Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

8. Owen

8

OWEN

The morning sun sneaks in through the blinds, casting warm crescents on the bed. I rub my eyes, propping myself up on one elbow.

Yesterday was so fucking crazy that I have to blink twice when I see Callie lying next to me. It could all have been some dream. For her sake, I kind of wish it was. Just to spare her from the dark underbelly of the world.

But then I trace the soft spread of her hair across my pillow. I curve a finger along the slope of her jawline and the plumpness of her bottom lip, and I can’t bring myself to change a single thing.

This is real, and I’m so fucking glad.

I sit up with a muffled groan. I told Callie last night that everything didn’t hurt, but that was the cocky talk of me from twelve hours ago. The me of today is one giant bruise. I need a week-long ice bath.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand. I forgot it existed the second we left the bar last night. As soon as I look at my notifications, I wish I could forget again.

I should’ve guessed it would be an explosion. There are drunken, misspelled texts from Dax and Lance, messages from Coach Coleman, and even a missed call from my agent, Rick.

I choose to call Rick back first. Everyone else is too close to the problem, but Rick will put an emotionally-distanced business spin on the situation. And if he’s calling me first thing in the morning, shit can’t be good.

“Morning, sunshine. I’m sending you a link right now.” My phone buzzes against my ear. “Have you checked the news yet this morning?”

Fuck.

Nothing gets you going in the morning like a healthy dose of dread. I tap on the link.

The article starts with a picture of the front of Pour Boys, the glaring lights of an ambulance flashing out front. The description below reads: “ Bloodied Scythes player, Miles Solomon, found unconscious in a back alley after a winning game .”

Double fuck.

I slip out of the bedroom and into the kitchen so I don’t wake Callie. I also need to snort some ground down Tylenol.

“You want to explain to me why you’re being asked to comment on this story?” Rick asks.

“I’m sure all the guys are being questioned.”

“Ehh, I wouldn’t count on that,” he says. “Probably because the other guys didn’t beat the shit out of Miles in front of a live audience only a few hours before he was found unconscious in an alley. Coincidence?”

“Probably.”

He groans. “As far as publicity stunts go, this one is a doozy. I’ll be cleaning that mess up for weeks.”

“It wasn’t a stunt,” I say, shoving a pod in the coffee maker. “Solomon had it coming.”

“It’s shit like that that makes it hard to believe you aren’t involved,” he mumbles. “Why did he have it coming?”

“No comment.”

“Attaboy. You just keep repeating that while I figure out how to smooth this over. And in the meantime, please don’t hit anymore teammates. I’m good at my job, but I’m not a miracle worker. I need you to keep the fists of fury to a minimum. Can you do that?”

“No comment.”

He hangs up with a muffled curse.

I grab my coffee and pad back to my room. Callie is just waking up.

“Good morning,” she says, yawning through a sleepy stretch. Then she clocks my expression. “Or… not a good morning?”

“Up until five minutes ago, it was the best morning I’ve had in weeks.” I hand her my phone.

She scrolls through the article. “Jesus. Is he alive?”

“Unfortunately.”

She gives me a look. “I know we don’t like him, but killing him would cause a lot more problems.”

Callie starts to read. “ Immediately after Solomon was found, a restraining order was filed against him by an unnamed woman. ”

“Summer.” I hold my hand out for the phone and continue to read. “ A photographer, who would like to remain nameless, told our reporter that Miles hired him months ago to track down this same woman, for reasons unknown. He was paid to photograph the woman’s family members, as well. Knowing what he does now, the man regrets not reporting the odd behavior to the police.”

“Would that be the photographer who was following us?” she asks.

“I don’t see who else it could be.”

“So the press was hounding us because they were trying to find Summer for Miles?” She shakes her head. “Tangled web.”

“I mean, I don’t think you getting pregnant scared any reporters off, but yeah, it sounds like it wasn’t really about us.”

“So…” Callie pinches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Is it over? Miles’s image is shot to shit. Summer has a restraining order on him and the proof to back it up. And if anyone had questions about why you beat him up yesterday, they won’t anymore.”

“I guess so.” I’m gonna need to sit with all of this for a second. I need time to process.

The whole reason I walked out of Callie’s hospital room was to protect her from me, but now…

Callie is watching me, her eyes warm. “I bet you’ll suit up for the next game.”

