The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) (5 page)

Ellie

As I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Noelle to call me back, I pull up Twitter and shoot off a tweet:
Sleep is overrated. But only to people who don’t need to freaking sleep.

I’m hoping she sees that.

It’s been a long morning already. Once again, Bianca refused to be ready in time to catch the bus, so I had to take her to school. Granted, she seemed in a better mood today, and I even told her I liked the pink hair, which I’ve actually gotten used to. However, once I got back from dropping her off, I got caught up in watching the morning news and didn’t get to sleep when I should have. And now, I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, but I know my business partner wouldn’t be calling me unless it was urgent.

Well, mostly urgent.

Okay, she wouldn’t be calling unless it was important. To her. She’s done this plenty of times before.

Like the time she called because she found a box of chocolates and wanted to know if they were mine. They were. She ate them anyway.

Then another time when she called to ask if I knew where the mop was. I didn’t. She found it when she went out to the floor and saw one of the bus boys cleaning up a spill.

Another time when she called to see if I had checked the weather or not. I hadn’t. She was worried that she should’ve brought a coat with her to work (although she doesn’t ever have to go outside).

But my favorite was when she called me from the phone at the bar to see if I’d seen her door key. She insisted she’d lost it the night before. I asked her how she got into the building to call me…

Not only is she my business partner, Noelle Dexter is also my best friend, and I love her to the moon and back, so I can forgive her for never letting me sleep.

Second only to my daughter, my sports bar—the Penalty Box—is my pride and joy and has been ever since Noelle and I opened the place three years ago. When my parents tragically died in a boating accident, they left enough money for me to kick-start my dream. Being that I’m a single mother, I had lost sight of that dream for a while, never believing it would come to fruition.

Prior to their sudden and tragic deaths, I had been saving every penny I could to be able to make my dream a reality. My brother had offered to loan Noelle and me the money for the bar, but we both refused. We wanted to make it on our own, and we didn’t want another partner in the business, although he would’ve been a great partner.

Although bittersweet, the money has come in handy, giving me an opportunity to provide for my daughter in ways I never thought possible and allowing my big brother to stop worrying so much. So, after we found an impressive piece of real estate in the booming city of Cedar Park, Texas, Noelle and I opened up the bar, and we haven’t looked back.

Due to the fact that both Noelle and I enjoy working, we decided in the beginning that we would split the shifts. Because I’m the main bartender—a profession I pursued when I was eighteen—we figured it was best if I worked the late shift when the bar is busiest, while Noelle comes in when we open at eleven. She handles the lunch rush and is far better at dealing with the kitchen than I am.

Fortunately, we’re at a point where we do enough business to hire people to fill in for us, so now we pretty much work because we want to, not because we have to. I’m more than willing to do my fair share, but I refuse to focus solely on working. They say that when you own your own business, you work more—which I find to be true—but I’ve always made sure not to get my priorities mixed up. My daughter is my main focus, and the last thing I want to do is to neglect her because of the restaurant.

I glance over at the clock on my nightstand.

It’s eleven fifteen.

That means I’ve been asleep for roughly two hours and Noelle has been at the restaurant for probably an hour. The lunch rush is always hectic, which I assume is why she had to practically hang up on me less than a minute into our conversation.

Rolling over, I set my phone on the pillow. Surely I’ll hear it if I go back to sleep. There’s no telling when she’ll call me bac—

My phone rings and I snatch it up, hitting the talk button. “What’s up?”

“Sorry ’bout that. We’re slammed. And I’m so, so sorry for calling and waking you up.”

“No problem,” I tell her, although my tone says it’s definitely a problem.

“Where’s the extra chicken wings that you ordered on Friday? I thought they were supposed to be delivered today?”

I roll onto my back again. “I have no idea. I’m not there.”

“Well, no shit. And neither is the chicken. Lance is freaking out.”

