“How’s that going?”
I cleared my throat, not wanting to mention my botched first attempt at a marriage proposal. “She’s hurt. Scared. By her ex.”
“That explains your play.” Coach tapped his clipboard against his thigh. “See if you can get her to stay with you, Maxim. The better we sell this to the bureaucrat and resolve this Green Card situation, the faster we can return our focus where it belongs—to winning this season.”
I rocked back on my skates. I hadn’t been thinking about my potential deportation, but I needed to take that seriously. “Have you heard anything?”
This time, Coach frowned. “No, which is why I’m worried—and why I think you need to marry that woman as soon as possible. Like,tomorrow. And based on what you just told me, that’s in her best interest, too.”
* * *
Stol fishedfor information on the flight home, so I explained the situation with Ida Jane. Cormac must have heard part of it because he leaned forward from across the aisle. “Ida Jane went to dinner with Keelie tonight. They’re both staying at my place.”
“Good,” I said. “I was worried about that. I don’t want the douchebag near her. I lined her up a bodyguard. He starts tomorrow.”
Cormac nodded, his expression tense. “You think the ex is going to settle down?”
I simply raised an eyebrow. Cormac cursed. “I don’t want him to hurt Keelie.”
“That’s why I’m getting her round-the-clock security.” I didn’t want Dillon running around loose, hurting anyone.
“Thanks, man,” Cormac said, blowing out a breath. “Appreciate you thinking about Keelie, too.”
“Course. She deserves to be safe.”
I flexed my hands, which had been clenched in fists for so long that the tips of my fingers were numb. I hated bullies—because of Nadia—but also because of the havoc they continued to wreak on my friends. These men were my family, and not even a close relationship with Ida Jane would save Millie from my wrath if she hurt Stol. He might be a charming playboy, but he was a good man. Millie would not fuck him over.
Stol’s screen lit up and a beatific expression bloomed on his face.
“I gave Millie your digits,” Stol said. Concern etched into his forehead. “Maybe she can give you some pointers.”
My phone rang with an unknown number. I answered, casting a surreptitious look at the coaching staff. “Dolov.”
“Max.” A shiver ran up my neck—I hated the shortened version of my name. “What’s going on with Idge?”
“Not sure. Ida Jane’s hurt. Dillon got to her—”
Millie cursed. “That guy…Ihatethat he knows where she lives. At least she’s moving soon.”
“She is?” I asked, distracted.
“She has to be out of my place by the end of the month, but she hasn’t found a place she likes.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I said. A plan unfurled in my mind.
“I can’t leave my project,” Millie said with a deep, long sigh. “I want to. Gosh, I want to be there for her…”
“Let me talk to her,” Stol begged, grabbing at my phone.
“I popped out of a meeting, but I’ll call Ida Jane later,” Millie rushed to say, so I was sure she’d heard Stol’s request. I’d consider why she was avoiding my teammate later—and do him a solid of getting him back in Millie’s good graces once Ida Jane was safe. Her well-being was paramount.
“Call me instead,” I said. “I’m going to talk her into moving in with me.”
Millie snorted. “Good luck with that. Idge is freaking out that she’s already made a terrible decision with Dillon. No way she’ll hop into a house-share, let alone bed with you.”
Damn. I’d been afraid Ida Jane would think like that. Made sense, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
Stol reached for my phone, which I let him have. He glanced at the blank screen and cursed. Millie had already hung up. “She’s ignoring me.”
