Page 71 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Maverick

One year later …

Gabrielle’s melodious, yet authoritative, voice seemed to almost float out of her body as she spoke on the video chat with the lawyers and judge involved in our lawsuit against my father.

Because of course Kirby Roy couldn’t just leave things alone.

After Riot and I refused to stand by Rebel, and I retired from the NHL, my dad made the brilliant decision to not leave things alone, and brought up my relationship with Gabrielle to the media.

The media outlet chose to settle with us, so that was over.

But my dad wanted the drama. He wanted to cause me pain.

So now we were in court, delivering our final statements.

“Fuck around and find out,” as Gabrielle said more than once over the last year.

My woman continued to speak, marveling me with her diplomacy and brilliance.

“Your Honor, at the end of the day, the only people who truly know what went on ten years ago in the privacy of my home are Mr. Roy and myself.

As we have already submitted, we know that nothing illegal took place.

At the time he lived with my children and me, I was nothing more than a host to him.

His parents rented a room for him at my home so he could attend high school in Spokane and play for the Spokane Chiefs.

I was to provide him with shelter, food, and act as an adult guardian.

I took this responsibility very seriously, and provided for him the same way I would expect someone would do if they were entrusted with the responsibility of my own children.

At the time, that was how I saw him. Not as my child, but as a child I was given responsibility for.

“I note this not in an attempt to scandalize or be salacious, but for context. Mr. Kirby Roy kindly brought to the media’s attention that my ex-husband is a convicted child molester.

It is our position that his actions and the evidence he has brought before Your Honor today establish that Mr. Kirby Roy’s motivation was to attempt to paint myself with the same brush.

A decision made with forethought and malice, knowing that such an allegation, no matter how unfounded, was designed to tear apart not only Mr. Maverick Roy’s and my relationship, but damage my reputation.

“This court has heard unequivocal evidence from the police’s own records that I was the one to report my ex-husband to the police for his heinous crimes.

However, this information was also public record.

There is evidence before Your Honor that the media at the time of my ex-husband’s conviction was filled with articles and headlines that focused on that very fact.

Mr. Kirby Roy’s suggestion that he was unaware of this fact is patently absurd, Your Honor.

I submit that it would be virtually impossible for anyone to Google my ex-husband’s crimes without learning that I was one of the prosecutions key witnesses.

“As a result, it remains our position, my position, that Mr. Kirby Roy’s accusation that Mr. Maverick Roy and I commenced a relationship, sexual or even romantic, at the time he resided in my home as a youth is not only slanderous, but insulting and ludicrous.

“Your Honor, we ask that you find in favor of our suit for slander and defamation of character, and that the appropriate damages in this case, for the pain and suffering that has resulted from the injury caused by Mr. Kirby Roy is the aforementioned amount set out in our pleadings. Our pleadings had asked that those damages be divided between ourselves and various listed charities. However, our priority is not obtaining a financial benefit for ourselves, instead we wish to focus on putting this entire ordeal behind us, so that we may heal and move on. Therefore, should the court feel it appropriate, in the alternative, we would ask that the entire amount of the settlement be equally divided between the listed charities.”

I watched as an invisible weight lifted off Gabrielle’s shoulders. With a deep, controlled breath, she finished with the line I had heard her practice what felt like a million times in the lead up today, “Subject to any questions you have, those are my submissions.”

“Thank you, Ms. Campbell,” the female judge said.

“You all have left me with much to consider. I ask that the parties return tomorrow morning, at which time I will render my verdict in this matter. We will see you back in this courtroom first thing, the matter is adjourned until that time.” With those words, the clerk who had been taking notes, jumped up and called the courtroom to order.

In a flurry of activity, the judge left the room, and the screen went dark.

“See you tomorrow, councillor,” my father’s lawyer said before leaving the video chat.

With a sigh that made her shoulders droop, Gabrielle left the conference call as well, before

swiveling in her chair to face me, her expression somber. “I have no idea how this is going to go,” she said, leaning forward and resting her head against my chest. “But your dad can’t get away with this. Dragging your name—”

“And yours.”

“Through the mud. And all for what? Because he didn’t get his way?