I smile to myself, thinking about our infamous chef. The guy’s definitely good at what he does, but he’s a bit of a diva when he doesn’t have what he needs. Not that I would ever let him know I thought so. I’d probably lose an eye or something. He’s got some pretty sharp knives in that kitchen.

“I really don’t know,” I explain to Noelle. “It’s supposed to be there by now. Do you want me to come in and check on it?”

“God, no. I know how you are when you haven’t had any sleep. It ain’t pretty.”

No, it really isn’t. “The invoice is on my desk. Just give them a call. They’re really good about responding.”

“Okay. That’s what I needed. Now go back to sleep while I continue dodging Lance as best I can. But if we don’t have wings for the evening crowd, he’s gonna go apeshit.”

“Send one of the guys over to Costco. They can grab enough to make it through the day.”

“Good idea.”

Clearly Lance is already losing it because otherwise Noelle would’ve figured this out on her own.

“Oh, and remind me to tell you about Bianca’s hair,” I tell her as a huge yawn escapes me. I meant to tell Noelle about it on Friday, but it totally slipped my mind. Since she went on a weekend trip with her parents and her sister, we didn’t have our customary wine night, either.

“Will do. Night.”

When the phone disconnects, I drop it onto the bed, grab my extra pillow, and cover my head. I wish I could turn off the ringer, but with my luck, Bianca’s school would call and I’d definitely lose points for being a good mom.

I yawn loudly, close my eyes, and give myself over to sleep once again.

6

Kingston

I think Phoenix is trying to determine whether he’ll have to tackle me or not. At the moment, I’m not even sure. As I debate what to do—stay or run—I mentally warn myself to remain calm. I’ve been anticipating this, so it’s not like it took me by surprise.

I won’t admit that to anyone because I like to pretend that it’s all a bad dream.

Looks like Phoenix doesn’t want to get his fancy pants dirty, because he thrusts his hands in his pockets and stares me down, which pretty much makes my decision for me. I have no choice but to stay, yet my feet still won’t take me back in his direction.

He shifts his stance, probably noticing my hesitation. “We want to address the personal matter that you encountered at the end of last season.” His tone says he’s not at all happy with me. But I knew that already since this isn’t the first time we’ve hashed out this particular topic.

Okay, so calm may be an issue.

Although I turn around and walk toward the group waiting to rip me a new one, I’m still tempted to bolt. The last thing I want to do is spend the morning chatting about my “personal matter.” Considering it never fucking happened, I’m not sure why they’re using that term in the first place.

“Let’s take a seat.” Phoenix nods toward the table while Tarik closes the door behind me.

Reluctantly, I make my way around to the opposite side and take one of the empty chairs across from what I’m now beginning to think of as the firing squad. Spencer takes a seat beside me, which makes me feel marginally better. As the captain of the team, Spencer’s job duties are pretty much limited to on-ice conversations, as well as a few additional promotional endeavors, so it isn’t exactly normal for him to be here, but I’m not complaining. Especially since I know he’ll have my back.

“So, would you like to explain this personal issue while I’ve got Phil here?” Phoenix prompts, obviously prepared to get right down to business.

“Not exactly personal, considering I don’t know the chick who made the allegations.” I lean back, making it appear as though I’m keeping my temper in check. Every damn time I think about the woman who trashed my name, stating that I “manhandled” her during an evening we spent together, I see red. It doesn’t even matter that she recanted the statement; people remember the accusation, not that it’s a lie.

And it most definitely is a lie. For one, we never spent an evening together. Hell, I didn’t even
talk
to her. And two, I might be a lot of things, but never once have I ever put my hands on a woman. Not like that.

Phil the Lawyer glances down at a sheet of paper in front of him. “Have you ever met … Wendy Jacobsen?”

“Yes,” I admit truthfully, although “met” is really a stretch. “Though I didn’t get her name.”

“She says she met you in Detroit, back on March thirtieth of this year,” the lawyer continues.

Yep, that’s what she claims. I even know there is a picture of the two of us together at a bar where I’d gone to to lick my wounds after our devastating loss that night. “Technically, she did meet me.”