“Probably. Speaking of, I need to go.” I pad to the closet and tug on a t-shirt. “What about your job?”

“My job?”

“Yeah, that thing where you come to the arena and yell at immature hockey players about stretching more and not running their human bodies into the ground?”

I peek over my shoulder, and Callie is staring down at her lap. Everything about her is unsure, and I get it. Miles made that place hell for her. It’s no surprise she doesn’t want to rush back.

“Or you could get a job as a PT somewhere else? Somewhere quieter with less arrogant athletes.”

Callie lets out a sigh. “I don’t know, Owen. I’m questioning everything about myself right now.”

“Everything?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not everything. ”

I bend and give her a kiss, still amazed that we found our way back to this easy place.

“But I don’t know… maybe I should look into another field. I could be a podiatrist or something.” The way she wrinkles her nose tells me that’s not what her future holds.

I want to grab her face and tell her she’s the best damn PT most of the guys on the team have ever had. She’s good at her job. She listens to her patients, but she still makes the hard calls when someone is injured and has to ride the bench for a few weeks. Even when we hate her for it, no one can ever really hate her for it.

But I can tell now isn’t the time to dig into any of it. Right now, she needs to know that there’s no rush.

“I have to get to work, but today, your job is to relax.” I kiss her back into the pillows, desperate to crawl under the blankets and stay with her. “Stay here as long as you want, Cal. You look good in my bed.”

At the arena, the shitstorm blows as soon as I walk in the door.

I don’t even have to eavesdrop on all of the whispered conversations as I pass to know that everyone is talking about me. Yesterday, it might’ve set me off. Today, everything seems to be going my way. I don’t give a shit.

Which is why I’m not gonna bother trying to dodge any bullets headed my way. I walk straight towards Coach’s office, but as I pass the locker room, Lance calls my name.

“Owen! Everyone’s in here.”

I walk in and, sure enough, the team, Coach, Rick, and several other Scythes staff members are all there.

Well, all the birds, one stone. Why not?

“Damn brother,” Heath lets out quietly.

I run a hand over the worst of the bruising on my jaw. It’s a dull throb after the handful of painkillers I popped this morning. “I’m fine.” I cross my arms, happy to stand in the middle of this gathering. Might as well. All eyes are on me anyway. “Alright. So let’s talk.”

Coach Coleman steps forward first. “I don’t have to tell you what a fucking mess this season has been, Sharpe.”

“No, sir, you don’t.”

“Or that I’m wildly disappointed that my niece was in danger because of it.”

“That makes two of us.”

He narrows his eyes like that remains to be seen. “If we’re going to clean up this shit hurricane, I need some answers. Are you or are you not dating my niece?”

He’s starting with the heavy hitters.

“We are working on things, yes.”

“Half-ass answer, but I’ll take it. Next: is even half of the shit I’m hearing about Miles on ESPN true?”

I look at the rest of the guys. I know Miles is a worthless piece of shit, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t look at him like family for the last few years. As one of the oldest guys on the team, a lot of them looked up to him as a mentor.

But they deserve the truth.

“Almost all of it is.”

There’s a beat of silence, a bit of rustling as people adjust, absorbing that bombshell.

Then Coach nods. “Well, then. Let’s wash our hands and be done. Miles is suspended until further notice. We pick up his slack, and we try to save the season.”

He and the rest of the staff are ready to walk out. “Wait. That’s it?”

Everyone looks at me.

Coach arches a brow. “Yeah, that’s it. Unless you have something you want to say.”

Despite his words, it isn’t an invitation. I’m pushing my luck right now.

Over Coach’s shoulder, Dax is shaking his head.

“What about Callie?”

“Mind your business,” Coach growls. “I’m making the best decisions for?—”

“Bullshit,” I hiss. Lance lays a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him off. “She was the victim in all of this, and you’re ignoring her because it’s easier. You’re letting your niece suffer because you’d rather not cause a scene. Well, fuck that.”

I can see I’ve struck a nerve, but I really don’t care. I also don’t give him the opportunity to respond. Because at fault or not, I’m the one who is done here.

“Callie is my business,” I inform him and the rest of the locker room. “And until you all stop pussy footing around and do the right thing, she’s the only business I care about.”

With that, I walk out.