My face pales and my heart rate picks up. “What exactly is the Marshal Rule?”
“The rule that will lead to the immediate removal from the NHL of all players who engage in romantic relationships with each other.”
“But that would mean I’d be kicked out of the NHL!”
“Only if you and Gavin try to continue to see each other. Ifyou remain broken up once the rule is in place, you canbothcontinue to play in the league.” The way he sneers when he saysbothhas me thinking he only means me.
Gavin
I hate him. I absolutely hate him. Connor Kennedy Sr is the biggest prick I’ve ever encountered in my life. I’m still sick with rage over the shit he’s trying to pull as I pace around my apartment. My dad eyes me warily but is staying silent; he flew to Buffalo with me instead of getting on a flight to Anchorage. He’s sitting on my couch, the only piece of furniture I have in my one-bedroom apartment here in Buffalo, icing his fat lip, and watching ESPN, waiting to hear the latest speculation about my sudden disappearance from the Olympics before the medal ceremony.
There’s a knock on my door and I rush to it, pulling it open so fast the doorknob smashes into the nearby wall, punching a hole through the drywall.
“Nice place,” Bouchard says as he walks in. “Love what you’ve done with it.” He walks to the kitchen and places a six-pack of root beer along with a case of bottled beer into my fridge. He takes a beer out of the case and pops it open off the edge of my countertop, then takes a swig. “I have a surprise for you.”
“If it’s not Connor’s father’s head on a spike, I don’t want it,” I growl and grab two root beers, one for me and one for my dad.
“Slow down,Game of Thrones,” Bouchard says. “That would clash with your decor.”
“I think it would spruce up the place,” my dad says as I hand him his drink.
Bouchard sits on the other end of the couch. Which is fine as I’m still too wound up to sit and need to continue my pacing. He looks at me expectantly and asks, “What exactly is going on?”
“Connor Kennedy Sr is real fucking prick is what’s going on.”
“Yeah.” Bouchard sips his beer. “We knew that already. Can Iget some new information? Maybe an explanation as to why you fled Milan.”
“I didn’t flee Milan. We were forcibly removed,” I say as there’s another knock on my door, taking me by surprise. My heart rate kicks up. Maybe it’s Connor coming to deliver his father’s head personally.
“Let me get that.” Bouchard stands and walks to the door like he knows who’s on the other side. “Don’t need you putting any more holes in these pristine walls.” He opens the door and Alexander Tavish comes walking through.
“Nice neighborhood,” he says to me as he walks past. “Did they give you a gun when you signed the lease?” He pauses and looks around. “Forget what I said. This place is stunning. You need to give me your realtor’s number.”
I glare at him. “What are you doing here?”
He points at Bouchard. “He invited me when I called him, because you weren’t answering and I was freaking out that you disappeared.”
“It’s true,” Bouchard says, then informs him there’s beer in the fridge. He grabs one, looks for a bottle opener, then makes the same assessment Bouchard did and pops it open using the edge of my Formica countertop. There is no way I’ll be getting my security deposit back on this shitty apartment.
Not that I care. I signed the lease here years ago specifically because it is shitty. The landlord is discreet and accepts month-to-month rental agreements. At the time I had no idea how long I was going to be in the league, or whether or not I was going to be traded, shipped off somewhere else to be someone else’s problem. Hockey teams, same as fishing crews in Alaska, can be temporary. Besides, it’s cheap. Which has meant I can put away more of my money for such an occasion as to where I find myself now. In serious danger of losing access to my NHL paycheck.
Tavish sips his beer and takes a seat on the couch. Bouchard gestures for him to shove over, then he plops down in the middle. My couch groans under the weight of the three giant men, alllooking at me to begin talking. If it didn’t feel like my life was falling apart, the sight of them crammed together would be hilarious.
I put my drink down on the counter, then rub my head between my hands as I try to grasp everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Taking a deep breath, I drop my hands and look back towards the men on my couch. The three of them sip their drinks in unison. My dad is watching me intently, even though none of this will be news to him as he’s been with me since the moment this nightmare began.
“So Connor kissed me?—”
“Yeah, we got that part,” Bouchard says.
“The entire world got that part,” Tavish says. He lifts his forearm up and Bouchard bumps it with his. “I can’t believe I’ve been replaced by the golden boy of hockey.”
“Try giving Gavin a kiss,” Bouchard says. “See if that boosts you up the rankings.”
“No thanks,” Tavish and I say together.
“But seriously,” Tavish says. “What the fuck is going on? Everyone’s freaking out and no one is giving any answers. Coach Matthews isn’t even answering his phone.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I suspect he’s a bit busy at the moment. Seeing as how Connor Kennedy Sr has convinced the commissioner of the league to suspend me until I deny that Connor and I were ever in a relationship. If not, he’s using us being together to finally get rid of me on the basis of his so-called Marshal Rule.”
