Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

Royal

“Is Uncle Banks going to get lots of goals tonight?” Frankie asks as she skips her way across the concourse, knowing the way to the box that Atlas reserves for Vipers home games like the little princess she is.

Perks of having an uncle on the roster.

Perks of having a billionaire for another uncle.

What perks do I afford her?

Chauffeur services and guitar lessons.

I do my best to remain inconspicuous as we weave through the crowd. We’re not far from L.A., so seeing a celebrity walking around isn’t all that unusual, and I’ve been to enough of Banks’s games over the years that the regulars don’t get all bent out of shape.

But ever since the awards show?—

No, ever since Jade announced that we were working on new music…

I’ve been getting more attention than usual.

Attention. Fuck. I used to crave it, used to live for it, used to think it could sustain me when nothing else could.

But now I hate it.

I can feel all the stares closing in on me, making my nape itch and my lungs tighten. It’s hard to draw in a full breath, hard to think clearly like I have to with Frankie at my side.

Briar’s trusting me to look after her, to make sure she’s safe.

And yeah, I have security. And yeah, they’re currently flanking us as we make our way to the suite, but this is Frankie.

She’s all of our hearts.

So, I pull my head out of my ass and focus.

“I’m sure Uncle Banks will do his best to score tonight.”

“More goals are better.”

My lips turn up at the edges. “I think Uncle Banks would agree with you.”

“Can I get popcorn?”

I flick my gaze at my security, and he nods, pivoting us to the concession stand. I could probably send him out to get some after we get settled in the suite.

But we’re already watching the game from a suite.

And Frankie already has a rock star, a hockey player, and a billionaire for uncles.

Waiting in line for her popcorn is good for her.

So, we do that—and end up with candy and sodas and nachos for our trouble. And by the time we’ve pushed into the suite and taken our seats, the main lights are dimming over the arena and the announcer’s voice is booming over the speakers.

“Put your hands together for tonight’s performer of the national anthem—none other than Song of the Year winner, Jade Cantrell.”

My pulse is thundering through my veins, echoing through my eardrums louder than the crowd’s cheers—and they’re pretty fucking loud, the applause radiating through the arena as Jade walks down the red carpet that’s been rolled out to center ice.

She’s wearing skintight jeans, thigh high boots, and a SoCal Vipers jersey that I want to rip off her.

Hell, I want to rip every bit of clothing off her, and not just because the jersey she’s wearing has Banks’s fucking last name emblazoned across the shoulder blades.

“Uncle Royal!” Frankie says, jumping up and down, scattering popcorn this way and that.

Aspen is going to kill me when she sees this mess.

But Frankie is far too excited at the prospect of watching Jade Cantrell to realize she’s wasting her treat.

I snag it out of her hands and set it, along with the rest of the snacks, on one of the high top tables.

“Is she gonna sing, Uncle Royal? Is she?”

I nod, and even though my voice is steady when I say, “Yes,” my heart is anything but.

Even the way she walks that carpet to pause in the spotlight is something special.

And when she opens her mouth and starts belting out the words to ‘The Star Spangled Banner,’ I’m captivated.

Lost in the effortless way her voice carries through the arena, completely taken by the minuscule movements in her expression, the emotion in her frame.

She feels every word.

And she’s fucking incredible.

Just like she was in that hotel room, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her tight cunt clamping around my cock as we came together again and again and again.

I’m supposed to forget that night.

Move on.

Go back to normal.

But…I can’t fucking tear my eyes away from her.

I hardly realize that the song’s over, and it’s only the lights coming on and her disappearing into the depths of the arena that bring me back into myself.

Frankie is vibrating with excitement, dancing around like a kid who’s never going to sleep tonight (even though I’m almost positive that she’ll crash the moment we hit the highway, like she always does), and that excitement ramps up when the guys take their positions and line up for the start of the game.

There’s a whistle and ref releases the puck, and then my niece is hyper-focused on the action below.

Banks corralling the puck and skating with it on his stick, deking around some traffic to move hard into the zone. The Sierra are on him, though, the contact hard enough to make me wince.

I remember those days, the body-on-body collisions stealing my breath and making my head ring.

I loved playing hockey, was lucky enough to continue that through college.

But I wasn’t a lifer.

I wasn’t good enough, for one thing.

I didn’t have the drive, like Banks does, for another.

My life was my guitar, my band, the rush of a new melody, the roar of the crowd when I hit the solo just right.

The play quickly turns and suddenly, the Vipers are on defense, Banks and company skating hard back to their zone, doing their best to contain the offensive prowess of the Sierra’s top line.

Fucking Lake Jordan, man.

I’m so glad I don’t have to play against him out there.

He skates the puck in, but Banks gets a good stick on him, knocking the puck away, giving the Vipers’ goalie the opportunity to corral it for a whistle and stoppage in play.

As the two teams skate off the ice, swapping lines and players, I’m distracted by movement to my right.

And so is Frankie.

I realize why a second later, my heart threatening to crawl up the back of my throat.

The suite next to us had been empty.

And now?—

“It’s Jade!” Frankie exclaims, her hand grabbing my bad one. It’s instinct to slip it free, to wrap my other hand around hers as she jumps up and down. “Uncle Royal, Jade is next to us! Can we say hi, can we, can we, can we?”

My lungs are going tight.

My pulse is pounding.

The promise of seeing her, talking to her, touching her?—

I want it so badly that I know I can’t fucking allow this to happen.

“Ah, Tater Tot,” I begin. “I’m sure Jade just wants to relax with her friends and have a quiet night.”

Frankie’s face kills me.

The disappointment.

Christ, I can’t stand it.

“But she’s all alone,” Frankie says. “She doesn’t have any friends with her, just some men in suits.”

The way my niece says that last part sends a blip of guilt through me.

Because she’s parroting something she’s heard me say far too often.

But I don’t comment on it…because my gaze is sliding to the side, seeing Jade at the front of the suite next to us.

And she is surrounded by a bunch of fucking guys in suits.

Fuck.

“And don’t you know her?” she asks. “You guys made that song together. I’m sure she likes you and wants to talk and stuff.”

That almost makes me smile.

Frankie is cute as shit.

But she’s also not getting me anywhere near that fucking suite.

That night is far too fresh. The pictures in the media far too prevalent. The fucking interview with the celebrity magazine published far too recently.

This is bad for me.

For my plans to stay out of the limelight and far away from all of the Hollywood bullshit.

For my plans to stay far away from anyone who might hurt me.

“We played on the same song, Tater Tot. But we don’t know each other. Not really.”

Except I know every inch of her body, have traced my tongue over each and every freckle, tasted her, touched her, felt her body clench around me as she came apart.

“But look, Uncle Royal.”

She points, and I can’t keep my eyes from Jade’s box.

“She looks sad.”

Fucking hell, Jade does look sad.

Which is why Frankie’s next words push me into doing something really fucking stupid.

“Can’t we go and cheer her up? Just for a little while?”