Page 44 of Her Puck Daddies
“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.
Isthis 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?
Chapter 16
ERIC
Ihave to admit, I love Sven’s attitude about being with Ava again. Even Levi seems more cheerful, and that’s not easy. Usually, it takes an act of Congress or a playoff win to get him like this. We’re all laid out on Sven’s couch, eating takeout and watching Edmonton duke it out with Boston, while brainstorming ways to convince Ava to give us a shot. Without her on board, our hopes will crash and burn like a sudden-death overtime where our opponents score first—quick and without warning.
The captain thinks I should be the one to bring it up to Ava since I have another session scheduled with her. I’m not exactly smooth when it comes to these kinds of conversations, but I agree. Now, I have to figure out how not to screw this up.
Levi watches me closely, his expression unreadable, but I know him too well. He cares about how this turns out—probably more than he’s letting on.
Mynext appointment with her isn’t until after we return from Chicago in four days, but something miraculous happens the very next morning at practice. Coach sets up a full scrimmage with everyone out on the ice.
That means Steiner’s tending our net while Levi’s guarding the one for the second line. If we were doing this for fun, shooting against Levi might be enjoyable, but we’re not. So, it mostly just feels wrong. But then, the miracle happens.