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Because they were going to. I knew it. They knew it. Scout probably even knew it.
Mallory frowned. “Well, that sucks. But please tell me you’re having one hell of a fling with Dex and his hockey stick. That he’s scored. Again and again. Maybe he’s been rough, and you’ve allowed him into your penalty bo–”
“Okay then,” Theo said, hopping to his feet. “Hamburger, anyone?”
30
DEX
* * *
The time difference between Finland and Montana was a bitch. When I arrived, Lindy was asleep. In my bed. I didn’t text because I didn’t want to wake her. I went right to the rink where the exhibition game was going to happen and I connected with my team. We had hours of practice before media time.
Lined up outside the boards were news outlets from all over the world, ready to interview players. It was like a receiving line at a wedding, but we were hockey players in our home team’s uniforms and skates.
Sports Now was first.
“How’s the off season going?” the guy asked. He was American and had on jeans and a t-shirt with his company’s logo on it. It reminded me of Mav in the coffee shop shirt.
“It’s great to be here with so many talented players,” I said.
“Back in June, you were keeping that right hook warmed up for the ice.”
“You mean the incident that’s spread across social media.” I was being clear on what he was talking about.
“That’s right.”
“I made my statement after it happened, and I stand by it.” I wasn’t giving him anything new. I protected a woman, and she didn’t need to be dragged back into the spotlight over something so minor as a douchebag’s broken nose. If I wasn’t Dex James, the incident would have been nothing more than a little action for the bar’s bouncers instead of making sports news.
“You must be feeling pretty lucky your girlfriend–the one we’ve all seen you with in Montana, of all places–doesn’t mind you’re an enforcer off the ice.”
Enforcers were usually fourth line and took care of any opposing team players who wanted to fuck with a first or even second line guy like me, or the goalie. They were the ones who had the on-ice fights. I never got into them because no one wanted risking me getting hurt by a sucker punch or a broken hand. My job was to score, not fight. But off ice?
The guy’s question was a double middle finger to me. He was calling out my personal life and the bullshit spin the media put on the bar fight.
I bristled, but I was being filmed. Every nuance of my demeanor, my tone, my words, were going to be scrutinized. He was trying to stir up shit because there was nothing else on me. He knew it.
I did interviews all the time during the season. There was a Silvermines PR person who worked with all the players on how to talk to the press and I used everything I’d learned over the years. Stay calm, stay positive, be brief, don’t rant, tell the truth. I grinned and pointed at myself. “My woman, lucky? Hell, I’m the lucky one. It’s better than the draft, being a first-round pick by someone as perfect as she is.”
31
LINDY
* * *
I spent all day Saturday writing. I even put on my noise canceling headphones to block out the world. While Dex’s neighbors didn’t have any tall trees, I wasn’t taking any chances with any kind of distraction. I hadn’t gotten as far as I wanted in my story this week, and I needed to get through as much as I could. Since Dex now knew what I was up to, I’d been waiting for him to somehow read my draft. But other than him mentioning it once in bed, he hadn’t pushed.
With Dex away, I got into the zone and wrote, although my muse was with me and telling me all the naughty things to add. I didn’t even go to the grocery store with my list, just ate leftover pizza from the other night. On Sunday, Lucy joined me in a writing sprint on the video chat after she dropped off her daughter at a birthday party.
“Top of the hour. Share,” she said, her face in a little window in the bottom corner of my laptop. We wrote in thirty-minute intervals, then took a break.
I sat back, rubbed my eyes. “Chapter fourteen,” I told her. “I’m getting a snack.”
Climbing from the chair, I stretched and went to the counter and grabbed a banana from the bunch in a bowl.
“Holy shit, Lind. That’s… wow. So good. I’m loving this story. And it’s hot as hell.”
I dropped into the seat. Her praise meant so much because our author-friend rule had always been to be brutally honest. There were so many chapters and scenes we’d tweaked or cut entirely because of each other’s advice.
