Page 7 of My Pucking Enemy (The Milwaukee Frost #4)

Luca

“You absolutely must rest for at least a few days,” the trainer says, looking up at me with a stern expression, her hands light on my left ankle.

“A few days will give it some time to heal, and you can probably play in the next game. But I know how you are, McKenzie. If you play on this, it’s only going to get worse. ”

The room smells like rubbing alcohol and plastic gloves.

Above us, bright white lights illuminate my ankle, which is slightly bruised and swollen, propped on a pillow.

I feel like a kid stuck in the nurse’s office at school, sitting on this padded bench with my legs hanging, and aching pain lingering.

“And it would have been a lot worse,” Sloane interjects, “if Maverick hadn’t knocked that guy out of this century before he could fully collide with you.”

My sister is shaking her head, half her attention on her phone as she leans on the wall across the room.

Every time I look at her, it still shocks me to see the little belly she has pushing against her shirt.

She’d turned down the trainer’s offer to sit, saying it would just be hard to get up again.

Right now, she’s probably re-watching the clip where Caden Haworth tried to blindside me while I was shooting.

A flash of red heading toward me, only to get wiped out by Maverick.

I owe Maverick, there’s no doubt about that.

But there’s also no doubt in my mind that something strange was going on last night.

Sloane and the trainer continue chatting while my ankle is wrapped. Then, when the trainer disappears to find me a set of crutches, I turn to Sloan, unable to stop myself.

“It wouldn’t have happened at all if Beaumont wasn’t feeding information about us to the other teams,” I say.

Sloane tips her head back dramatically and groans, letting her phone drop. “Really, Luca? Again? How many times are we going to go over this—she even warned you before the game to watch your left side—”

“Yeah, and isn’t that a real fucking coincidence that she happened to know exactly which cheap shot the other team was going to take on me?”

“Well, she’s a—”

“—do not say she’s a genius, or I swear to god—”

“—professional strategist,” Sloane says, rolling her eyes at me dramatically. “This is what she does, Luca. It’s her job. Why we hired her. And don’t act like you’ve never known when a guy was injured before and exploited it.”

I bite my tongue, realizing she’s not going to listen to me about this. For some reason, I’m the only one who can see right through Wren—even Sloane, who is normally very perceptive, seems to think she’s this perfectly benevolent, innocent woman.

“Hey,” a voice from the door greets. Sloane and I turn at the same time to find Callum standing there, his eyes flicking back and forth between us. “What’s the damage?”

“Trainer just left to get crutches,” Sloane says, at the same time as I say, “I’ll be playing in the next game, don’t worry.”

Cal laughs “Alright. Sloane, Coach wanted to talk to you about something.”

Sloane’s eyebrows shoot up, but she makes for the door, darting me a look before she goes.

“You need to be nice to Wren, Luca. She’s already doing a lot for the team, and Maverick told me she’s the reason he knew to be extra vigilant.

You would be out for a lot more games if it weren’t for her warning. ”

When Sloane leaves, Cal turns to me, mouth pressed into a questioning line. “Be nice to Wren? Are you still speculating about her?”

“I am.” I cross my arms, lean back, try to ignore the pain streaking up my leg. “And I need your help to prove that I’m right about this.”

Cal holds his hands up, shaking his head and walking backward. “Oh, no—no way, dude. You are not dragging me into this. Sloane will not be happy if she finds out I’m enabling your paranoia.”

I fix him with a stare. Sloane might be his wife, but he and I have been best friends since we were kids. “Really? Because I could tell her about the missing skate incident…?”

Cal laughs nervously, eyes darting to the door like Sloane might still be there, listening, realizing her husband might have had something to do with the worst Christmas morning of her life.

We’d just finished opening presents, and Sloane had just gotten a brand-new pair of skates. Right out of the box, barely broken in, bubblegum pink. And thanks to Cal, they went under the freezing water at the lake, which wasn’t quite solid enough for us to skate on yet.

“Fine,” Cal grouses. “But if anyone is shady on the team, it’s you. Blackmailer.”

“Meet me at my place,” I say, lowering my voice as the trainer comes back in, crutches clacking together in her hands. “Eight, tonight.”

***

True to his word, Callum is standing on my porch five minutes early, shifting from foot-to-foot, shaking his head and worrying at his curls with one hand.

“I don’t know, man,” he says as we head down to the car. “Sloane isn’t going to like this if she finds out, and I hate lying to her. Doesn’t Mandy have anything to say about it?”

I glance back at the dark house, realizing I should have at least left a light on upstairs to keep up the illusion of living with someone. Living with my wife.

Obviously, I’m going to tell Sloane and Callum eventually. Maybe after everything settles, when I’m not meeting with Mandy and the lawyer trying to make sure everything is sorted according to our prenup.

“No,” I answer, because it’s the truest thing I can say.

Mandy has never really cared that much about anything I’ve been up to.

She never even bothered to learn the most basic details about hockey.

At the time, I hadn’t cared about that. It didn’t matter.

