Page 1 of Loaded Laces

One

West

I can’t believeshe’s here, askingthat.

The locker room is packed, full of reporters and bloggers, all of whom are looking for their next viral moment, and Isabelle—Belle—Harrison is here with her phone shoved close to my face, the screen showing she’s recording our conversation, all while she’s askingthat.

I grind my teeth, striving for patience.

For control.

Because I haven’t seen this woman since we were both sixteen and she dumped me right before I got on the bus for my first game in the juniors.

I spent the long ass drive through frozen plains, desperate for a mountain or lake or rolling hill and only seeing dry and white and snow-covered, all while nursing a broken heart.

No. Not broken.

Eviscerated. Shredded. Stomped on.

Then…the anger came.

By the time I hit the ice, I was pissed. An angry motherfucker who wanted to draw blood—probably why I went out and had my best game ever.

And I haven’t seen her since.

Until now.

Until she’s asking a question I don’t want to fucking answer.

The only positive to this shit show is that no one is paying attention to us.

The one reporter who was hovering near her shoulder, closing in, trying to edge her out has given up and moved on to another player, and because I’m not one of the stars on the team, Belle and the male reporter were the only two interested in speaking to me after the game.

Meanwhile, Rome is surrounded, everyone wanting a sound bite from our captain.

King is similarly encircled, his last name, Bang, synonymous with hockey royalty. He and his four brothers all play in the league, and their father before them had made his name in the NHL first.

The Bang Brothers are famous…andinfamous.

And King is going to surpass all of them in records and games played and points garnered.

Me? I’m a grinder.

I’m living the dream—I’m doing the job I fantasized about as a little kid. I have a house, a nice car, money in the bank, and I’m secure in my life.

So, of course she’s herenow.

Asking that shit.

I glance to the right, see that my teammates are occupied with each other and the rest of the press corps.

Then I glance to the left, seeing a similar scene playing out.

ThenI make a split-second decision.

I stand up.

Okay, so that may not seem like much of a decision, but standing isn’t the only thing I do—orplanto do, anyway.

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