“At the bar?”

“She asked for a picture,” I explain. It hadn’t even been a memorable moment, so back when all this shit started, it’d taken some time for me to even figure out when or where I’d seen her.

“So you didn’t go back to her hotel room with her?”

I shake my head. It was one of those not-so-rare instances when I went back to my own hotel room, alone. Rumor is that I’m some sort of player, but that isn’t exactly the truth. Probably doesn’t help that I don’t quell the gossip, choosing instead to let people believe what they want to believe. One thing I’ve learned for a fact, pictures do not tell a truthful story, but people all too quickly think they do.

Regardless, I went back to my room alone. Unfortunately, Spencer had found himself a puck bunny to shack up with that night, so I don’t even have a witness.

“But that’s the night your girlfriend broke up with you?” Phoenix inquires.

I nod.

That night—six godforsaken months ago—was a shit night for me. Before the game, I received a call from Cheryl—the girl I was dating at the time. It wasn’t exactly a serious, long-term relationship. More of a friends-with-benefits type deal, I guess you could say. Our interactions were brief and infrequent at best, but we were exclusive. Or so I thought. Right up until she so kindly let me know that she had another man in her bed and that she no longer
required my services
.

“At this time, Ms. Jacobsen is refusing to talk about the allegations. She recanted her statement at the end of the season but didn’t openly admit to lying,” Phil explains. “Have you spoken to her?”

I frown. “Why the fuck would I talk to her? I don’t
know
her.”

“Relax,” Spencer mutters from beside me.

Right. Because that’s so fucking easy to do when some crazy bitch is out there telling people I knocked her around. If my mother were alive, she would be all up in my shit.

“Did she say anything that night?” Phil asks.

I turn my attention back to face the firing squad across from me. “Yeah. She said, ‘Can I get a picture with you?’”

I’ve been propositioned plenty, but this crazy bitch didn’t ask me to buy her a drink, nor did she try to throw herself at me like a lot have. Which, I guess, is what confuses me the most. She asked for a picture, smiled for the camera, and boom, she was off, her friend in tow.

“But the damage is done,” Phoenix notes, glancing between me and Coach. “When she made the statement, she shared it with whoever would listen. It’s died down somewhat, but now that the season is starting, it’s come to light again.”

By the media, no doubt. They’re the only people who seem to give a shit. My friends and family know it for the bullshit that it is.

“Fifteen minutes of fame,” Phil the Lawyer adds, his sharp gaze landing on me. “Yet you haven’t publicly denied it.” It isn’t a question.

“I figured it was best not to fan the flames,” I tell him honestly. “If I react, I look guilty.”

“If you don’t react, you look guilty, too,” Phil concedes.

Yeah, well.

“We honestly thought by now that this would’ve gone away,” Coach states. “She recanted and we’ve all moved on with our lives.”

Not quite, but I’ve certainly been trying. The accusation still hangs over me, no matter what the chick said. Even though it’s supposed to be behind me, it still fucks with my head. I’ve been furious, which has resulted in some stupid decisions and a hell of a lot of fights I’ve instigated, both on and off the ice. It’s a hot button for me, and at the end of the season last year, some of the teams we played would push it just to get a rise out of me. It worked.

Spencer turns to Mark and Amber. “Do you have any suggestions on how we overcome this?”

Mark glances over at Amber, giving her the opportunity to answer.

Amber looks confident as she sits up straight, her hands clasped together on the table. “I actually do have an idea.”

“Let’s hear it,” I say. Better to get this out of the way now.

Her eyes meet mine. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Unable to help myself, I smirk at her. “No. Why? You offering?”

I’m pretty sure Spencer growls at my remark, but I don’t turn to look at him.

Amber snorts, and I notice her gaze swing to Spencer before landing on me again.

“Actually, I’m not,” she says, her tone a little brusque. “However, if we could show you settled down in a relationship, I think it’ll go a long way in earning the trust from the fans once again.”

