Page 18 of Slap Shot (Blades Hockey #5)

Daisy

¨To get started, Iˇm going to field you both some softball questions,〃 the editor of Athletica informs us after we finally make it to Medford a number of hours later. Outside the lone office window, the sky is already turning a bruised purple. ¨Sound good?〃

West and I are both bone-tired, but we nod anyway. No rest for the wicked, and all that.

Brian Murphy gives us a pleased grin. ¨Perfect.〃

From the moment we walked into Athletica ˇs offices, it was obvious that we were in for a completely different experience than with Jenna Burke and Bar Down. For one, we havenˇt been put through a series of wardrobe changes. Secondly, the atmosphere is so incredibly laid back, I felt comfortable enough to stay in the shorts and Blades hoodie combo that Bar Down insisted that we keep as a gift. Westonˇs X-L set is currently folded in a neat little pile in his car, and heˇs back in his street clothes.

Tucking one ankle behind the other, I curl into Westˇs side. Without missing a beat, he lowers his arm around my shoulder, silently encouraging me to snuggle closer. Iˇm so exhausted from Jenna poking and prodding us during our interview that I donˇt even think about how couple-y West and I must look until Gwen shoots me a subtle thumbs up.

For the sake of the cause, I sink deeper into his side.

Iˇm altruistic like that.

¨All right. Letˇs get started. If you need to me to stop the recording for any reason, let me know. Otherwise, on the count of three . . .〃 Murphy makes a comedic show of inching his finger toward his phone. ¨Three, two, onewelcome to Athletica, Mr. and Mrs. Cain, itˇs fantastic to have you both here with us today.〃

The deep pitch of Westˇs voice rumbles through me as he murmurs, ¨Happy to be here, Brian.〃

Murphy nods his approval. ¨Iˇve got to ask, what is it like to be married to the coachˇs daughter?〃

¨About the same as being best friends with the coachˇs daughter,〃 West answers dryly, ¨except for the fact that Iˇm somehow shown even less favoritism. Letˇs just say that Coach Hall likes to see me sweat.〃

¨I can believe it. We see a lot of guys dating their teammatesˇ sisters, friends, cousins, that sort of thingbut marrying the coachˇs daughter? Some might say that you have a death wish.〃

Feeling West stiffen against me, I place my hand on his leg in warning. ¨Dad has a scary reputation in the league, but he cares about me, and he definitely cares about his players.〃 I lift my shoulder in what I hope comes across as a careless shrug. ¨Heˇs happy to support us.〃 Probably happier than most would think considering that he helped orchestrate this entire marriage.

I donˇt say that part, though. For obvious reasons.

Murphyˇs pen slashes across a blank page in his notebook. ¨Daisy, despite your fall from grace years ago, youˇre no stranger to the life of an elite athlete. Do you think that your career in figure skating prepared you for marriage to a pro hockey player?〃

Beneath my hand, Westˇs thigh turns to stone. ¨Thatˇs not〃

¨I knew West before he was a pro hockey player,〃 I cut in smoothly before he can say something off the cuff and get us in trouble. ¨At home, heˇs not some superstar athleteheˇs just a regular guy who makes sure that Iˇm always fed before I get hangry.〃

Murphy doesnˇt take the bait. ¨Regular guy?〃 He huffs out a laugh. ¨Weston, didnˇt I read somewhere that you attended Northwood in Lake Placid?〃

Wait, what?

I jerk my gaze away from Athletica ˇs editor to stare at Westonˇs familiar profile. He attended Northwood? As in, one of the countryˇs top prep schools? Tuition alone is over fifty thousand bucks a year, and their hockey program is notorious for pumping out NHL prospects. Truthfully, I can totally see West training at the Olympic Center as gangly teenager, but I thought he went to school in Hartford . . .

