Page 71 of Her Puck Daddies
In fact, no one has. The business hasn’t been open at all.
Did my message plastered on the office windows deter customers from coming back? Or something else? It’s bizarre since he only ever closed the business during Holidays. And now, he’s a total no-show. While it makes my theory more plausible, it’s also scary. What if all those man-shaped shadows weren’t me being paranoid? What if they were him in the flesh? Even if only once?
Thethought of him lurking in the shadows makes me shiver.
But this is on me now. I’m done being the little wife Dean kept around to insult, manipulate, and screw with while he had everything his way. I’ve long since accepted that Dean Masters never loved me. He loved the idea of controlling a wife, having his cake, and eating it too. And if gaslighting and verbal abuse are his versions of love, then I’m better off without him.
Everything points to the man showing up today being him. So, I’ve agreed to wear a wire and talk to him until he incriminates himself. He loves to brag, to be seen as someone important, so this shouldn’t be too damn hard.
I haven’t told the guys about this plan. I haven’t even told Leighton. This is happening in secret. Barb knows, of course, and she’s shared part of it with coach. Henrich and Barrett are here with what they keep calling 'their other eyes and ears,' which I assume means more members of their security team, though I don’t see anyone else. At least Barrett is hidden a few feet away, which provides some comfort.
The fact that we’re meeting in broad daylight at a park near the arena helps, too. It’s cold now that November has slipped into December, and the sun offers little warmth. But I’m a Jersey girl. I know how to bundle up. Plus, all the layers help conceal the subtle wire running between my breasts.
I can do this. I’ve got this.
I repeat the words in my mind as I walk casually by the enclosure holding Blucifer. My phone is raised, pretending to snap pictures of the statue like any normal tourist.
“That’s good. Right there,” Henrich’s voice crackles in my ear, and I find comfort in the command. It’s a reminder that I’m not alone in this.
I’m literally taking pictures of this damn horse statue. I’ve never cared about it before, never given it more than a passing glance, but right now, it feels like the perfect cover. Anyone glancing at my screen would see exactly what I want them to.
I may appear to be composed to anyone passing by, but my breathing is shallow, uneven, too fast. I try to slow it, try to keep myself steady, but my body isn’t cooperating.
Still, I adjust quickly, preparing for whatever comes next. Because when I said "I do," I never imagined this. I never pictured him descending this far, sinking low enough to extort millions from some of the most famous pro athletes out there.
But then again, I never imagined he’d become this cruel either.
Live and learn. Well… that’s the plan, at least.
A figure stops near me, just close enough but not too close. With forced nonchalance, I steal a glance to confirm my worst fear—it’s Dean. I haven’t seen him in so long and seeing him now feels strangely unfamiliar—like I'm looking at a ghost of the man I once knew, but with all the warmth and familiarity of the early days drained out.
“Well, well, well, fancy running into you here, Mrs. Masters,” he says, his voice smooth but dripping with sarcasm.
“I had a feeling it was you.” Somehow, I manage to speak without my voice trembling.
“I just fucking bet,” he mutters, turning to face me. I stand my ground, but it’s a struggle. “Who the hell do you think you are? Leaving me without a word? Slapping divorce papers on my desk like I’m some fucking stranger?”
His rage is palpable, his whole body trembling with it. This time, I take a cautious step back, instinct urging me to create distance.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, forcing the words out. “You want me back as Mrs. Masters?”
Just as I ask, I catch a slight movement in my peripheral vision, but I refuse to let it break my focus on him. This is the plan I presented to the team, offer myself up as bait, get him to confess.
“Youaremy goddamn wife,” he spits, his tone venomous. “Whether you like it or not. But whoring yourself out to those other assholes proves you’re not worthy of me. You should’ve been fucking thankful I saved you from the streets. And instead of repaying me, you go and give yourself up to not one, but three guys? You’re especially not worth it now.”
I scoff, the hypocrisy almost laughable. “Now? That’s rich, coming from the guy I caught balls deep in one of our massage clients.”
His eyes narrow, but I don’t flinch. He casually slips his hands into his pockets, that same smug look settling over his face. The sight of it only makes my anger burn hotter, replacing the fear that had crept in moments ago. I want to slap that smirk off his weasel-like face.
“Looks like I’ll be coming into a windfall soon. A hefty sum. And until I have it in my hands, your lawyer won’t be getting these signed divorce papers.”He waves them like a trophy, taunting me.
“Is that right?”
“That’s right, you little slut.” His gaze flickers with satisfaction. “I saw how you were with them. Is that how you got the job? Slept your way right to the top?”
I can feel my fists clenching, my nails digging into my palms as I try to contain myself. “What are you talking about?”
“I liked to keep tabs on you. Make sure you were where you said you were. Imagine my surprise when you disappeared on me. Then to see who you were with, who you’re still with.” His voice had been building, full of anger, but then it drops to a low murmur. “Once I saw that video from back in Jersey and did some digging to find out who they were, it was only a matter of time before I tracked you down. Oh, but no. I’m no longer interested in your ruined cunt. Just ran through. So, I’ll just take the money instead.”