Page 145 of Dating Goals
“I want my lawyer,” Chase mutters.
“That can be arranged,” Showalter says, nodding to his agents. “But you should know we’ve already raided your Toronto offices and residence simultaneously. We have everything.”
“We’ll need statements from all of you,” Showalter says to our group.
As Chase is led away, he stops beside me. “This isn’t over, McGregor.”
“Actually, it is,” I reply with a grin. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”
I’ve always wanted to say that.
As the agents march him toward the door, Malcolm looks back at us with pure hatred.
Uncle Whitey offers a cheerful little wave goodbye. “Don’t drop the soap, ya donkey!” he calls after them.
We all watch Malcolm get escorted out, and suddenly the victory high fades into something else. We all exchange awkward glances, the same question hanging in the air.
“So…what happens to the Titans now?” Owen finally asks, voicing what we’re all thinking.
Reality starts sinking in.
“The league will probably appoint some interim management group,” Coach Knight says, running a hand through his silver hair. “Seen it before when owners get into trouble.”
“What if they relocate the team?” Emily asks, glancing worriedly at Owen. “It’s happened before.”
Hendrix looks like he’s about to hyperventilate. “Are we about to be sold to some random billionaire who’ll move us to somewhere in the desert?”
Colette places a hand on his arm to settle him. “That’s not going to happen.”
“They can’t move the Titans,” I protest. “Toronto’s hockey town.”
Sawyer nods. “The fan base is too strong. But there’s still going to be chaos.”
“What about our contracts?” Kevin asks quietly. “If there’s no owner…”
“League honors them,” Coach Knight assures him. “But it’ll be a mess for a while.”
A somber silence falls over the group. We’d taken down a criminal but possibly put our team’s future in jeopardy.
“Actually,” Mikael clears his throat, “I’ve been thinking, and I came up with…an idea you might think is nuts.” He holds his hands up like he’s about to propose something crazy. “But, hear me out first.”
29
ANIKA
Islam my forehead back onto the sticky table with a melodramatic thud. The cool wood feels nice against my skin, which is probably why I’ve been face-planting here for the past hour. The wood grain has probably tattooed itself onto my forehead, but I don’t care. Let it mark me.
I become one with the table as “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now” by The Smiths starts playing for what must be the fortieth time today.
“Gott im Himmel!” Lars throws his Jass cards down. “Anika, please. We cannot take any more of this sad English man singing about his problems.”
I lift my head just enough to glare at him. “Music helps me process my emotions.”
“Process?” Colin cries. “You’ve been processing the same four minutes of music for three hours.”
“It speaks to me,” I mumble, dropping my forehead back onto the table with a dull thunk.
Evan rises from his chair, marching toward the stereo’s remote control. “This ends now.”
