"Don't even fucking start—"
"You need to let it go, Shaw. If you haven't found her by now, you're not going to."
"And she probably doesn't want to be found. Tristan's right, man: let it go."
I wanted to tell them both what they could do with their advice but kept my mouth shut. Arguing was a waste of time, especially since we'd been having the same argument for the last few days. The worst part of it was that a small piece of me agreed with them. I'd been stalking the streets, searching for any sign of Addy, and had come up empty. I'd entered every damn boutique, sometimes twice, asking for her. Every voodoo shop, every restaurant, every bar.
And I'd struck out every single time. It was like she didn't exist. Like she just disappeared. Nobody knew her or, if they did, they weren't saying. It was as if she'd never existed in the first place.
Which was bullshit. I hadn't imagined her, or those three weeks of pure heaven spent with her. She didn't just up and disappear, which meant she was around here somewhere. I just hadn't found out where. I hadn't found her.
And finding her had quickly become my obsession.
I didn't need the two men standing in front of me to tell me that. And I sure as hell wasn't going to tell them I agreed with them. I wasn't proud of the obsession, didn't even completely understand it myself. It didn't matter what I told myself, or how many times I tried to convince myself I was acting like a lovesick ass, I couldn't shake the need to find her. Maybe it was just to apologize. Maybe it was just some twisted need for closure. It didn't matter.
I just needed to find her.
Something smacked me in the back of the head and I spun around, pushing against the dark material covering my face with an angry fist. A charcoal gray suit hit the floor at my feet, the hanger rattling against the hardwood plank floor with a tiny clatter. Luke stood several feet away, his green eyes boring into mine with an intensity he usually reserved for the pucks being shot his way.
"Get dressed. We're going to be late."
"I'm not going."
"The fuck you ain't."
I stepped forward, one hand curled into a fist. "I'm. Not. Going."
"You don't have a choice."
"The hell I don't." A hand wrapped around my upper arm, pulling me back before I could shove a fist into Luke's face. I whirled on Dylan, needing an outlet for my sudden irrational anger, but he stopped me cold with one look.
"You can't blow this off, Shaw, and you know it. None of us can."
"It's just a fucking party."
"Yeah, and it's being given by the owner."
"He won't even know I'm not there."
"Don't kid yourself. Landry isn't stupid. And he's not hands-off like some of the other owners out there. He'll know." Dylan nodded at the suit by my feet. "Now get dressed."
Resentment held me immobile for a few long seconds as I squared off with Dylan, a battle of wills silently raging between us. I didn't want to go, any more than anyone else on the team wanted to go. We weren't souvenirs or trinkets to be pulled out and shown off at someone else's whim and I couldn't help but think that's exactly what was going on with this damn party tonight. What other reason could Landry possibly have?
But as much as I wanted to refuse, Dylan was right: I couldn't afford to buck the system and piss off the new owner. Not now, not this early in the game. Following rules wasn't my thing but neither was deliberately sabotaging what little remained of my pathetic career. I'd done enough of that already and was living with the consequences every damn time I stepped out into the suffocating air of New Orleans.
I grabbed the suit from the floor and stalked into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me for privacy while I changed. I didn't bother to shave, did little more than run my fingers through my hair before stepping out of the bedroom and glaring at my teammates.
"At least fix your damn tie."
"There's nothing wrong with the tie."
Tristan stepped forward and tightened the strip of silk around my throat before I could fend him off. I glared at him then reached up and loosened it. "I'm trying to not suffocate before we get there."
Tristan shrugged then stepped around me and opened the door, like it was a given I'd follow without argument. Part of me wanted to balk—there was nothing I hated more than being told what to do—but in the end, I silently followed him and Luke and Dylan. They were at least partly right in saying I couldn't blow this party off, not when there was still too much riding on pleasing the new owner. I didn't have many prospects left and unless I wanted to put hockey completely behind me and move on, I'd have to suck it up and play by the rules, at least for a little longer.
Who the fuck was I kidding? I'd have to suck it up for a lot longer than that. Unless something drastic happened, the Bourdons were my last shot and I wasn't ready to give that up yet. Not tonight, not tomorrow. Hell, not ever. I couldn't imagine a life without hockey and nothing could make me blow this last chance.
So I sat in the back seat of Luke's SUV, sweltering in the stuffy air as the AC worked overtime to cool the dark interior. I was too busy stewing in my own resentment to pay much attention to where we were going or to the conversation around me, not until Dylan nudged me in the side with a shit-eating grin.
"That would be fun, wouldn't it?"
"What would?"
"Haven't you been paying any attention at all?"
"Not particularly, no." I turned my head to the side and stared out the window, noticing for the first time the expansive homes around us. Expansive? No, these were fucking mansions, reeking of old money and screaming of success despite how crammed together they were. I'd heard of the Garden District—how could I not have?—but hadn't been to visit yet. Looks like I was getting my chance to do that tonight.
Dylan nudged me again, a little harder this time to make sure I was paying attention. I turned and scowled at him but my silent warning didn't faze him.
"Something like that is right up your alley."
"Like what?"
"Making a play for the owner's daughter. Weren't you listening? Apparently he has two."
"And why would something so monumentally stupid be right up my alley?"
"You're the one who likes to flaunt the rules. Can't do much more flaunting than banging the owner's daughter right under his nose."
"That's not stupid, that's career suicide. And even though whatever career I have left might totally suck, I'd like to hang on to it for a while longer."
"Yeah, I guess."
Tristan shifted in the front seat so he was facing us. "I don't know, it might be worth it. I've never been with a debutante before."
"I don't think they're called that anymore."
"Sure they are. I read some article about it a few months ago."
"Trying to hook up with the owner's daughter, debutante or not, is the last fucking thing you need."
Tristan shot a frown in Luke's direction. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
I snorted and shook my head. "It means you got yourself in enough trouble in Utica. Or didn't you think we'd heard about that?"