“The league isn’t sure what’s happening with the Ironfield Forge, but, according to my sources, they are not happy.”
Ainsley Rupert was a man who sounded like he’d taken two bites of a hot sausage sandwich and struggled to chew. The slimy “so-called” journalist preferred pulp gossip to actual commentary. And I wouldn’t have listened had he not said my name.
“I don’t know if you’re following what’s happening with the Forge—not a lot of hockey fans in Ironfield. I’m still not sure what the league was thinking setting a team up in a football city. But the talk is not good. Did you hear about this calamity at the team banquet? My sources are telling me that the hotel suffered massive damages, and we might have a potential sexual assault charge pending on three members of the Forge.”
Oh, that was bullshit.
By the time I’d pulled our guys away from the waitress, she’d stuffed her room keys down their pants. The allegation was false, but I expected little else from Ainsley Rupert.
“This team is about to fall apart before it’s even come together. I don’t see this franchise finding success without viable leadership. And that leadership has to start at the top of the roster.”
I’d pulled into Clover’s driveway, but I didn’t turn the engine off. I had to know what I was facing when I returned to the arena.
“For years with the Marauders, Adrian Alaric was known for his work ethic and his spotless reputation. Maybe the Marauders were better at hiding his scandals, or maybe Alaric is unhappy with his new position and has turned to a life of wild parties, pornography, and, get this, witness intimidation. That’s right, folks. We’ve got it on tape. Adrian Alaric threatening the manager of the hotel to prevent him from calling the police on his teammates.”
My hands tightened over the wheel.
“Now, Alaric is doing all he can to pretend that he is actually 100% and ready to play, but it might not be the injury that ends his career. Folks, I’ve gotta ask. There’s a ton of bad news surrounding the Forge, and, if I were the league, I’d want to know why Adrian Alaric is at the center of it every time. The coaches had better step in before this man destroys a brand-new expansion team before the season starts.”
For Christ’s sake.
I turned the car off. It wasn’t anywhere nearly as satisfying as putting my fist through the radio, but we didn’t need any more scandal.
Served me right for listening to fucking drivel. Not a word of the shit was true, but no one in Ironfield knew who the fuck I was or what I’d sacrificed for the team. The city would hate me before I even laced up my skates.
I added it to the list of problems to discuss with Leah Carson. Her bill was already astronomical, but she hadn’t immediately fired me as a client. Instead, she’d cackled.
Never thought I’d have to fix a reputation as damaged as Jack’s, she’d said.
I dragged myself to Clover’s porch. The headache wasn’t entirely Ainsley Rupert’s fault. Practice had kicked my ass. Every muscle in my body ached, head to toe, including my groin. Not related to the injury, but that hadn’t stopped the trainers from shooting the coach worried glances. Sure as shit, the news tomorrow would report that I was hiding some other ailment.
It just wasn’t my day.
Year.
Team.
Clover flung the door open before I could knock. She popped a bottle of sparkling water and handed me a wineglass filled with mostly bubbles.
She always remembered that I didn’t drink during the season.
Her smile was every bit of sunshine comfort that I needed.
“Great news!” Clover took a swig directly from the bottle. “This is the best day ever!”
Thank fucking God. The weight immediately lifted from my shoulders.
“You’re pregnant!” I said.
“No!” She grinned. “I just quit my job!”
And the weight dropped back down, knocking the wind from me like I’d crashed into the benches.
“…What?”
Clover sashayed through her house, an actual bounce in her step. She’d changed out of her uniform and slipped into a tightly fitted tank top and a pair of shorts which declared to the world that her ass was a Cutie.
Such a shame that a woman so beautiful could be so damned insane.
Clover was impulsive, but that usually meant a trip to the Caribbean, not the unemployment line.
“What do you mean you quit your job?” I didn’t have the energy for this conversation. “You’re not a flight attendant anymore?”
“Technically, I haven’t quit yet. But I’m going to. First thing in the morning. I’m putting in my two weeks.”
I pitched the drink. Maybe it was spiked with something worse than mineral water. Only way this conversation made any sense.
I scowled. “Are you out of your mind? Why would you quit your job?”
Clover crashed onto her loveseat, leisurely stretching over her nest of blankets. “Why wouldn’t I quit? The airline has been nothing but misery for me for the last couple of months. It represents everything I don’t want in my life anymore.”
“What? Money? Security?”
“Travel.”
That was bullshit. “You love to travel.”
“Loved.” She corrected me with a smile that pissed me off. “I wanted to see the world. And I did—on my own. But working for the airline? It’s been nothing but a disaster. Dashing terminal to terminal in a panic when I’m on standby? Sight-seeing Seattle and New York and Miami from my hotel’s windows? Fighting for flights like they’re scraps of meat so I can scrounge up enough experience to work the international routes? The terrible hours? The terrible people?” She sighed. “It’s just not me anymore.”
I had to sit down. I batted her legs away from the sofa. She let me settle in before immediately claiming my knees as her ottoman.
How the hell was a man supposed to think with a pair of silky smooth, hazelnut dark thighs twisting in his lap?
I was tired. Frustrated. And none of this was Clover.
“What made you decide this?” I asked.
She stared at me for a long moment. “You don’t know?”
“Fuck no.”
The disappointed crested her features, but she simply shrugged. “I want to settle down. Do something good with my life.”
That wasn’t the real answer.
And I was tired of her hiding shit from me.
I was supposed to be her best friend—the one she wanted to father her child. The least she could do was be honest.
“Is that all?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not like I can be eight months pregnant, waddling up and down the plane, serving ginger ale while practicing my Lamaze breathing.” Her laugh didn’t convince me. “I’ve gotta think about my future. A future with our baby.”
Her words slammed into me like an elbow to the gut. The sort of hit that made a man nauseous and sweaty.
She was planning for a future I hadn’t given her yet.
Clover expected that I would get her pregnant.
She didn’t doubt it. Not for a second.
Even when the last three tests were negative.
Could I give her what she wanted?
Was it possible?
I gritted my teeth. “Wouldn’t it have been smarter to wait until you were pregnant before quitting?”