Page 31 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Maverick

“What?” I barked into the phone as I put it on Bluetooth in the truck.

My agent, Vance Pye’s, frantic voice came through the speakers. “Dude, what the fuck did you do?”

“What do you mean?” I peeled out of Gabrielle’s driveway and made my way down the road toward the stop sign, rows of grapevines on either side of me.

“Don’t bullshit me, Mav. You went on that stupid chick’s podcast and offered to fucking foot the bill for Henderson’s victims’ legal fees. Are you fucking crazy?”

“Well, at least you’re calling them what they are: victims. And no, it’s not crazy.

And don’t call her stupid. Besides, you know as well as I do that Henderson is a predator and that he absolutely did what he’s been accused and charged of.

He’s a tool who thinks he’s above the law and can buy his way out of a problem.

Why are you calling me, Vance? Because last time I checked, you didn’t really give a shit how I spent my money as long as you got paid.

So unless you have some endorsement deal to talk with me about … ”

“No! I’m calling to do damage control, man. The league is pissed. Some of your teammates, as well as their agents, are calling me. They’re all pissed. Saying you’re not a team player, and it’s easy to lose perspective when you’re not in the locker room with them every night.”

I laughed bitterly. “Oh, really? I’ve been out—because of an injury—for six freaking weeks, and I’ve lost perspective? I’ve lost perspective on the fact that the sexual assault and misogyny in this league, and among the players, isn’t rampant? Fuck off, Vance.”

“Mav, this is career suicide. And this is a contract year, and you’re out for injury right before the playoffs.

No team is going to want you. You’re a liability.

They’re saying you’re against the brotherhood.

The bro code.” The desperation in his voice was palpable, and while Vance was a good agent, I knew his desperation was to save his own skin and our contract together that paid him handsomely.

He wasn’t concerned for me specifically, and definitely not for the victims of my so-called “teammates.”

“Fuck the bro code. If nobody stands up to this bullshit, for these women, it’ll never stop.

He’s been charged with fucking rape , Vance.

The most unjustifiable, most inexcusable crime.

Murder. Fucking murder, can be justified, depending on the circumstances.

Rape can’t. So if you’re not going to do your job as my agent and back me up, rather than dance for the overlords of the league, then maybe this is where our relationship ends. ”

I was sure Vance was pacing in his high-rise condo in Portland right now, raking his hand through his hair, his other hand twitching for a cigarette. He used to smoke, and still did sometimes when he was drunk, but after this, he’d probably run to the nearest bodega and buy a pack.

My phone vibrated in the passenger seat to indicate a text message.

I navigated the wet roads of the island back to the cabin, determined not to placate Vance. I paid him to do a job, and either he did it, or he went elsewhere.

By the time I pulled the truck up in front of my cabin, Vance agreed to do what he could to represent my views on things to the media, and try to smooth things over with the sports gods. However, he didn’t sound particularly optimistic.

We disconnected the call, and I started scrolling through my messages as I entered the cabin.

(Jasmine)

Your interview is blowing up. I’ve never had this many listens in only a few hours. THANK YOU!

(Jasmine)

Any backlash yet? I’m really sorry if there is any. If it means anything though, female fans are OBSESSED with you. I’m guessing you already knew that. But even more are now. You’re being called a ‘green flag’ hero.

(Dad)

We need to talk, son. Just heard this podcast you were on. What has gotten into you?

Are you in Portland? Do I need to come see you?

Call me as soon as you get this message, Maverick. I’m getting calls from the league with questions I can’t answer.

(Rebel)

Mav, you taking too many painkillers? What did you do?

(Riot)

Little brother, it would have been easier to just jump off a bridge. This will be the death of your career. What is going on?

(Roman Woodman)

So, half the team wants your head on a pike, the other half stand by you. That was some brave shit, man. You know I agree with you, but I’m not sure I’d have the balls to say all that on a podcast. You getting your ass handed to you yet?

(Mom)

I love you, son.

My pulse raced as I collapsed onto the couch and finished reading my messages.

Obviously, my dad and brothers would be concerned about my career.

But the messages from Roman and my mom helped ease that vice squeezing around my chest. I didn’t regret what I said to Jasmine.

