“Rhett Elkington.”
Rhett Elkington?TheRhett Elkington? Now that’s a hockey player. Top in his category during his rookie year. MVP of the night many times over. Vital cog in the machinery to a Stanley Cup victory last year. Most rookies don’t even get to play their first year. All eyes are on this guy. There are whispers that he could be the next Gretzky.
The kid popped up last season and—
Huh. Last season. The same time Jack’s stats dropped off. Those events can’t be related, can they? That’s some far-fetched bullshit. My intuition tingles, making my gut slosh with eerie premonition.
“What can I do for you, Elkington?”
“This is a tad awkward. I had hoped to speak with you in person, but it can’t wait. My fiancé is on your team, and I haven’t told him yet—I want it to be a surprise—but New York’s interested in him, which is happy news for us as I’m sure you can understand.”
Someone from the Eagles is interested in someone from my team and Eddie didn’t tell me? It doesn’t check out. I guess he is a busy guy, it’s possible he hasn’t gotten to it yet, especially with it being so early in the season. Technically, the season hasn’t begun.
“Okay. I’ll keep an eye out. Who’s your fiancé?”
“Jack Leslie.”
My blood freezes.
Once, justonetime, I wish my intuition would be fucking wrong.
If I thought I was jealous at practice, it’s nothing compared to the hot jealousy burning through me now.
Everything about Jack makes sense now. The sudden drop in his stats—froma broken heart—his resistance to relationships.
It also brings a flood of questions to mind, ones I shouldn’t give a fuck about, but I do. Like, did they recently get engaged? Did it happen because I kicked Jack out of my condo? I envision him running back to Rhett with open arms after my rejection. It was probably raining—it always rains during romantic movie scenes—and their gorgeous selves were soaked to the bone when Rhett finally dropped to one knee and presented Jack with a diamond the size of King Kong’s left testicle. Figures he would marry a literal hockey God.
Some of it doesn’t make sense. For a team of burly hockey athletes, they’re gossip kings. I’ve overheard a helluva lot more than I’ve ever wanted to know about them. Jack’s popular and much beloved by his teammates, which means they’d be razzing the shit out of him for being taken off the market.
Lord help me because I can’t help myself. “Jack never mentioned anything about a fiancé,” I say.
“I suppose I’m being a tad premature with that too. He will be by the end of the season so long as everything goes right with this scout. It’s important it remains a secret.”
Ah. In other words, they’re not engaged at all. I’m going to go as far as to say that they’re not together either. Jack might be trouble the size of a hockey player, but if he was with Rhett, he wouldn’t be flirting with me the way he flirts with me. It’s hate flirting, sure, but there’s real attraction behind it.
“Any reason why it needs to be so secret?”
“That should be obvious,” he says as though he’s talking to someone who’s incredibly dense. He doesn’t elaborate.
“Why are you telling me if it’s so secret?” This guy is a douchebag. I’m calling it. I’d say it comes with the territory, but that’s not true. Gretzky was always a class act.
“I know about your relations with my Jack. He’s a bit confused right now and isn’t likely to mention it. It’s better the two of you don’t get close.”
What makes him think we’re close? “Look, Guy. Jack and I were together for one night. I’m his coach and he’s a player on my team. That’s as far as it goes for us.”
Except now I want to protect Jack from this bonehead. I squeeze the fist not holding the phone. This is fucking frustrating. Jack’s not mine to protect.
“Good. I’m relieved. I thought this was going to be a lot more difficult.”
“No difficulties here. Best of luck on the engagement thing, Elkington.”
That call sours in my stomach for hours. Do I say something to Jack? What do I say? Your future fiancé called to tell me to stop mowing his lawn, oh and by the way, you’ll be signed with New York by the end of the season.
What if the scout falls through? They do more than they don’t. Jack doesn’t need his heart broken again. I ponder Rhett’s words as I make dinner, preparing for my nightly call with the family. I don’t like Rhett, but jealousy could be a huge factor in that. He seemed genuine about getting Jack a shot with the Eagles, which is his dream career path. That’s sweet, I guess. If you’re a damn hockey God.
It does beg the question, why did they break up in the first place?
No, nope, no. I’m getting too involved now. Jack’s none of my fucking business. I don’t trust Rhett, but he’s Jack’s to deal with and Jack is more than capable.
