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“I’m here,” he reminds me. “And I’m really sorry about leaving a lot of the stress on you. I think I got everything sorted out. I’ll show you some things…maybe we can stay after practice? I’ll teach you how to skate.”
I rummage that idea in my head, but it doesn’t last long. All I can think about is the mess we’re in that I didn’t realize we were in, until Reid showed up and showed me.
“Listen, Hollyn, you’re amazing. I couldn’t do any of this without you. And I really haven’t shown you the appreciation you deserve over the last couple of weeks.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“That’s seriously not an excuse. A parent called me tonight, and they spoke so highly of you. I know you have your graphic design business and stuff, so you are sacrificing your time…I see you.”
My lips lift upward, and I feel a blush warm my cheeks. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do,” he retorts softly. His tone dropping a bit and sending wild goosebumps over my skin. “I’m seriously one lucky bastard to have you.”
Yeah, but do you see me the way I see you?
Weston has always kept things strictly professional, and I respect the hell out of that. But a girl wants to know, ya know? Sometimes, I feel as though I’m reading the room correctly. Other times, I feel as though I’m out of my depth, and my imagination is starting to get the best of me.
“Can you show up a little earlier tomorrow?” he asks. “We can come up with a game plan. I’ll bring you that coffee you like from Little Joe’s.”
My heart leaps when he remembers that small detail about me. Coffee is my life. I can’t function without it. And he even recalled the place that I get it from, too.
“That’d be great,” I manage to say without squealing like a hopeless teen. “We’ll strategize.”
“We got this,” Weston replies confidently. “Besides, we don’t need some violent hockey player to be teaching these kids any tricks. It’s why he’s here, anyway.”
My interest is suddenly peaked. “What?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs on the other line. “Got suspended fifteen games for bashing some guy’s head repeatedly in the ice.”
Oh my God!
I’m speechless while trying to gather something to say, but Weston does that for me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hollyn,” he says. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”
“Night,” I drone, drawing my cell from my ear before my brain goes into warp mode.
My fingertips pull up Google, and Reid’s name is inserted in the search bar like a straight-up stalker. I didn’t want to breach his privacy before, especially since earlier, when he was really upset over the phone with whomever he was talking to.
I had wondered why exactly Reid was here. My only thought at the time I met him was that he got hurt and couldn’t play anymore, and maybe that’s why he was so angry all the time.
Yet, that’s far from the case, I realize, when several headlines appear on my screen with Reid’s name plastered all over them.
Reid “The Reaper” Pierce; suspended fifteen games after an assault with rival Charles Gagnon from the Montreal Blizzard.
New Brunswick’s Enforcer, Reid Pierce, is vacant for tonight’s game against the Buffalo Sabers.
Charles Gagnon laughs off his beating from The Reaper, saying, “He’s just an angry man with something to prove.”
Will violence continue to be tolerated after Reid Pierce’s brutal strike against rival team?
My brows meet each other in confusion because I didn’t see a violent man out on that ice with those kids. He was powerful, yes, and knowledgeable, and a little tough, but not once did he instruct the boys on how to throw a punch or throw their opponents into the wall. Someone like him lives on the ice with men his own size, so I can only imagine what kind of withdrawals he’s having.
Yet, the headlines spill his truths, and they make more sense.
Tossing my phone into my passenger seat, I insert my keys to start my car because I don’t want to think about this anymore. I immediately turn it off when it begins to make some funny screeching noise.
What the heck?
