Page 19 of Her Puck Daddies (Game On Daddies #2)

AVA

A fter finishing up Steiner’s massage—his daily request lately—I nudge him awake before stepping out so he can get dressed.

Jake Steiner is the kind of client who zonks out during his sessions, which makes him easy to work on as long as I don’t need him to roll over.

But his steady appointments don’t give me the reassurance they should.

Not when he’s only here because Levi isn’t.

And not since I’m almost certain Levi’s string of failures has something to do with me.

“Thanks, Ava,” says Steiner on a yawn.

“See you tomorrow, Jake.”

I’ve packed my schedule so full that I barely have time to dwell on my situation during the day.

But after scrubbing down my table and washing my hands in preparation for the left-winger who sh ould be on his way, I still have a few extra minutes to kill.

Just enough time to overthink—useless as that is.

The only one of the players I’ve hooked up with who’s kept his schedule with me is Eric.

Both Levi and Sven have dropped their sessions, and it’s not hard to figure out why.

Out of the three, only the husky defenseman and I have kept things strictly professional—well, except for that first time.

After that, he just walks in, follows instructions, and gets the job done.

Unlike the other two.

But Sven’s attitude and performance haven’t taken a hit from avoiding me.

I’ve been dodging him, too. I never meant to lean on him like I did in New York.

And I sure as hell didn’t intend to work myself into such a sorry state that he felt the need to pick me up.

Particularly not the kind of pick me up that comes in the shape of his dick.

Still, the team captain’s out there every game night, kicking ass, showing no signs of fallout from steering clear of me. Levi, on the other hand… well, Levi’s not thriving. Even someone as green as me knows that when a pro athlete gets benched, it’s never a good sign.

I haven’t been making a point to watch the team’s practices, but the scuttlebutt finds me anyway.

The other day, a right-winger came in grumbling about Levi.

And in the hall, I overheard a couple of voices I didn’t recognize tossing around theories on why a player as dependable as Levi is suddenly falling apart this season.

“He’s gotta be hiding an injury,” one of them said, sounding pissed off.

“How do you hide an injury with all these coaches and fucking trainers around, eh?” demanded another one. “Nope, this is something behind the scenes.”

“But like what?”

“Like drama. Maybe he’s got a sick relative, or some hooker showed up here at the arena with some squalling brat claiming he’s the father.”

Talk about one extreme to the next.

I stayed quiet, of course. I’d been just inside the restroom when they walked by, so neither of them saw me.

But the fact that speculation is running rampant among people within or at least friendly to the organization?

That’s a red flag. Even worse is what’s being said outside this stadium.

The online hockey media has been having a field day at Levi’s expense.

Why Has the Av’s Levi Corolla Failed to Get the Job Done Again ?

What Does Benching Goalie Levi Corolla Mean for the Av’s?

Colorado Avalanche: Steiner’s Hot and Corolla’s Not

I’ve caught glimpses of Sven around the stadium, but not Levi. The only time I’ve seen him is on some of the highlight reels I’ve been following on social media and the ESPN sports footage of recent games. Each look at him shows a scowl so fierce, he might as well be mistaken for an ogre.

Is pretending to be invincible around him the right thing to do?

Or am I just taking the cowardly way out?

Granted, he hasn’t seemed any more interested in visiting me than I’ve been in seeing him, but still.

.. I could try to take the initiative. Then again, taking the initiative the one time he was lying on my table is exactly what got me into this mess to begin with.

As I massage a defenseman named Brucker’s feet—his feet are so fucking huge, I bet the team has to special order his skates—my phone buzzes in my pocket a few times, but I ignore it.

While my contract doesn’t strictly forbid answering during business hours, I consider it rude to interrupt someone’s massage. All my attention should be on them, not my cell. Besides, it’s getting late. Brucker is my last appointment of the afternoon. I can check my messages in about five minutes.

Onl y, I don’t count on my phone vibrating like a sex toy with fresh batteries over the course of those five minutes. It goes off constantly. So much that Brucker lifts his head out of the open circle.

“You need to get that?”

“Oh, no. I’m sure it’s fine.”

But I’m not sure. Not sure at all.

We have one minute left on the clock when Brucker sits up and pulls away from me. “Sorry, Ava, but that buzzing is getting to me. Why don’t we call this thing done?”

“I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” I tell him, my head not really in the conversation.

The number of people who would try to reach me on purpose is pretty small—especially over and over like this. It’s either Leighton or Dean calling from an unknown number. Hell, it could even be a bill collector or some stupid bot.

My mom definitely wouldn’t be calling. She’s probably out of Wi-Fi range somewhere in her 1999 Dodge Van, living the nomadic life and doing her thing with nature and weed.

