Final Notice.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, flipping through the bills.
There are so many of them.
My phone chimes.
SMITTY: Where the fuck are you, man? You would not believe who’s here.
I start to shove my cell back in my pocket, but it buzzes again.
SMITTY: For the record it’s Ace fucking Ambrose.
SMITTY: And Storm Harrison.
“What the fuck?” I whisper for a completely different reason.
And, shit, I really am late.
I stare at the bills and debate what to do. Then sigh. It’s not like I’m going to stomp down the hall and wake Harper, demanding she give me answers.
Explain yourself, baby. Right fucking now.
Yeah, that would go over well.
About as well as when I offered to chip in for the maternity clothes she’s been buying.
Groaning, I rub my forehead. Then exhale, take a beat to calm my mind. This will hold until later. But I can’t lie—it lingers in my mind as I jot down a quick note for her, reminding her where I am and that I’ll see her later.
And it lingers as I get in my car and drive to the Grizzlies’ practice facility.
The ice is busy as I haul my gear into the locker room, so I don’t fuck around. I just quickly suit up and join the guys out there.
Sure as shit, Storm and Ace are here.
I lift my brows at Sawyer, who just lifts them back.
We get an explanation from Ryan a minute later. “Storm’s a good kid. One of my buddies from the Sierra asked that I keep an eye on him now that he’s been traded to the Hawks.”
Right, I’d heard about that towards the end of last season.
It had been a surprise— over the last few years, the Sierra seemed to be positioning Storm to become the face of the organization. Then again, I’d heard through the league’s gossip chain that he was spiraling.
And his stats last season weren’t great.
Maybe the Harrisburg Hawks will give him a fresh start.
“So why’s Ace here?” Smitty mutters, and for once it’s quiet.
Ryan shrugs. “No clue. Ace does what Ace wants.” Another shrug. “Apparently, he wanted to tag along and get some ice time.”
“Asshole.” Smitty jabs a finger in Ryan’s direction. “At least see if you can get some info on that Blue Line Matchmaker.”
“Why are you talking about my Vi?” I hear and spin to see Ace standing there with his typical shit-eating grin (the same grin that’s gotten him punched more than once).
“Vi’s your wife?” Smitty asks, his eyes full of suspicion.
“Yup.” Ace lifts his brows. “I thought you were happily married, Smith. Why do you need a matchmaker?”
