“What?”
“I suppose you’ll want to stop whatever it is you’re doing with Logan now that…” she eyed me, “you almost got caught.”
“I’m not doing any—Max doesn’t own me,” I hissed at my friend.
She dried her hands and threw down the rag. “Could have fooled me.”
Leaving Jax with Sam for the evening, I headed off to meet Dr. Mendez for another meaningless session with the team.
My chest tightened when I walked through the side entrance of the Buffalo Gaters Arena, where the big boys played.
It wasn’t nearly as inviting and breathable as the YHC. This one was dark, cold, and arid.
It was hard not to focus on the spot where Logan got hit. How badly and shocking it had been. How cold my blood ran when I watched Max do it.
Jealousy.
The man still had it in him.
That much was clear earlier today when he came by.
Sam and I talked briefly after he left. Well, I talked. Defended, actually. About protecting Jax. It was always about Jax.
But she was right. I’d been too afraid. Too closed off. Too bitter. For years, Max made me feel bound. Binding me into a world where till this day, he swore he ruled.
Anger sunk in again. Then conflict settled. How much did I need this job to put up with his existence on nearly a daily basis? How much more could I let Max control every decision I made in life or every decision I chose not to?
Sam was right. Even when Max still spoke to me like he owned me, I’d brush him off instead of setting him straight.
But I had someone else to think about. A sweet innocent boy, whose life was in that man’s hands. It was true Max didn’t want Jax as much as I didn’t want him near him. But he’d take him from me just to spite me.
That much I didn’t doubt for a minute.
It was the reason I avoided dating much. No one was worth the risk.
But when I met Logan—and heard his smooth, strained voice that tugged at my insides even before I’d set eyes on him—I practically melted on the spot.
Heavens knew I was far from being the melt-on-the-spot type of person anymore.
I threw my stuff on the bench and stretched. The doctors weren’t there yet. Neither was the team.
“Someone was on this ice today,”I observed silently.
I glanced at my phone. Fifteen minutes until their call. No one ever showed up early. Who had been here? I looked around, finding no players. The lights in the owner’s box were on.
Louis Stroyken, the GM of the team came down the steps when he spotted me.
“Rachel, I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s Rayne, actually.”
“Oh right. I’m glad I caught you before he left. Listen I have a new player I’m scouting to recruit to the team. He’s a little reluctant and tell ya the truth, so are some of our execs but we’d like to check him out. His health.”
“I’m not a physician.”
“No, but you can examine him, right? He’s a phenomenal player and I want him. I just need someone to give us the green light and you’re the only one here. I think he hit the showers, hopefully you can catch him before he takes off.”
Stroyken was an older Russian gentleman. He used to coach in the Olympics. Not the type of man easy to say no to. Even if you tried.
