting anyone else in, and when she snaps it by looking back at Brody, I feel like I’ve lost a physical support. Bereft, and like my knees might give out.

Only until I heard the words clear as day. “No, Brody. I won’t marry you.”

Which is when the whole place first goes silent, followed closely by apeshit. No one saw that coming. Including Brody, who’s sitting there on one knee looking blank. Like, more blank than usual. Blank is fine, but I don’t expect it to last long. I’ve never gotten the impression that Brody’s gotten physically abusive with Bronwyn, but I don’t want to chance him becoming so now.

What I’d like to do is hop over the wall, jog across the ice and put myself between them. Hustle Bronwyn away from the crowds, away from Brody, away from the cameras. But I can’t. I try to keep my frustrations with my physical limitations at bay because if I lamented them as often as they bothered me, that’s all I would do all day. I can and will be a productive person despite the things I cannot do.

Find a way around it, Levenson. Solve the problem.

I may not be able to skip out onto the ice, but the thing is, I’ve already got a presence there. My own personal chess pieces. Who I try to think of like that only during the games, but I’ll use them now for the sake of one of their own.

Putting my fingers between my lips, I issue a piercing whistle that makes my entire team look toward me, their heads swiveling in unison. I point to Nguyen and Wright, my two most physically imposing players, and try to send them a message with my hands and my eyes.Get in there. Protect your own.Through some miracle, they seem to understand. Nod at me and then each other, before skating over and stopping short on either side of Bronwyn. The three of them talk, quickly, quietly, and then they’re skating off the ice. God love them for covering Bronwyn’s back as she heads for the gate that will let her back into the hallway toward the locker room.

Before she can get there, though, Brody’s back on his feet, chucking a velvet box halfway across the rink, where the box skitters and spins across the game-roughened surface. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Oh no he didn’t.

I will the girls to keep skating, right on through the gate, tromp down to the locker room and shut everything, everyone, else out. Give Bronwyn a lick of peace because the next couple of weeks just turned into a shitstorm for her. Every interview, every post-game chat, they’re all going to talk about the same goddamn thing, as if enough of them weren’t bringing him up already. Brody.

While I think Nguyen and Wright would keep going, that’s not the cue Bronwyn gives. No, she stops, and doesn’t listen to my desperate mental begging to skate on. And then she turns. All the curse words I’ve ever learned in my life erupt in my head at once. English, the Spanish swears our exchange student taught me, even a few in Hebrew I learned on my birthright trip. So many coarse words, and not a place to spit them.

While my brain is swimming in inappropriate word soup, Bronwyn is finding her bearings, and in fact skates a few feet toward Brody, looking elegant and poised.

“I am not kidding. I will not marry you. You do understand that asking someone to marry you is no guarantee they’re going to accept, right?”

Brody stares at her, his gaze becoming more murderous. I locate the security guards lining the rink, but they’re as fixated on the unfolding drama as everyone else in the arena. Fat load of good that’s going to do Bronwyn if Brody decides to go ballistic.

Brody opens his mouth with a no doubt polite and rational response, but Bronwyn shuts him down.

“No. You had your chance to talk and now it’s mine. I’ve said no, and that’s my final decision. You have been pushy, you have been dismissive, and you have been disrespectful of my abilities and the very game I play. So no, Brody. I will not marry you. I hope you make it to the majors because you’re a good hockey player, but you won’t be doing it as my husband. My answer is no.”

Her voice has started shaking ever so slightly. I don’t know if anyone else will pick up on it, but it’s like that sympathetic vibration that starts out small and the longer it goes on, it gets huge. Big enough to destroy bridges, level cities. Nguyen and Wright need to get her out of here before everyone sees her cry over that jackass, because she’ll never forget, she’ll never forgive herself.

This will be what she’s remembered for, and not what a goddamn fine hockey player she is. Which is what people should remember her for, dammit. Not Brody, who is now cursing up a blue streak. I wish I could say that would keep him out of the NHL, but men’s pro sports aren’t known for their concern with how their players treat women.

Lucky for me, Nguyen nudges Bronwyn with an elbow and tips her head toward their way out, and Bronwyn takes a deep breath before skating out next to her. Then Brody’s standing there with his camera crew, looking like an idiot. Bronwyn was classy as fuck, and he’s the one left spewing into the cold air.

The arena is quieter than you’d expect, and people have started filing out, hopefully because they can’t even bear to watch the shitshow Brody Hill has turned into.Good riddance, you dickwad. Good fucking riddance.

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