Jaw tight, West clips out, ¨I was only at Northwood for my freshman year.〃

Murphyˇs pen goes back to work scribbling in his notebook. ¨Couldnˇt hack it?〃

¨My parents wanted me closer to home.〃

¨Your mother is the one who attempted to anonymously contact Sports 24/7 last month, wasnˇt she? Something about quitting hockey to join the family business?〃

¨Brian,〃 Gwen murmurs with a tightly lipped smile, ¨stay on topic, please.〃

¨Sure, yeah, no problem. Weˇll leave that one alone, then.〃 Murphyˇs hazel eyes dart to his notebook before fixing unerringly on my face. ¨Daisy, youˇve mostly stayed out of the limelight since retiring from figure skating, but weˇve recently learned that youˇre the mastermind behind the now defunct account, Confessions of a Puck Bunny. Would you say that your marriage to Weston is a convenient match to avoid online backlash〃

Gwen moves so fast, I almost donˇt register that sheˇs left her chair until sheˇs already ended the recording on Murphyˇs phone. With one hand planted on his desk and the other coming this close to jabbing him in the nose, she hisses, ¨I donˇt know what game youˇre playing, but these questions are not on the pre-approved list.〃

Athletica ˇs editor merely leans back in his chair. ¨You know how it goes, Gwensometimes we throw in a little something extra just to see how it plays out.〃

¨This interview is about their wedding .〃

¨And it is,〃 Murphy drawls. ¨But see, thereˇs also this thing called journalistic integrity. Long-time friends decide to finally get hitched two weeks after a scandal breaks loose? Cut me some slack here. Iˇm curious. Fans are curious. Youˇre telling me that you arenˇt curious, too? Unless, of course, youˇre in on the scheme.〃

¨Are you kidding me right now?〃

¨Gwen, itˇs okay.〃

Her red hair sweeps over one shoulder as she turns to stare blankly at West. ¨What?〃

¨Sit down. Please.〃 Every muscle in his body is coiled tight with tensionI can practically feel him vibrating against mebut his tone is deceptively easygoing. And when he smiles, thereˇs no indication that heˇs really fucking pissed off. His eyes are hard, though. As frigid as the ice he plays on. ¨We donˇt mind you asking questions about the wedding. Right, sweetheart?〃

¨Sure.〃 My own smile is all teeth. Meanwhile, Iˇm digging my nails into Westonˇs jean-clad thigh hard enough to draw blood. ¨Do you want to hear about the legalities of changing a surname? Because I can tell you right now, itˇs a total pain in the butt.〃

¨Speaking of surnames . . .〃 Hazel eyes flick between me and West. Just as he taps his phone screen to start a new recording, he asks, ¨I had the chance to speak with Alice Hall today. Your mother, Daisy, am I right?〃

Like Iˇve been caught in a predatorˇs sights, the hair on my nape stands on end, and I go utterly still.

Murphy continues, unfazed. ¨She mentioned receiving an invitation for the wedding, but one glance at her socials reveals that she was in Maui at the time?〃 He glances down to comb through his notes. ¨Apologies, she was actually in Lanai. My question to you isdo you suppose thereˇs some sort of psychological correlation between your fractured relationship with your mother and your bid to remain anonymous behind the faceless logo of Confessions of a Puck Bunny ?〃

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

Not a word.

Not a sound.

Brian Murphyˇs upper lip curls. ¨Your mother was shocked to learn about your secret identity. She seemed relatively disappointed by the news.〃

Disappointed?

In a flurry of movement, I launch to my feet, almost tripping over West in my haste to stand. Iˇve stayed for professional for weeks nowin quitting my job, while accommodating the Blades, even in this sham of an interviewbut there is absolutely nothing professional or dignified about the way that I run from Athletica ˇs offices.

I run like Iˇm scared.

I run like Iˇm angry.

I donˇt stop running until Iˇm outside on the sidewalk, dragging the cold, October air into my screaming lungs.

A pedestrian catches sight of me and makes a quick beeline across the street. I donˇt even blame her. Iˇm a volatile, trembling mess as I tear my purse from my shoulder and fumble around for my phone. The irony is that I donˇt even have my momˇs number anymore. I deleted it years ago when she never bothered to visit me in the hospital.

But Dad never got rid of her number.

