Page 18 of Goalie Interference

Beast’s growls paused. I waited to see what he would do. The vehicle backed out and drove away. Beast pulled on the leash, as if to follow the car.

“Come on, Beast.” It was a ridiculous name for the dog, but somehow, despite his lack of size, appropriate.

He turned his attention to me, the growl bubbling in his throat.

“Don’t even think it. I do not have the time for a temper tantrum.”

I turned for the workshop. There was a tug, some resistance on the leash, and then Beast followed me, grumbling the whole way. I let him lift his leg on some bushes. He might have been doing it as a delaying tactic – “I’m allowed to pee” - but I’d be happier if his bladder was empty.

I tied him to the stairs at the back of the shop that led to the upstairs apartment. The door was locked on the apartment side, so no one had climbed them for years. I had a little kitchenette in the workshop, and poured water into a bowl for Beast then set down a towel so he didn’t have to lie on the floor.

His growling never stopped. He ignored the water and picked up the towel and shook it.

“Whatever you want. I have work to do, so knock yourself out.”

I went back to the guitar I’d left on my bench last night and checked how the glue-up had gone. It was solid, so ready for the next step. I loosened the clamps and got out my square and flexible ruler to check my angles.

I didn’t know how long Beast continued to complain. When I was immersed in a project I tended to lose track of my surroundings beyond the instrument I was working on and what I needed to get the job done. When my stomach rumbled to remind me to stop for lunch, Beast had curled up on the remains of the towel and was asleep. Once I moved to the kitchen to eat, however, he started growling again.

“Yes, I’m very scared. Happy?”

I made a sandwich and ate standing up, watched by the dog. I was tempted to bribe him with some ham, but with my luck he’d have some kind of adverse reaction and need medical care. He wasn’t being nice to me anyway, so he could enjoy his growling.

When I returned to the workbench, passing near him, he backed under the stairs, so I was able to grab the end of his leash safely and tug him toward the door. Exercising the dog wasn’t my responsibility, but I wasn’t taking chances that he might pee on something valuable in the shop. I hoped he wouldn’t damage any plants out here, but Cash could replace them since it was his property and he was the one who set up this rental arrangement.

Beast pulled me to the gate at the end of the drive, maybe looking for Remy. We both would have been happy to see him return, but hockey practice didn’t run that short, it seemed. I finally had to force the dog to return to the workshop with promises of food. I put a bit of Goober’s down for him. It felt wrong to leave him hungry.

I didn’t know the man, had only heard about him from Ollie, and of course was on his side of their competition, but Remy couldn’t be all bad if this monster was attached to him.

Chapter 9

Let’s make sure he doesn’t screw up

Remy

“So who was the woman who saved your ass?” Hanny asked, checking the rearview mirror as we drove away from the estate that was my temporary home.

I looked back but couldn’t see Sophie and the dog. “That’s my landlord’s sister, Sophie Williams.”

“Nice of her to help you out. Who’s her brother that he can afford that place?”

I pushed thoughts of Beast and Sophie to the back of my mind. I had to concentrate on hockey now. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

Hanny shot me a glance before looking back to the road. “You didn’t ask?”

I rubbed a hand over my newly smooth jaw. “Didn’t really get the chance. The animal delivery people had dropped Beast off and then I found out she’s Otts’s ex and I didn’t think of it.”

The Porsche swerved for a moment before Hanny brought it back into line. “She’s Otts’s ex?”

I nodded. “They were married for three years.”

Hanny shot me a glance out of wide eyes. “And you’re living in the same place?”

“Maybe? I don’t actually know where she lives, but she works on the main floor of the place I’m living in.”

“Does he know?”

That was the million-dollar question. Sophie didn’t think he did, but realistically, her brother was friends with Otts. The team had called in a favor, her brother had agreed, so Otts had to know. After arguing about it in my head last night, this was what I’d decided. “He must, since the team set it up, right?”

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