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“Cute,” he muses. “How’d that go down?”
“She tried to tell me. The night she called you? That was to tell me she was pregnant,” I tell him, and his face falls.
“Fuck, Cillian. That’s… I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” I say, dismissing that line of conversation. “She video called later that night. I don’t remember it, but Isla told me she was pregnant when I was naked in bed with Trina.”
“The hell? You didn’t fuck around with Trina until way later, I thought.”
“I didn’t. Listen man, Trina is not what she seems. She went through my shit; read letters I had written to Isla. She took pictures of us in bed while I slept and sent that shit to Isla. For years, she’s been fucking with her, I had no idea.”
“She’s been obsessed with you since she first met you,” he says, then takes a big drink of his vodka soda. “But that’s next level stalker type shit.”
“Some of it’s borderline assault, man,” I say. “I don’t really care what she’s done to me, but she caused Isla so much distress that she had scary complications while she was pregnant. I’ve seen a few pictures and she looked sickly, like she hadn’t been eating or sleeping. Seeing that shit, knowing it was because I was a fuck up? Worst feeling of my life.”
Falling back in my chair, I rub a hand over my face. Besides my mom, this isn’t something I’ve discussed with anyone else. The guys on the team are great, but I don’t know any of them that well yet. Not well enough to confess my greatest mistake, anyway. Not well enough to set my pride aside and admit all the things I should have seen but didn’t.
“Jesus. Has she been in contact since you moved back?”
“Some. I’ve told her we’re done, completely cut her off. Didn’t stop her tonight.”
“What happened tonight?”
“She was taking shots of our guys taking the ice, which is weird. She’s Boston’s photog, not Seattle’s. Then she made some comment to me about meeting up at the hotel later. Like she wanted the other guys to hear it and think we had some predetermined date. I told her to fuck off.”
“I’m sure that went over well.” He laughs. “Seriously though, Wild, you should think about filing a complaint with the team, or maybe the league.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. It might make shit worse though, you know? I was hoping she’d just take the fucking hint and stay the fuck out our lives.”
“I get it. Either way, I’ve got your back. And I’ll keep an eye on her from here. As much as I can, anyway. At least make sure she leaves any of the new pups alone.”
“Thanks, Tor. I appreciate that.”
“Anytime, man. I owe you at least that much,” he says, but he doesn’t. This was always my mess.
I’m feeling slightly better about the situation when I get to my hotel for the night. Knowing that someone here in Boston is in my corner, if I need it, helps somehow. The lock on the door flashes green with my keycard and I open it to flower petals spread all over the floor.
The hell?
Following the trail to the bed, I find Trina lying there. Naked as the day she was born.
“Fuck no,” I say, turning around I walk right back out of the room. Shutting the door behind me, I hold the door handle with one hand while I dig my cell out of my pocket with the other. The first person I call answers on the second ring. “I need your help, it’s an emergency. Room three-twenty-seven.”
The second call is to 9-1-1.
Trina rants on the other side of the door but I don’t respond until Coach Cole is standing in front of me, his narrowed gaze focused on me.
“Explain.”
“I just got back from dinner with Tor, walked in my room to find her here. I walked right back out and called you, then the police.”
Something crashes against the door behind me, making me wince. Coach takes a few steps away to make a quick call.
“Open it up,” he tells me with a head nod after he ends the call and shoves the cellphone back in his pocket.
“Jesus,” I shout, ducking to miss the glass that comes flying at my head. Coach catches it, his old goalie reflexes not missing a beat. Trina stands in the middle of the room, which she has thoroughly trashed over the past few minutes. She’s still completely naked. Glancing around the floor, the first thing I see is one of my shirts. Grabbing it, seeing that she’s tried to rip it to pieces but failed, I toss it at her. “Put some fucking clothes on, the police are on the way.”
“You called the police?” She sounds incredulous, only adding to how unhinged she truly is.
