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Georgeanne took several deep breaths and said on a sigh, “You’re a grown woman. I’m not going to ask you what went on in that hotel room. Although your father might when he gets back from his five-day grind.”
Lexie closed her eyes. After a five-day grind, her dad was probably going to be cranky.
She was right.
The next night, her father stood in her open kitchen, watching the television above the fireplace in the living room. E! News flashed the now infamous picture onto the screen and Jason Kennedy asked, “Who is the mysterious man with runaway bride Lexie Kowalsky? The world wants to know: Is this a photo of force or fling?”
“This is crazy.” She opened a bottle of her father’s favorite beer, then reached for the remote control on the counter. She punched the red button three times before the television went black. And yeah, she fudged a bit when she said, “I helped take care of his terminally ill mother.”
“That isn’t what it looks like in that picture.” A scowl pulled at his dark brows as he raised the Molson 67 to his lips. He took several long pulls, then lowered the bottle. “That guy”—he paused to point his bottle at the television where the infamous photo had splashed across the blank screen just moments before—“might be blurry as hell and unrecognizable, but his intentions are real clear. He’s either forcing you into that hotel room or he’s seducing his way in.”
The seducing had been mutual, and she shook her head.
“They’re talking about it everywhere. I saw it on TV in a sports bar in Detroit.”
This new story was getting even bigger and more devastating than the original.
“If you really weren’t being held against your will, I can’t exactly hunt this son of a bitch down and feed him my fist.” He set the bottle on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Not a good sign. “You have some accountability in this mess.”
“My head hasn’t been right since I went on Gettin’ Hitched.” She wanted to show him she was a strong woman and not a child he had to protect. She clenched her jaw to keep her chin from trembling, but a tear spilled from her bottom lash. “I take full accountability for the mess I’ve made of my life and the pain I’ve caused everyone. Especially my family.” She hated the disappointment creeping into his eyes. “I was confused and scared. He seemed like a good person. I thought I could trust him.”
He dropped his hands. “Don’t cry.”
“Okay.”
“Christ.” He reached for her and wrapped her in his big arms. “Not all men can be trusted, honey.” She rested her head on the one place she’d always felt protected
, his shoulder. “Some sons of bitches have little balls and have to coerce vulnerable women just to get some attention.”
Sean didn’t have little balls, and he hadn’t exactly coerced her, but she didn’t bother to correct her father. She nodded, relaxing in the warm solace she always found with her dad.
“The guy needs his ass handed to him for taking advantage of you.”
She nodded again, because what did it matter? She didn’t know Sean. He was a guy she met who probably worked for the CIA. More than ever, she was relieved that she would never see Sean Brown again.
A raucous wave of cheers and cowbells rolled through the Key Arena as “Who Let the Dogs Out” blasted from the speakers. High above the center of the ring, the jumbotron’s three screens replayed a blistering one-timer off an Avalanche’s blade and into the left pad of Chinooks goalie Adam Larson.
It had been a while since Lexie had donned her Chinooks jersey and stepped foot into the Key. Even longer since she’d sat in the ticketed seats. “I think we might be more comfortable at the Encore,” she said, and gazed longingly up to the secluded club on the third tier.
“We’re not hiding up there. Remember?” her mother reminded her through a smile. “We have nothing to hide.”
She knew her mother was right. They’d debated it and determined that the only way to keep from going into hiding again was to act as if she had nothing to conceal. Once the cameraman spotted them, she had little doubt her face would flash across all four screens on the jumbotron and be beamed out on television.
She’d taken care to appear modest in a gray turtleneck, team jersey, and gray jeans. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail and wore minimal cosmetics. She walked a fine line between flaunting herself and appearing guilty. Once the Enquirer photo appeared, the good feelings that came out of her Today show appearance went down the tubes. She’d gone from sympathetic to villain in no time flat. No amount of apologizing was going to help her out this time, and she couldn’t count on another miracle to save her behind. She was seen as a cheater and was back to playing a villainess, only worse. She was now the lowest of lows, the bottom rung, in reality television:
Slut.
Bitch.
Psycho.
Slutty bitch psycho.
Lexie took an aisle seat next to her mother and little brother, Jon Jon, in the lower bowl. Her brother took after their dad in looks and temperament. He was protective and ready to do battle for his big sister, which added to Lexie’s guilt. It was supposed to be the other way around. She should be looking out for him, but she felt like a coward and had to fight a strong urge to sink down in her seat and shield the side of her face with her hand. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to keep from hyperventilating, but there was nothing she could do about the sick knot in her stomach.
As a kid, Lexie had loved sitting in the front row just behind the glass. She’d loved the raw energy arcing through the crowd. She’d loved the grunts and thumps and the shhh-shhh of skates meshing with cheers and screaming fans. She forced herself to raise her chin and gaze out onto the ice.
“That’s the new guy Dad complains about,” Jon Jon told her as the puck passed from stick to stick. All she could see was the back of a jersey and short sweaty curls beneath his helmet. “I like him though.”