I stood by it one hundred percent. And it wasn’t defamation of character when the media was printing the exact same thing.

However, I failed to consider the implications it might have on my family.

I texted back to my mom first.

Love you too. Miss you. Xo

Then Jasmine.

(Me)

Agent called in a panic. Woodman says half the team hates me, the other half has my back. Dad and brothers think it’s career suicide. Should I take a soap making workshop?

(Jasmine)

LOL. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help. You’re a good man, Maverick Roy. You did the right thing, and hopefully, more players will be able to speak out against predators on their team now that you’ve opened the floodgates.

Lastly, I texted Roman.

Those who are against me are the problem. We all know it. We all also know what Henderson is like. None of us are surprised. He needs to be held accountable. If my career ends over this, then so be it.

I set my phone, screen down, on the coffee table, leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes, rubbing my knuckles into them and moaning at how good it felt. The drive home was a blur, but now I had a moment to collect my thoughts, and they immediately went to Gabrielle.

So she was avoiding me.

I wasn’t imagining things. And she was attracted to me too. She was just too afraid to admit it.

At least she didn’t see me as a son, or think it was icky.

Maybe I needed to give them—her—more space for a bit though.

My phone vibrated on the table, but I ignored it and kept my eyes closed.

It dinged again.

If it was my father or brothers again, I was going to throw my phone into the ocean. Groaning, I pried open my eyes again and grabbed it.

Luckily, it wasn’t a text from either of them, but rather one from Damon.

Hey, Mav. You able to hang out tonight?

I heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose as I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. I was able to hang out tonight, but after the awkwardness with Gabrielle earlier, I knew I needed to give them some more space.

Reluctantly, I texted him back.

Hey, Damon. I can’t tonight. Sorry.

He texted back immediately.

Have I done something wrong?

Shit.

What was I supposed to say? I don’t think we should hang out because I’m into your mom and I think she’s into me, but she doesn’t want to be, and we’ve now gone and made it really awkward and weird.

But that’s not what I said.

You’ve done nothing wrong, bud. I just don’t want to be an imposition and put pressure on your mom to feed me.

Another immediate response.

There’s no pressure. She’s fine with it.

(Me)

I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now. We’ll figure something out though. Maybe once a week after dinner or something?

Those pesky three little dots bounced on my phone screen, and I watched them, waiting for his reply. But then they vanished and nothing came through.

I hated doing this to Damon. Particularly since he was clearly going through some shit at school.

Maybe I needed to talk to Gabrielle again, smooth things over and figure out a system so I could still see Damon, still help him through whatever shit was going on, but not make it weird for her.

But you also enjoy seeing her.

Fuck.

The highlight of my day was seeing her. Seeing her try to keep herself from smiling, and maintain her serious demeanor.

And when she broke and actually let her mouth curl up on either side, it was better than a sunset.

Oh, and when her cheeks got all rosy, it was all I could do to keep myself from groaning.

I left my phone on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to be interrupted mid-guzzle by my phone dinging again.

I glared at the thing on the coffee table. It wasn’t its fault. It was merely a vessel. Would I toss the carrier pigeon or mailman into the ocean?

“Don’t shoot the messenger” was a saying for a reason.

Finishing my water, I grabbed my phone again, hoping for a response from Damon.

Instead, it was two separate requests from other female sports podcasters asking for me to come on their shows for interviews.

They said they got my contact information from Jasmine, loved my enlightened, woke take on the toxic atmosphere of men’s professional sports and would love for me to come on and chat with them.

I shrugged and copy-pasted the same reply to both.

Sure. When would you like to chat?

The world was already learning that Maverick Roy stood with women and the survivors of sexual assault. I just needed to make sure the message reached a wider audience, and that the league knew I wasn’t shutting up, or backing down.

It was about three-thirty and I was just doing some exercises for my back, when there was a knock at my door. My recumbent bike was set to arrive today, so I thought maybe it was the delivery driver.

I got up off my yoga mat from where I’d been doing cat-cow, and went to the door.

I definitely wasn’t expecting to find Damon standing there, his lashes damp and spiky as his rosy face looked at me with confusion and pain.