Dalton doesn’t follow me to try to defend himself. Good move on his part.
I’m normally even-tempered. I have to be working for Farrah. But Dalton made his shitty comments on the wrong day. Angry tears fill my eyes as I walk around the house, avoiding the back entrances where I’ll run into people.
Instead, I slip in through a side entrance and go to my room. Once there, I close the door and curl up on the bed, still crying.
Are these angry tears? They are, but they’re sad, too. I picture my parents’ faces on the call tonight, both of them looking older than I remembered. And tired. So tired.
Who am I to feel sorry for myself when my mom does what she does? I swipe the tears from my face and take a few deep breaths.
I take a minute to breathe before I pick up my phone to respond to the text Farrah just sent.
It was just a bad day. Tomorrow will be better.
six
Dalton
This iswhat I get for trying to be friendly. I put my foot in my mouth and now Alice is pissed at me. I’m already battling JP to get Farrah to pick me, and now her assistant thinks I’m a prick.
In fairness, I am a prick sometimes. If someone messes with one of my teammates on the ice, they don’t have to worry about an enforcer coming for them--it’ll be me. A good captain stands up for his teammates. Coaches have told me I stand up too much, especially at times when we can’t afford penalty kills because I’m in the penalty box.
That’s me, though. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, but when it comes to hockey, my fists are an effective way of letting people know how I’m feeling. I can also be impatient. When I was a rookie, I ran my mouth like it was my job. I’ve mellowed, but I’m still pretty set in my ways.
I wasn’t being a prick to Alice, though. I was trying to be helpful. If she tells Farrah what I said, I’ll have to figure out who my second choice is to end up with. Farrah will be all over JP, and that smug bastard will never let me live it down.
Dara Houser wouldn’t be bad. She’s a model who’s famous because she has famous parents, but she’s twenty-four. She does a weird, pouty thing with her lips all the time, but that’s better than Cara’s selfie obsession.
I lie back in the sand, putting my knees up as I look up at the bright stars in the night sky. I’m not ready to go back to the beach house. I don’t want to run into Alice, and I’m tired of socializing with celebrities.
I don’t think of myself as a celebrity. I’m just a hockey player, and that’s more than enough for me. So far, Alice is the only person I’ve met here who seems down to earth.
I’m flipping through the new round of pictures Trinity sent of my baby nephew Micah when I get a text.
Rita: Did you get my voicemail? I’ll be there tomorrow late morning.
Fuck. The only Rita I know is Rita Kenney, the head of PR for the league. I push a button on my phone screen to listen to her voicemail.
“Dalton, Rita Kenney. The producers of the show are letting me come on set tomorrow with a photographer to get some content for socials. I’m bringing you some T-shirts and hats to wear with our logos. Give me a call back and let me know what size tumbler you’d like. I have twenty ounce, thirty-two ounce and forty-six ounce. They all have the logo for the foundation, but I don’t have room in my suitcase for all of them. Call me back, thanks.”
Grimacing, I sit up. I’m not getting paid extra for doing this show, and I’m not walking around in a league T-shirt and hat. Just the thought of Rita coming here puts me on edge.
Last season was my first as team captain, and it was rocky. Lincoln was our team captain, and he was great at it. He always knew what to say. When we got cocky as a team, he knocked usback down to earth. And when we were down, he built us back up.
Me? I fight our opponents. But leadership is more than that. I choked in the final game of the playoffs and we lost. Coming here was supposed to be a break for me. A way to recharge.
Now I’m going to have Rita up my ass. Hopefully it’ll only be for a few hours.
I get up, brushing the sand off my clothes and out of my hair. Between pissing off Alice and finding out Rita’s coming here, I need a drink.
“Better not beanything but water in there, Lorenzo.” JP grins as he passes me coming out of the library the next afternoon, nodding toward my stainless tumbler.
“Unfortunately, there’s not,” I call after him.
The producers nixed Rita’s idea to make me a walking commercial for the league, thank fuck. The hat she brought looked like it had been balled up in her bag, and it smelled like powder. I’m appeasing her by using the cup.
“There’s our resident motherpucker,” Alex quips when he sees me. “Can you close the door, please?”
Rita, sitting in one of the library’s plush wingback chairs, shoots him a shocked look.
