Page 4 of Unleashed

“How’s that not cheating, Viggy?”

“Captain’s privilege.”

“Fuck that,” Bell said.

On the deck, a woman outfitted in Aces gear from head to toe raised a flag in one hand and an airhorn in the other, her voice barely audible over the barking dogs and cheering fans. “Racers, get ready!”

I dug the paddle into the water, pushing against Bell’s pressure at our side. The airhorn blasted, the sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through me, and we lurched forward.

Riley started with a frantic splash of paddling, the parrot erupting into a racket of shrill whistles and ear-splitting screeches, getting us exactly nowhere. “Riley,” I barked. “Get it together.”

He found his groove and we settled into a blur of synchronized strokes. I did my best to keep us straight, but the effort put a strain on my knee. Bell side-swiped us and from his grin, it was intentional. I snarled at Riley to row faster and we powered ahead of him toward the finish line.

We found our rhythm, paddles slicing through the water in sync. The parrot, however, seemed to think it was a one-bird cheering squad, its whistles loud enough to wake the dead. The lab, a black blur of wagging tail and excited yips, added her own commentary, barking at the canoes behind, her rabid barks mimicking canine trash talk. The bird chimed in with a bizarre chorus of insults and parroted barks. I tossed the dog a treat—courtesy of Ms. Hollywood. The dog had earned it. As long as the rest of the team stayed behind us, I could handle the damn zoo.

The roar of the crowd welcomed us as our canoe slammed against the dock, the vibration rattling my teeth.

“Heck yeah!” Riley bellowed, waving his paddle over his head to the calls of his squawking parrot.

I unbuckled the lab from my jacket and she launched herself onto the deck. Up ahead, Riley vaulted out of the canoe, oblivious to the rocking wake that nearly tossed me into the lake. My knee shrieked in protest as I straightened, every joint aching, every muscle screaming. Feeling every one of my thirty-seven years, I gripped the gunwale and hauled myself onto the dock.

The crowd roared, a jumbled mess of cheers, barks, and that damn parrot’s ear-splitting whistle. The team’s social media guru snapped pics like a paparazzi on the red carpet. I smiled, slapping high-fives with Riley and fans. After seventeen years, I knew my role well. Captain Jack “Viggy” Vignier, always in control, always leading the charge.

The irony burned like a shot of cheap whiskey. A hollow victory, celebrated by a man on the verge of collapse. My gaze swept over my teammates, some already on dock, others still paddling in circles on the lake. One of them would be taking my place next season.

Today’s win rang hollow, a manufactured pretense hiding the cracks in the ice. Those damn cameras poised to catch the first sign of weakness. I straightened my spine, ignoring the throbbing in my knee, the ache in my muscles, the bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to drown me. Not just physical exhaustion, though that was bad enough. It was the mental grind, the constant pressure, the second-guessing, the knowledge that my body was a ticking time bomb.

Just a few more weeks. Just a little longer. Hold out, win the Cup, then who cared if the whole damn thing crumbled.

I glared into the nearest lens and plowed through the crowd. There would be no wincing, no limping, no sign of vulnerability. Not for the cameras, not for the fans, and especially not for Lily Sutton and her too-perceptive eyes.

Chapter Two

Lily

Hockey Rule #4: Your team is your family

Media Rule #4: Everyone is a potential source

Thelatemorningsunbeat down on the picnic area, transforming the air around the lake into a shimmering, heat-soaked haze. I squirmed restlessly on the hard, wooden bench, hunching over my laptop, wiggling one way and then another in a vain attempt to find even a sliver of shade. Just enough to let me see the damn screen. TheAcesUnleashedcrew had snagged a prime spot under a sprawling oak tree, but this was Austin. If I’d learned anything in my nine months here, the Austin sun possessed a relentless determination to incinerate anything in its path. My laptop screen, apparently, was today’s target.

“I swear, I’m melting.” I scraped hair away from my face, tempted to shave it all off if this heat didn’t let up.

“You thinkyou’remelting?” Adele, my best friend and resident cheerleader, chuckled, but didn’t pull her gaze from the monitor with the array of video feeds. “Try being the poor cameraman chasing after Miller Fahn and the basset hound who decided a dip in Lady Bird Lake was the perfect way to cool off, but somehow forgot his short little legs were useless when it came to swimming.”

The Paddle to the Playoffs event was a goldmine of material. I’d already seen enough to know we had the makings for a winning episode. A hilarious mix of unskilled paddling, untrained dogs, and a squawking parrot. Toss in a three-legged iguana named Fred and we had ourselves a wholesome ratings bonanza.

If onlywholesomesatisfied the boss.

“Just make sure you get Viggy in a shot with Whitney and the iguana,” I said, my gaze drifting toward the dock where the canoes were starting to return. “Anything with Viggy automatically makes the highlight reels.”

My eyes locked on him as he powered the canoe toward the dock, muscles in his shoulders rippling beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt.Look away. Look away!

But it was too late.

My gaze snagged on his raw, physical presence and I couldn’t look away. Not for the first time, I imagined the scent of his skin, warm and musky, and a flush of heat crept up my neck.Damn it, girl. Get a grip. Jack Vignier was a potent cocktail of controlled power and raw masculinity, a dangerous mix that sent a shiver of unwelcome awareness straight to my core.

My hair fluttered across my face, breaking my trance. The warmth of the sunshine soaked into my skin, but it couldn’t erase the echo of his voice, that low rumble that seemed to vibrate in my chest. “If we get enough going viral,” I said, my voice a little too bright, a little too eager to fill the sudden quiet, “we might even satisfy Mark.”

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