Page 87 of Anatomy of a Player

I’d called my daddy, and he’d told me he always knew I’d make it. When he asked how everything else was, I told him I was great and quickly turned the conversation back to him. He’d shocked me by telling me he was dating someone. Since he sounded happy, I’d fought the urge to book a flight to go see for myself if she was worthy.

Which had made me think of Hudson. I’d wanted to call him—if anyone knew about dating drama involving parents, it was him. Honestly, I’d been desperate for an excuse to talk to him anyway, and I’d even pulled out my phone and scrolled to his name before the logical side of my brain kicked in. I’d never be able to move on if I kept talking to him. Cutting all ties was my only option—my playdar might be non-existent, but at least I had some sense of self-preservation.

“Whitney?”

I yanked myself back to the present and looked at Lindsay. “Sorry. I’ve been keeping late hours and I didn’t get much sleep the past few nights, what with all the writing.” I took another sip, wanting to show her I appreciated the trouble she’d gone through to get our contraband champagne.

When I noticed her pointed finger, though, I spun around—and choked on the fizzy bubbles. They burned my nose and my eyes watered, blurring the outlines of the hockey players who’d entered the office.

If they’ve come to complain about what I wrote, they should’ve read the first version.The urge to send Lindsay the meaner version had been strong—and considering her bitterness toward the team, she probably would’ve printed it. But I’d realized it was an angry attack, not journalism. Deciding to be professional, I’d stripped it down to facts and presented both sides.

Now, if these guys were upset about my posing as a sportswriter in order to write said article, that I deserved. I was actually surprised it took them this long to show.

Of course, I automatically looked for Hudson, but he wasn’t one of the four players standing in the entrance of the newspaper office. Dane and Ryder were among them, though, and the spot between my shoulder blades tightened. I’d thought they were nice guys, and it bothered me I’d been fooled by them, too.

Lifting my chin, I walked toward them, determined to let them speak their piece, but to also hold my ground if it became more of an attack. At least without Hudson looking on, I had a chance of holding it together.

Dane stepped forward. “Whitney, we need you to come with us.”

“Um. No thanks,” I said.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to insist on it.”

I took a step back, suddenly not feeling quite so bold anymore. “Look, I’m sorry if you guys feel betrayed, and I certainly never meant for that to happen, but if you’d like to express your opinions about the article, letters to the editor are really the best way to do it.”

Dane glanced toward the doorway. “Where is he?”

Ryder shrugged. “He said he was on his way.”

“Who?” I asked, my neck prickling. If Hudson came in, then the likelihood of tears was, well, more like a sure bet.

Ugh, stupid “bet” word. Why’d my brain pick it?

Beck burst into the room. He had my heaviest coat draped over his arm, and my gloves and Lyla’s purple beanie dangled from one hand. “Took a bit longer than expected,” he said. “Did she refuse to come?”

“Yeah, and we don’t have much time. I’d grab her, but I think those two are about to call the cops as is.” Dane jerked his chin at Lindsay and Will, who wore twin expressions of concern mixed with oh-holy-crap.

Lindsay placed a hand on the receiver of her desk phone, darting a silent dare at each hockey player. If this were the Wild West, someone would draw and the place would erupt in gunfire. Luckily, the only thing the guys seemed to be armed with was my winter gear.

“Beck, what’s going on?” I asked.

“We need you to come with us,” he said. “You trust me, right?”

I hesitated for a second. I did, but did I trust him and the four other guys in the room?

“I get it,” Beck said, approaching me like one would a flighty woodland creature. “The way college guys sometimes act is the reason why I nearly have a heart attack thinking about my little sister coming here next semester. If a guy made a bet about sleeping with her, or even looked at her wrong”—he shot daggers at the other guys in the room and they straightened—“there’d be some broken bones involved. So trust me, I don’t take what happened lightly. But Lyla helped me gather your stuff”—he raised it as proof—“and you know she wouldn’t have unless she was onboard.”

Admittedly, that did make me feel better, but not as good as if she were here to tell me what the hell was going on. “Where are we going?”

Beck put his arm around my shoulders, guiding me toward the exit, and the rest of the hockey players followed. “For all intents and purposes, New York.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Whitney

“Are we going to the airport?” I asked from the passenger seat of Beck’s Land Rover, my nerves stretching even tighter as we cruised east. The four other guys were crammed in the back two rows, and they managed to make the large SUV look small. They, as well as Beck, were being very cryptic, not to mention freakishly quiet.

When no one answered, I spun in my seat to face Beck. “You do know that ‘all intents and purposes’ isn’t the same as ‘literally,’ right? I can’t fly anywhere right now, much less New York.”

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