Page 5 of Loving Ladybug: Part One
The look on his face said it all. Austin knocked the lamp over.
I flinched as his spicy anger filled the small space. He’d had too much to drink as we’d waited for midnight. I hated it when he got like this.
One thing that had attracted me to Austin when we were teenagers, was that while he was a beast on the ice, and an ass with his friends, he was gentle with me. Hesawme. Remembered little silly things about me. Was kind and undemanding.
Until recently…
“Did anyone else send a contract? What about Hungary? I have to have a contractnowor I’m screwed. How many times do I need to tell you that? Not an invitation to a camp. A contract.” His anger flooded the space, and I made myself small on the couch.
He needed acontractby tonight? That was news to me–and not part of our plan. We should have done things differently if that was the case.
Why did he need a contract by tonight, when no one but the Aces could offer him a contract until right now?
“Get me a fucking contract by morning,” he yelled, then ended the call.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get a contract. Don’t you think you were a little hard on her though? I’m sure she’s trying her best.” I wrapped a blanket around myself for comfort.
“She works for me,” he snapped.
The entitlement made me frown. Like me, he valued hard work.
“What did you mean about needing a contract tonight?” I prodded, puzzled. We’d talked about our plan in great detail–and he’d never mentioned that.
His shoulders hunched and he plopped back down on the couch, but didn’t cuddle me. “When I moved to Rockland to play junior hockey, I made a deal with my dad and grandfather. Ihad until one month after university graduation to sign with a team. I had to do it on my own with no help–no connections, no financial assistance, no family name, nothing.”
“Didn’t your parents pass away?” Back in high school, he’d told me that he lived with his grandpa after his parents died and that it was so bad he basically ran away to junior hockey and went no-contact.
The similarities of our stories drew us to each other.
Austin grimaced. “I wish he died instead of my mom. He’s an asshole–so is my grandpa. I want nothing to do with them.”
“Is Austin Blake not your name?” I chewed on my lower lip.
“I lied. It’s not like you don’t have secrets,” he snapped.
“Hey, I’m not mad about that. I can only imagine what you must have gone through to feel like you needed to tell everyone your dad was dead,” I soothed.
I could forgive lying about his family, his past, and his name. After all, I understood that completely. My dads were assholes too, and I hadn’t talked to them in years.
Though I didn’t wish they were dead.
I surveyed him. “What now?”
“I have to go home and take my place in the family business. I hate them. They’re so toxic. Even my brothers.” He grimaced as he raked a hand through his blue hair. “They’re shitty, small-minded, conceited people, who want you to do everything their way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the deal? We should have structured the plan differently.” Sure, he didn’t talk much about his family, but this was an important detail.
“I… I almost told you so many times, but I was so sure the Aces would sign me,” he confessed.
“Me, too.” I squeezed his shoulder. “It’s awful that your family put you in this position.”
“I feel like I failed you. We were supposed to be a team. Play together, take the PHL by storm, form a pack, have a cute little house and kids,” he told me, remorse crossing his face.
“We can still do all that. You have until morning, right? We can come up with a plan by then.” I nodded.
His phone rang. There was no name on the screen, and it wasn’t an area code I recognized. Hope built within me. Maybe a team was contacting him directly? The international teams did things differently.
Austin looked at it, scowled, and hit the silence button. Oh.
