Page 67

“And I meant what I said; I don’t care. But I won’t have you arrested for public indecency. And I’m, uh, happy for you,” he added awkwardly and in a gruff tone. “You can go. Meet Finn and discuss a social media strategy for this mess. See you tomorrow morning.”

Thirty-six

Max

We waited for Jerke to leave. Arne said nothing and looked so thoroughly downcast that I held him back without a word.

I shut the door after our coach and turned around. Before he could get out the first of the hundred apologies I knew he wanted to give me, I slung my arms around him and gave him a chaste kiss instead. Then I brushed the tears off his bearded cheeks.

“What? I’m not crying because I lost my captaincy. I’m crying because I am a horrible person. I don’t even deserve to have you look at me.”

“Shut up,” I chuckled. “Baby, listen. It’s not you who is horrible. They took a video of us without permission and plastered it on their ArgoS. I want to see if we can connect them with any ticket accounts. I don’t want them at the rink when they invade our privacy and hurt you like that.” The last words came out in a low, distorted snarl.

Arne gaped at me.

“What?”

“God, it’s so hot when you get all protective.” He huffed, rubbing a hand over his neck.

My face slipped into a smirk, the shadows dancing around me. “Well, I protect what’s mine.” A shadowy tendril reached out to brush his throat and up to his lips.

Cheeky little fucker.

“Let’s go see Finn, and then let me take you home,” he rasped, Adam’s apple bobbing under my touch. Then Arne stepped nearer, palming my face. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, and kissed me gently on the lips.

We left the room hand in hand, his thumb rubbing circles over my knuckles.

“Shit, Arne!” Decks waited outside for us, looking pale and uncomfortable. “I—”

“I know you didn’t ask for this, Nate. But I’m glad you got it, Captain.” He offered him his free hand and Decks shook it.

“Shit. I’m still sorry.”

“We’ll be okay,” I assured him, squeezing my man’s hand.

Thirty-seven

Arne

Our usually so chipper social media guy waited for us in his office, a solemn expression on his face.

“Who died?” Max asked him, one silky black eyebrow raised.

Finn folded his arms tightly before his chest. It looked like he was in a straight jacket as he perused us over his nerdy glasses. “Your reputation?”

With a sigh, he snatched the glasses off his face, and dug thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “Do you have any idea how massive the pile of shit is that we’re dealing with? Either of you?”

“Nope.” Raven leaned his backside against Finn’s desk, then slipped his arm around my back. Pulling me into his body, hishand came to rest on my hip. “All I know is that I am pissed at whoever did it. If I ever find out, I’ll give them a taste of the Night Raven.” Max’s voice had dropped dangerously low so it resembled a growl more than a human voice.

“Like hell you will,” our Gnoll social media manager shut him down with an incredulous stare. “You have the moral high ground here. You will not lower yourself to their level.”

He sat down at his computer, entered his password, and then turned his screen around so we could see.

Two windows filled the screen side by side. All the time, new messages popped up on the screen.

“This,” Finn pointed to the left window, “is your hashtag that I’m monitoring. The other is the team’s.”

“Sorry?” Max huffed. “Ourhashtag?”