That smug expression on her face is annoying the fuck out of me.
“The way she’s bouncing from one hockey player to another is giving definite puck bunny vibes…”
My throat tightens.
“Reminds you of someone else you know? Oops”—Devlyn places a hand over her mouth—“I guess you don’t know your mother.”
I stick a finger in her face. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
She smirks, satisfied the dig landed like a bomb.
“Stop being such a fucking bitch,” I say through gritted teeth. “I shared that about the woman who gave birth to me in confidence. How dare you share it with Chett?”
She hitches her chin up high. “I tell my son every?—”
“That was private. If I wanted your son to know, I would’ve told him myself. I’m a fucking adult, I don’t need you to talk on my behalf.”
A few passersby slow their step, taking in the train wreck.
I return my attention to the despicable woman I made the mistake of marrying. “If I hear one more person in your circle bring up the woman who abandoned me as an infant to me or anyone I know, I swear to God, Devlyn, I’ll make you regret it. You’re not the only one who knows how to hire PIs to dig up dirt on people, dear ex-wife. You’ve been so single minded in your pursuit to ensure your son lifts the Stanley Cup one day… but at what cost?”
Blotches of color spot her neck.
I’m onto something.“I’m willing to bet every penny to my name you’ve done a few underhanded things in your unwavering devotion to your son… things that would kill any chance Chett has of being part of a team of playoff champions. Things the media would love to get their hands on.”
She rears back as though I’d slapped her.
I pulled that one out of my hat, but I’m not surprised. “That’s what I thought.”
Her nostrils flare.
I tilt my chin up. “Cut the umbilical cord and kick the baby bird out of the nest, Devlyn. Makethatyour contribution to theworld.” I straighten my jacket. “One last thing. Don’t you ever talk shit about my girlfriend again and stay out of my fucking business. You got that?”
She blinks.
“Answer the fucking question.”
“Yes.”
“Make sure you keep that promise, or I’ll rain hell all over you.” I turn on my heel and leave her sorry ass there, mouth hung open.
I step out of the Pompadour hotel, still fuming.
My phone chimes.
I pull it out and frown.
I don’t recognize the number, but the message causes my jaw to come unhinged.
Hoppy Joe here. The Montana brewer you’ve been trying to reach for a while now. Every time I’m online, you and your girlfriend are making headlines. If I had a girl like that, I’d be kissing her all day. Enough of an old man’s rambling. I’m in New York, I know this is last-minute, but if we could meet today, that’d be great. If not, tomorrow. I won’t be in town for long.
Chapter 49
What a coincidence
Kazimir
Ipark my Mercedes inside the parking area annexed to my home office.
