CHAPTER ONE
ATLAS
If there wasone thing I hated more than people, it was talking to people. And talking to people while my oversized frame was stuffed into a monkey suit was seventh circle of hell territory.
Didn’t have much of a choice, though.
The sooner I made my appearance at the annual charity gala my former team held, the sooner I could make the rounds, and the sooner I’d be back here in my hotel room.
Myemptyhotel room.
I could shower off the stench of jersey chasers, jerk off to a faceless woman in peace, and fall into a restless sleep. Then I’d head back home in the morning.
This was my least favorite way to spend an evening, but even though I’d been out of the league for five years, I hadn’t missed one of these events. And despite my disdain for the attire—and events in general—I didn’t plan to start anytime soon.
I tugged on my dress shirt, buttoning it up with as much care as I could manage. Which wasn’t much. After a glance in the mirror verifying I hadn’t misaligned the buttons, I grabbed my cuff links engraved with my number—a retirement gift fromthe team owner—and slipped them through the holes before securing them into place.
I’d tied enough bow ties in my life that I could do it without thought. The problem was, if I didn’t have anything occupying my mind, it tended to wander to places I’d rather leave in the rearview mirror.
Halfway through tying the bow, my phone buzzed from its place on the nightstand. I abandoned the knot and strode over to glance at the screen. My youngest brother’s name flashed, along with a string of call notifications I’d missed while in the shower.
I pressed the button to accept the call. “Yeah.”
“Nice of you to finally answer, dickhead,” Lincoln said.
“I’m a little busy, Linc. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a Mom Situation,” he said without preamble. The clinking of glasses and the loud hum of voices carried over the line, telling me he was at One Night Stan’s. “And since I can’t be both there and covering the bar, we’ve gotta tag team.”
I froze on my path back to the mirror, my steps halting as a dozen different scenarios flew through my mind, each one worse than the last. “What kind of Mom Situation?”
“Nope. I’m not gonna spill so you can pick and choose. Just tell me which one you can take care of—Mom or the bar. And hurry the fuck up. Who knows what she’s gotten into while I waited for your ass to answer.”
“I didn’t answer because I’m a little busy here. Why didn’t you call Declan?”
“Uh, because I actually wanted someone to show up?”
Fair enough. Dec wasn’t exactly reliable. And Xander was a plane ride away, so he couldn’t just swing by the family bar to lend a hand.
“Well, I can’t show up. I’m out of town.” I scrubbed a hand across my mouth. “Jesus Christ, does no one look at the family calendar?”
Lincoln snorted. “What am I, a soccer mom? No, I don’t look at the fucking calendar.”
“Well, if you had, you’d know I’m in Portland.”
“Maine or Oregon?”
“Maine.”
Not that it mattered. Even though I was in the same state, it might as well have been another country for all the good it did me. This was the first time I’d left our small town all year—since the last time I’d come to this exact event, actually. But of course, shit would hit the fan on the singular day I wasn’t in Starlight Cove.
How bad would itreallybe if I missed the charity gala? And how quickly could I charter a private jet?
“I don’t buy it,” Lincoln said. “You never leave this place. Barely leave your house unless you’re here, at the school, or at an away game for the team. So stop fucking around, quit giving me excuses, and help me handle this.”
With a muttered curse, I hung up on him and navigated to the camera app.
Group text with Atlas, Xander, Declan, and Lincoln