He calls her like a pathetic, lovesick teenager every few months, praying for scraps of attention, hoping that one day sheˇll come back around. As I wait for him to pick up the phone, I summon every bit of hurt and rage from my bleeding heart so I can unleash all of it on him as soon as he answers.

Only, he doesnˇt.

Answer the phone, that is.

I call again.

No answer.

I call again .

Nada. Zilch. Nothing.

On my third attempt, he sends me straight to voicemail. And the real kicker is? The stupid fucking thing is full .

I want to scream at the top of my lungs or kick something or justjust

Gwen appears before me, her blue eyes heartbreakingly somber in her drawn face. ¨Hey,〃 she says gently.

How embarrassing.

¨Shit, hi. Iˇm sorry.〃 Using the sleeve of Bar Downˇs Blades hoodie, I wipe at my wet eyes. ¨I didnˇt mean to run out of there.〃 A borderline hysterical laugh scratches at my throat. ¨Granted, it wasnˇt really a conscious decision, either. It just sort of . . . happened.〃

¨Itˇs okay.〃 Catching me totally by surprise, Gwen steps close and uses her own sleeve to dry my tears. Iˇm pretty sure that sheˇs wearing cashmere, and Iˇm pretty sure itˇs now stained with black mascara, but she doesnˇt seem to care. ¨You had every right to get yourself out of there. Iˇm〃 Her lips press into a thin line. ¨Iˇve worked with Brian on and off for years, and Iˇve never seen him pull a stunt like that.〃

Weakly, I tease, ¨I clearly bring out the best in people.〃

¨You donˇt need to apologizeyou didnˇt do anything wrong. Trust me, my boss will be having a meeting with Murphy ASAP.〃 Belatedly, she tacks on, ¨If thereˇs anything left after West is done with him, that is.〃

Remembering what happened with Douglas North, my stomach lurches uneasily. ¨I donˇt think leaving him up there alone with Murphy is a good idea. Heˇs, um, a little protective of me.〃 Understatement of the year. He broke Northˇs nose. I saw the medical reports after New York released them.

Gwen lets her hands fall to her sides. ¨West said that heˇs only going to talk.〃

¨With his fists, maybe.〃

¨Have a little more faith in me than that, Hall.〃 The woodsy scent of his body wash envelops me a second before his arms do. Without a word, he tugs me back into a hug that I instantly welcome. Over the top of my head, he says to Gwen, ¨That was fucking bullshit up there.〃

Wincing, she fidgets restlessly with her wedding band. ¨Iˇm really sorry. Trust me, I feel awful about〃

¨This isnˇt on you, Gwen,〃 West cuts in. ¨We went over the questions he emailed you. He went off-script and thatˇs not your fault. But if Murphy is taking shots on whether or not weˇre in this for real, we probably need to consider the fact that fans might start questioning everything too.〃

¨Which would put us back at square one,〃 I mutter grimly.

Is that why Dad didnˇt pick up the phone when I called? Have the Blades benched him, so to speak, and now heˇs taking his frustrations out on me? It wouldnˇt be fair, but then again, weˇre all stuck in this rapidly sinking ship because I made an anonymous account thatˇs no longer anonymous. Whoever hacked me can honestly get fucked.

¨Can we call it quits for tonight?〃 I ask, feeling the weight of exhaustion tugging me down. ¨Pick it all up tomorrow again?〃

Gwen cracks a tiny smile. ¨Call me. Weˇll do brunch, okay?〃

¨On a weekday, too.〃 I try to answer her smile with one of my own. Iˇm not sure that I succeed, though. ¨Daisy the Accountant would never.〃

¨Thatˇs the spirit,〃 she says before pulling me out of Westonˇs arms for a quick hug. ¨Text me when you guys get home.〃

Home.

As in, Westonˇs house in Winthrop.

¨We will,〃 I tell her. ¨Say hi to Marshall for us.〃

Neither West or I move from that spot on the sidewalk until we watch Gwen safely get in her car. Only then does he reach down to hold my hand. ¨Home?〃 he asks softly.

¨Home,〃 I whisper back.