Page 56 of Fall Wherever They May

I saunter into the hallway, meeting our security guard. “If you don’t mind, please stay in the conference room next door in case I need you.”

“Sure thing, Miss Taylor.”

I waltz back in and sit down at my desk with my hands clasped tightly in my lap. The last thing I need is for him to see that he unnerves me. Jason is seated in the chair across from my desk. His head swivels around to take in my office; then his gaze bores into me.

“What can I do for you, Jason?”

Cal

This has been a shit week. My body took a hell of a beating at our game in Chicago; practices this week have been brutal, and I still have the remnants of deep bruising on my rib cage.

Coach is standing in the middle of the locker room with a clipboard in his hand. “Alright, ladies, listen up.” Coach calls out. “Johnson, good job initiating those breakaways against Chicago; I want to see more of that. This week is important. We need tolock in that dub to keep our position in the rankings. Now, I don’t need to tell you how tough Colorado is. . .”

I stop listening and lose focus as my mind takes over. I begin to reel at the realization I’ll be back in Colorado this week. Fuck. I hate going back to that Godforsaken place.

“Let’s light ‘em up this week, boys!” Coach yells out, and a chorus of chanting fills the locker room.

I hit the shower, then dress as fast as possible. As I run up the stairs to leave the facility, I catch sight of one of the security guards standing watch over the entryway to the executive offices.

“What’s up, Michaelson?”

Daniel Michaelson is around my age. He was on the N.Y.P.D. but was injured in the line of duty five years ago. He is one of the best security guards we have here. I’m pretty sure as soon as Harold retires at the end of this season, Daniel will be taking over his position.

He gives me a nod in greeting. “Miss Taylor has a visitor. Harold radioed for me to guard this area to make sure no one comes down to interrupt you guys during practice.”

That confuses me. What the fuck is going on, and who would be visiting that we would be concerned with? “Do you know who the visitor is?”

“No. I’m sorry, I don’t, Mr. Miles. Harold didn’t say.” He says with a hand resting on his gun.

Now, I’m freaked the hell out. I make a mad dash down the hallway to her office, where I find River standing against the wall with her arms crossed, lips pursed, and her eyes shooting daggers at the man seated in front of Aspen’s desk. I casually linger in the doorway like I belong in this meeting. I don’t give a fuck who this guy is; if Harold is worried enough to call Michaelson to guard the door to the ice rink, then there is no way in hell I’m leaving Aspen in this room without me.

“So, Skip. Are you going to speak, or just sit there and look like a literal idiot?” River asks as I walk through the doorway.

Who the fuck is Skip?

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cal

Aspen’s eyes flick up to mine, and she gives me a short nod to come in—like I needed her permission at this point. Skip, whoever the fuck he is, sees her attention has been divided and turns his head to peer up at me.

He has dishwater blonde hair, brown eyes, light skin, and a medium build. Objectively, he’s a good-looking dude but nothing to write home about. He goes to open his mouth, but River cuts him off by holding up her hand.

“Now, Skip.” River says. “Just so you know, none of us are leaving, so whatever you have to say can be said in front of all of us.”

“You know damn well that’s not my name. Would you please quit calling me that?”

“I also know you skipped out on ten years of your son’s life, so it’s fitting. And no, I won’t,” she retorts.

The puzzle pieces quickly fall together, and my blood boils. What the hell is this guy doing here? Possessiveness like I have never felt radiates through me. Immediately, I want to pummel his ass, but instead I saunter over to Aspen and give her a quick peck on the lips. “Sorry, I’m late.” I look into herbeautiful green eyes, and I can see fear there. “Practice went over.” We haven’t defined what this is between us, but for some reason I don’t want this guy to know that. Let him think she and I are together.

I turn to him and hold out my hand for him to shake. “Hi, Callan Miles,” I say sternly.

“Jason Bryant.” He takes my hand; I squeeze harder than necessary.

Like he needs an introduction. I know exactly who he is. My question is, why the fuck is he sitting in Aspen’s office? He flexes his hand once I release him. I can see some of Tuck’s features in him, like the smattering of freckles and his nose maybe, but that’s about as far as the resemblance goes.

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I . . . uh . . . I’m sorry to hear about your dad.”

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