” The vibrations of her voice resonated in my chest. “And then he tried to start his own podcast— Apex Male— to discredit everything you’re doing on your podcast.” She shook her head, pain and anger in her eyes.

“Having Germain Pratt as his first guest was like a sucker punch to the back of the head.”

“That’s Kirby Roy for you. World-class asshole and narcissist.”

We didn’t see my dad on screen today. In fact, we weren’t even sure he was present.

Unfortunately, my mother stood by my father’s side during all of this.

The ever-dutiful wife. So I no longer had a relationship with her either—she had the bee mug I made her though, and I liked to think that she sipped tea out of it every day thinking of me.

Maybe one day she’d have the courage to leave my father.

I wasn’t judging her. I just missed her.

Riot and I, however, were getting closer, since he, too, had been rejected by our father for not standing by Rebel and defending him.

I stood up from my seat and hauled Gabrielle to her feet, lacing our fingers together and leading her out of her office. “I have a surprise for you.”

I nodded at the dining room table when she raised one dark eyebrow at me.

“Did you—”

“Took me a while to be able to throw and successfully make something this big, but … ta-da! It’s a new big salad bowl, to replace the one that broke.

You know, from the set you bought at that farmers market in Spokane.

” Heat crept into my cheeks. “It’s definitely not as nice, I’m sure, but … do you like it?”

She picked up the honkin‘ bowl that I spent hours painting mandalas on. After doing all the different arts and crafts on the island, I took to pottery the most. And Hugh and I became good friends. He taught me how to throw clay on the wheel, and while I first started with smaller bowls and mugs, I eventually made something bigger—this salad bowl—that I didn’t want to crush into a glob again.

I still enjoyed whittling, and I went over to Man’s twice a week to carve, but I went there more for the company and conversation than I did because I was in love with making spoons.

Sometimes Hugh, Man, and I got together and drank beer or masala chai on Man’s deck overlooking Duck Cove as Dandelion and her minions quacked like gossipy nuggets and disturbed our peace.

Logan and I had become quite good friends as well, and sometimes—when he wasn’t working or hanging out with Reneé—he joined us.

“You painted this too?” she asked, gently turning the bowl over to study the bottom. “This must have taken hours.”

“Like twenty-six or something ridiculous, yeah.”

With a slack jaw, she glanced up at me. “Maverick.”

I shrugged. “It was relaxing … sort of.”

“It’s gorgeous.” She cupped my jaw and kissed me. “I love it. Thank you.”

“Well, you know, with no hockey money coming in, I have to resort to making your dishes now,” I teased. “We can’t afford to go to IKEA.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Ha-ha. Even if your podcast wasn’t making money rain down on you, you’d still be fine.”

The front door opened, and Damon and Laurel came in, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. They stowed their shoes, and Laurel removed her jacket. Damon kept his hoodie on.

“What have you two been up to?” Gabrielle asked them as they joined us in the kitchen.

“Sam rode over so we were out visiting her and Raven,” Laurel said, going to the sink to wash her hands.

“Did you make this, Mav?” Damon asked, pointing to the bowl. The kid was nearly as tall as me now, and his voice was extra cracky too.

“I did.”

“Cool.” He nodded.

When I returned to the island with Gabrielle last year, I made her a smaller bowl to replace the one that she dropped and cut her finger on, but this big, shallow salad bowl took some skills—and first, I had to learn them.

“How’d the court stuff go?” Laurel asked, heading to the kitchen to grab a yogurt from the fridge.

“Yogurts all around,” I said to her, joining her and grabbing four spoons from the cutlery drawer.

Damon and Gabrielle made their way into the kitchen too and Laurel passed us each a yogurt.

“I gave my submission. Opposing council spoke, I rebutted, now it’s up to the judge,” Gabrielle said with a shrug as she scooped some peach yogurt into her mouth.

It was kind of comical, but also so wonderful the four of us standing in the kitchen, leaning against counters, eating yogurt. We did it an awful lot, and I loved it. I could tell by the twinkle in Gabrielle’s eyes that she loved it too.

“It still just …” Laurel sighed, her spoon of blueberry yogurt hanging midair, “it still just confuses me that your dad would want to do this to you. Aren’t parents supposed to love their kids?”