Page 20

19

Molly

Six Months Later: The Playoffs

There is no question that I love my brother, but being his assistant isn’t actually the dream job I would make it out to be.

Honestly, it’s not bad, and I happily do it—he did give up his life for me—but recently, I have felt like I’m not needed anymore.

It’s not like I don’t understand. Of course, I do. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

Dane’s life has stabilized since meeting Josie and mine . . . hasn’t. Watching him thrive should feel like a victory. Instead, it feels like someone pulled the rug out from under me.

It’s a weird feeling to have, and I don’t like it.

For so many years, I’ve been by his side, silently paying off the imagined debt I had to him. He never demanded this, nor did he even know that’s why I did it, but now am I even needed?

Josie does most of the things I used to do, and a good manager could handle the rest.

Where does that leave me? My job, taking care of Dane, has been my identity for years. Now the job doesn’t feel like my own.

I feel disposable.

It feels like my life is spiraling out of control, and I’m not sure where my place in the world is.

If I’m not Dane’s assistant, who am I?

It’s a question I’ve been too scared to ask myself for years. Still too scared to ask.

I’m so used to managing the chaos of Dane’s life that now that there is no “chaos,” I’m not sure what to do.

Laptop in hand, I take a seat on the bench that faces the practice rink. Later tonight, we’ll be flying out for the first game of round one of the playoffs.

I’m currently working on answering Dane’s emails.

What can I say? It’s a glamorous life.

It’s quiet at this time of day. The players haven’t arrived yet, and while I usually work in the office, I love the crisp smell of the ice. Something about it is so comforting.

The sharp, cold air.

The faint scent of something sweet and earthy.

I’ve spent most of my life close to a rink, so much so it now smells like home.

Peering down onto my screen, I start to go through each email one by one. Public appearance requests, emails from his bank, and even fan mail.

After about twenty emails and no clue how much time has passed, I hear the telltale signs of skates cutting across fresh ice.

I tilt my head and look to see who’s here this early and already on the ice.

The second I spot who it is, my cheeks warm despite the cold.

Hudson Wilde skates freely, without a care in the world or if I’m watching. He looks all serious and broody and in an annoyingly typical way, hot as hell.

Of course, it’s him. Who else would show up early, the man who never shows up early ? Well, there goes my morning.

It’s about to get more complicated. Maybe I did something wrong in a past life. That’s the only answer to this insanity. My luck is shit. Hudson might be right about my nickname.

Hockey players shouldn’t be as hot as Hudson. It’s truly not fair.

My job and life would be easier if they—he—weren’t.

I need to get out of here before he notices me, but obviously, I’m already too late because the bastard chooses this exact minute to glance up.

Oh, perfect. Eye contact. There go my plans to avoid this exact situation.

“Enjoying the show?” He skates closer to where I’m sitting.

I shake my head. “Not even watching.”

“Me thinks you’re lying, Hex.”

And there it is, just as I thought, my damn nickname. As if I need another reminder.

I close my computer. Knowing me, I’ll probably accidentally break it with how enraged this man makes me, so it’s smarter to just put it away now. I’ll finish my work elsewhere.

“I’m not.”

He smirks. The man enjoys pissing me off way too much.

“Then why haven’t you blinked since you noticed me?”

I blow out my breath. “Wow. Cocky much?”

“You know it.” He winks.

My head shakes. “It’s really not a good character trait.”

“Well, it can be added to my long list of shortcomings you must think I have.”

“If it walks like a duc—”

“Quack.” He smiles.

“You’re a toddler.”

“I might be, but at least I learned a few lessons in pre-k. You, however, didn’t.”

“Will you ever get over it? I said I’m sorry. I don’t even know why you’re so upset. You’re doing amazing.”

“Despite the consequences.”

“What consequences? Oh no. A few years ago, you got benched from one game.”

“My first, Hex. My first game, and Coach has never given me a chance since. Why do you think I’m here so goddamn early every day? Why do you think I practice so much—”

“Because you like hockey.”

“’Cause I want to be taken seriously.”

My mouth opens and shuts. All words have died on my tongue. There is a rawness in his voice I don’t expect.

I feel guilty.

“Well, maybe if you stopped being a man wh—”

“Watch yourself.”

“What? You’re a player. It’s not like it’s up for discussion.”

“Am I, though? Or is it just the role I fell into because of you?”

He skates closer, looking at me in a way that brings a chill down my spine. Almost arctic.

This is a different look for him. It’s not cocky. It’s darker.

All these years, I knew I hurt him, but he always seemed okay, so it never dawned on me that there might be more hiding under his perfect exterior.

“Careful, Hex. Keep staring at me, and your brother might start to wonder.”

“There’s nothing to wonder about.”

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” My brother’s voice booms, and I turn my head to see him stepping out onto the ice. “You good, Moll?”

Relief floods through me. Saved by Dane.

I give my brother a sugary-sweet smile, then I turn it toward Hudson. He absolutely does not deserve it, but maybe . . . No.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Best to stay far away from Hudson Wilde. That man is not good for my health.