Now, I wonder if it was some sort of foreshadowing.

Together, Cal and I walk to my car—a recently refurbished black Firebird, a car I fell in love with watching Nightrider with my dad as a kid.

The kind of thing that reminds me of all the ways my life has changed since I was a suburban teenager.

The car itself wasn’t that expensive, since it wasn’t running and had extensive water damage, but all the parts?

Special tools and equipment? I poured more money into this car than its worth, which is something I never could have done before the hockey funds.

Now, if I want something, all I have to do is press purchase.

“Damn,” Cal says, running his hand over the top of the car, then lowering himself down into the passenger seat. I have to admit, it is a little tight for two hockey players to be in together, but it’s the only black car I own—and the only one that would be appropriate for a stake-out.

“When did you get this?” Cal asks.

The truth is that I bought it the day that Mandy said she wanted to get a divorce. “Few months ago.”

Ten minutes later, we’re taking the exit from the highway and pulling into the far end of the employee parking outside the Frost complex. I back into a spot and cut the lights, drenching us in shadow.

“How do you know she’s going to be here?” Cal whispers, which makes me chuckle. It’s not like, this far from the building, she’d be able to hear him at full volume. He sinks down in his seat, pulling up the hood of his black sweatshirt.

“She always leaves here at nine,” I say, eyes focused on the door she always takes out—conveniently located at the end of a hallway where there’s a little blind spot in the security cameras.

It’s things like that—an attention to the security of the building and a particular grace with which she avoids questions—that make me more suspicious.

“Holy shit,” Cal whispers when the door opens at exactly nine and Wren emerges, walking briskly toward a car. No fumbling in a purse or searching for keys. She walks like she’s on a mission, getting in and locking it immediately. We see the red lights flash across the lot.

Cal glances at me. “Do you think she saw us?”

“Nah.” I wait for her to pull out, leave the headlights off as we leave the lot. I never drive the Firebird to the complex, so I’m banking on the fact that she won’t recognize this car.

When Wren takes an exit off the highway and turns left, Cal sucks in a breath through his teeth, glancing over at me, “Kind of a shady part of town. Do you think she knows?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Yeah, dude—that’s the whole point. She knows.”

Cal still looks worried and I want to reach over and shake him. He’s assuming Wren is just new to the area, has no idea what she’s driving into.

He sinks even lower into the seat when we roll down a road riddled with potholes, a few of the streetlamps flickering and casting the place into darkness. Wren makes turn after turn, delving even deeper into the neighborhood, until she takes a left into a Dollar Store parking lot.

“She must be making some sort of deal,” I mutter, turning into the lot and doing my best to steer around the glass on the pavement. “Keep an eye on her, Cal.”

But when I glance at my friend, he has the string on his hood pulled so only his nose is showing. His voice is muffled when he says, “I’m so not here right now. Luca, she’s totally going to see us.”

Shaking my head, I guide the car to the back of the lot and watch as she parks, locking her rental behind her and walking briskly to the store. I keep expecting her to stop, to meet someone, but she disappears inside.

Five minutes later, she comes out, walks briskly back to her car, and slides inside. But something flutters out of her pocket when she does. The moment she pulls away, I nudge Cal, pointing at it.

He adjusts his hoodie so he can see. “What?”

“Go get that paper.”

“Are you kidding? Luca, I’m not getting out of this car.”

“Callum, you’re six-foot-five, over two hundred pounds. Nobody is going to mess with you.”

“Yeah, but I look soft.”

“There’s nobody here!”

“Maybe it’s a trap!”

“Oh, so now you think she’s up to something?”

When Cal hunkers down into the seat, I sigh and push my door open, shutting it a little too hard. I stalk across the lot and pick up the paper before it can blow away in the wind.

“What does it say?”

“Jesus!” I jump, turning to find Callum looking over my shoulder. He pulls it out of my hand, scans it, then starts to laugh.

“Oh, fuck you,” I mutter, already walking back to the car.

“Let’s see,” Cal says, nervousness gone as he mocks me. “Tampons, toothpaste—oh, this is nefarious, beef jerky.”

I pull open the door to the Firebird, and we get inside, the engine roaring to life when I start it, the headlights illuminating the empty lot.

“She doesn’t even live near here,” I say, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. “So why drive all the way to this dollar store to buy toothpaste?”

Cal shrugs. “Maybe she likes this place. Luca, you have to cool it on her, okay? This kind of proves that she’s not up to anything, right?”

This proves nothing, but I nod so Callum will relax. He does, sitting back in his seat and letting out a breath. I pluck the receipt from his hand and scan it again, then turn it over in my hand.

It’s faint, but there: Nice try.

Of course Wren is smart enough to know when she’s being followed. I crumple the receipt, drop it to the floor, and start the car.

I’m not going to tell Cal about the note. First, because it’s just going to make him laugh. And second, because he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it.

Wren Beaumont is someone used to being followed. That clearly says something about what she’s been up to in the past. I plan to figure out what that is, and next time, I’m going to make sure she doesn’t see me.