The moment I step outside to let Brucker get decent, I see it’s just Leighton. Thank god. But… as I read her multiple texts, bots and wrong numbers are the last things on my mind.

4:44 PM Leighton : So dear ole Dino is here drunk

4:44 PM Leighton : Idiot is swaggering around like a peacock

4:45 PM Leighton : Shit he just saw me and is coming over

I keep scrolling, my nerves kicking up a notch. Each message from Leighton feels heavier, like it’s building toward something I don’t want to face.

4:47 PM Leighton : LaDonna intercepted him

4:48 PM Leighton : JFC he ordered beer and drank out of the pitcher like it’s a horse trough

4:48 PM Leighton : Told her not to give him anything else

4:55 PM Leighton : Asked if I helped you with your elaborate scheme

Fuc k. Why didn’t it occur to me that he might start harassing my best friend with me gone?

I never told him about the bar where she works, and frankly, he didn’t care enough to ask.

It must not have taken much for him to track her down.

Just a little digging, and bam, he’s there, running his mouth and making her life hell, just like he did mine.

4:56 PM Leighton : Said I didn’t know what he was talking about

4:56 PM Leighton : Didn’t like that I wouldn’t tell him where you were

It’s been five minutes since that last text. Is Dean still there? I open my phone app, but before I can hit her name in my favorites, my notification pings.

5:01 PM Leighton : He’s gone

Brucker ducks out of my office, so I take advantage of the opportunity and leap back inside, locking the door. Then, I call her.

“I’m so sorry,” I say as a greeting.

“It’s all right. Everything’s all right,” she replies quickly, her voice flustered.

“Did you call the cops?”

“ No. I thought about it, but he finally left.”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeat. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough, but it’s all I can offer.

“Listen, I wouldn’t have even texted you, but…” Her voice falters, hesitant. “He’s been here before.”

“When? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. It was only once, and I wasn’t here. But when he asked if I worked there, one of our regulars told him yes.”

Stupid regular.

“Jerry didn’t know. I don’t blame him. Much, at least,” Leighton laughs, but it’s strained. “But I thought you should know. I needed to have some sort of record of this.”

Some kind of record, just in case he pulls another stunt. And now, he has. Would he go as far as threatening Leighton to get to me? Or even worse, take things too far and hurt her?

At least she’s in a public place. That doesn’t bring me much comfort, though. Not after this.

“What can I do?” I ask. It’s not fair, really. My mess has now become hers. This isn’t what I wanted. I don’t know why I didn’t think about this sooner.

“ I don’t know. I can’t think of anything,” Leighton replies, still sounding rattled, like she’s trying to play it down but can’t hide the fear in her voice.

I rack my brain for something helpful, and a random cop show memory pops into my head like a lightbulb going off.

“A restraining order,” I blurt out. “What about one of those?”

“Oh! Right. I’ll tell my brother what happened, and he can talk to Patrick.”

“Good idea. Looks like he underestimated Dino. He thought Dino would sign it without a problem, and that he was just being belligerent about it.” I pause for a beat before continuing. “Actually, come to think of it, he never sent me the finalized papers. I wonder if something happened.”

It wouldn't surprise me if he tried to stall suddenly.

“We’ll get this handled, don’t worry.” Leighton reassures me, her confidence cutting through the tension. She’s the type who feels better when there’s something actionable. I just hate that she’s carrying some of my mess.

“If he shows up again, call 911. Don’t wait.” I can’t shake the guilt at her being pulled into this. “I never thought he’d go this far.”

“ Me neither. He just turned into a massive douche canoe,” she says, sarcastically. “I’ll tell LaDonna not to wait on calling the cops, either. Even if the restraining order hasn’t gone through, that should definitely make him back off.”

It should. Dean prides himself on being an upstanding member of the community, always careful not to degrade or berate me in public.

But having a plan in place doesn’t bring the relief I’d hoped.

I’m furious that Dean is making a spectacle of himself over this.

I knew he’d be upset, but terrorizing Leighton at her bar? That’s a new low.

When I finally return to my cramped apartment, I drop my purse and sink into my chair by the window.

The dim light shining through the open curtains offers too much brightness for my current mood.

I reach to close them, but something makes me stop.

There, in the alley between the garage and the neighbor’s house, a shadow flickers, too still, too quiet.

Who is that? What are they doing there?

It could be the landlord’s son or maybe the neighbor—someone I’ve seen around once or twice.

Maybe it’s a service worker, though the trash truck isn’t even in sight.

My heart skips a beat as the thought of Dean creeps into my mind.

But it can’t be him—there’s no way he could know where I am, and he can’t.

I squint harder, trying to make sense of the shadow, but it’s gone.

Is this stress making me imagine things? Am I seeing shadows because of the mess my ex is causing Leighton?

Or is this simply my imagination running away with me?