Spencer leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his attention on Red. “So, you’re saying that a relationship will help to improve Rush’s image?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” She sounds a little defensive. Her gaze meets mine once again. “I’ve looked into each member of the team, and it’s clear that you’re not known for serious relationships. Or even dating, for that matter. You’re known as a player, but oddly enough, I can’t find any substantiating evidence to those rumors.”

“And you won’t, either.” I have no idea why people think I bang every chick I’m photographed with. Maybe it’s the stigma of being a single professional hockey player, I don’t know.

Amber frowns. “If you are dating someone, there’ll be more interest in that than the past.”

Great. Now the PR lady is acting like my pimp.

“So you wanna marry him off, huh?” Spencer quips, chuckling.

I sit back and watch the interaction between these two. Spencer doesn’t look too choked up about his ex-girlfriend reappearing in his life. And now they seem to be working together to come up with a plan to make my life a living hell.

Probably can’t get much worse than it already is.

Phoenix leans back, looking deceivingly casual. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “And how do you propose we do that?” Phoenix asks Amber, sounding far too interested in this cause.

“Is there a woman in your life?” she asks again.

“No.”

Her gaze swings back to Spencer, which pisses me off. They’re talking about me. The least they can do is focus on me.

“If Kingston doesn’t know anyone, I actually have a friend…” Amber offers.

I shake my head adamantly. “Nope. No way. Can’t say I’m completely on board with the plan, but I damn sure don’t want to have to pretend with some chick I don’t know. If you’re insistent that I need an image overhaul, I suggest you come up with a better idea.”

“You’ve got to get your head back in the game,” Coach injects, his intense gaze burning a hole into my face. “At this point, if it’ll get your mind back on the ice, I think we should try it.”

Coach is right. I need to get my focus back where it belongs. It isn’t that easy to do when the shit seems to be flying and I’m finding myself being covered in it. But pretending to be with a woman I don’t even know… It won’t make things better. Surely they realize that.

Phoenix nods, as though he agrees with one or both of them. What is really going through his head, I have no idea. And that scares me a little.

Since me and my ex split six months ago, I’ve been with exactly zero women. And before her, it’d been a while. Two or three months, maybe. I make a point not to flaunt my personal life, I don’t kiss and tell, and I’m not the kind to talk in the locker room. But in the same sense, I don’t deny rumors, either.

I’m still watching Phoenix when he finally speaks. “It’s actually not a bad idea. I did something similar by announcing my wedding to Tarik and Mia. You don’t realize how much people really do enjoy a good love story until you make that sort of statement.”

Yeah…uh...

Well.

Uh…

Not
what I expected Phoenix to say at all, so naturally, I’m fucking speechless.

“Okay, so what if she isn’t a stranger? Would you be willing then? Show the world that you’ve settled down, found someone who means something to you?” Spencer states thoughtfully, his gaze sliding my direction.

“I didn’t realize there was someone,” Phoenix adds, his curious gaze pinning me in place.

“There’s not,” I mumble, hating that all eyes are on me. I just can’t win.

“But there could be,” Spencer counters.

Phoenix’s eyebrow cocks, his attention returning to Spencer. “I’m listening.”

Coach clears his throat. “I agree. If she’s not a stranger, it’ll look even more real.”

Great, now everyone is on board with pimping me out.

“And you’ve got someone in mind?” Phoenix asks Spencer. “Someone who can be trusted?”

“I do.” Spencer sounds far more confident than I feel.

“And you know her to be trustworthy how?” Amber inquires, sounding skeptical.

Spencer meets her gaze head on. “Because she’s my sister.”

My head snaps to the left and I stare at Spencer. I want to ask him if he has lost his fucking mind, but I keep that to myself. If he only knew all the thoughts I’ve had about his sister over the years, I can tell you, he damn sure wouldn’t be thinking about hooking us up.

Not even for pretend.