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I start the engine and grip the steering wheel tight. Lights continue to flash through the windshield as the reporters stand in front of us, blocking the way out.
“Honk at them. Make them move,” Noah snaps, voice like a whip. The tattoos on his fingers strain with how tight he’s squeezing his knees.
I do, and they jump out of the way, continuing to snap their pictures. Without hesitation, I pull away from the curb and onto the street.
“I’m in the middle of signing an extension with Vancouver,” I rush out. “This is a nightmare.”
“You’ll be fine,” he grunts.
I want to laugh and maybe even cry a little as I say, “No. I’m fucked.”
3
MADDOX
On Monday morning,my agent is silent at my side as we walk down the hallway toward the Vancouver Warriors owner’s office. My stomach is doing somersaults, and I have to swallow profusely to keep the protein shake I chugged on the way to the arena from coming back up.
On the outside, I look cool and calm, but on the inside, I’m a nervous mess. We’re headed right for shark-infested waters, and I’m bleeding buckets.
“Say something,” I mutter, slanting a look at Dougie. The man has aged heavily in the time I’ve known him, but considering he was my father’s agent and has been around our family for pretty much my entire life, it was bound to happen.
At fifty years old, Douglas Trelix is the best of the best. I’m lucky to have him on my side, even if he can be a real hard-ass when I need him to be anything but.
“That’s one hell of a shiner you got there.”
“You should see the bruise on my stomach.”
Somehow, my nose isn’t broken, but it’s fucking ugly. My bruised right eye and sore abdomen made sleep last night nearly impossible. I think I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a few hours before I finally managed to pass out just before the sun came up.
“Don’t say anything when we get in there unless absolutely necessary. We both know how you can get,” Dougie says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know damn well what it means. You can get real defensive, and now is not the time.”
I blow out a harsh breath and come to a stop, turning to face him. My fingers curl before I shove my hands in the pockets of my slacks. “So, I’m not supposed to defend myself? I didn’t do anything wrong last night. Even you can admit that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You saw the articles this morning. Have you checked your Instagram? You’ve been trending since the first photo leaked. Nobody knows the real story but you, me, and your family. Everyone else sees the best player in the NHL spending a night out getting beat up in front of a dirty bar littered with used needles with his little brother. The same brother who they happened to catch throwing a wad of cash on the road and who was arrested for starting a brawl in that same bar a month ago.”
“Noah doesn’t need to be involved in this,” I say sternly.
Dougie laughs humourlessly. “Too late. Now, get your ass in that office so we can get this figured out.” He grabs my shoulder and squeezes as we start walking again, closing in on the office door. “Don’t speak unless you have to. Let us handle this for you.”
My brows pull together. “Us?” He ignores me, and my gut pinches. “Who is us, Dougie?”
Again, he ignores me, and I scowl as he knocks on the door, his knuckles hitting just below the gold plate declaring this Alexander Torello’s office. Footsteps come from the opposite side, and I steel my spine. Whether I’m ready for this or not, I refuse to let anyone see me falter.
With agooshof air, the door swings open, and Alexander himself greets us. His expressionless face cools the air, filling it with a thick tension that tries to rattle me. Harsh brown eyes meet mine as he takes me in, assessing in a way that makes my skin prickle.
“Maddox. Douglas. Come in,” he commands after a brief moment.
“Nice to see you again, Alex, even under these circumstances,” Dougie says smoothly, his confidence unwavering. He walks inside, and I follow, only stopping to nod and say a quick hello to the man holding my entire career in his hands. Pleasantries aren’t on the table today, so there’s no point in trying.
“Hello, sir.”
He nods stiffly and shuts the door behind us. Only after he’s moved out of the way do I look to the side of the office and narrow my eyes on the man resting against the arm of a leather sofa, looking as cool as a goddamn cucumber.
“Dad.”
