You don’t think it’s too much?I text to Tamiko. While I love the praise and certainty he’s exuding, I’m aware of how much people get off on tearing others down, especially people at the top of their game. Maybe he shouldn’t seemquiteso happy.
Tide is turning, my friend.Tamiko types back.All the dude bros like that you’re good at your job and making Bishop better. All the female fans love the way he lights up when he talks about you.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Now we just have to keep the press about you two as positive as possible for the rest of the season.
Given how good things are going between Logan and me, and the mutual understanding we have about what this relationship is and isn’t, negative press shouldn’t even be an issue.
Then my phone pings with an alert about the hockey team in Bellerive. It’s a news story proclaiming Dalton Worthington as the new liaison between the government and the Bellerive Bullets.
I close my eyes.Fuck me.
“You all right?” Logan asks, his hand sliding along the small of my back.
I was so focused on the news alert that I didn’t even see him approach.
“Dalton’s the new team liaison for the government.”
“It’ll be fine,” Logan says, and his thumb grazes my cheek before he gives me a tender kiss. “I never saw King Alexander. I’ll never see Dalton either.”
While his claims about Alex might be true, I’m not so sure Dalton’s managerial style will be the same. He’s never been the hands-off type.
“If you do have anything to do with him,” I say, “I need you to keep a lid on your temper. He’d love nothing better than to get the best of you, get the upper hand.”
“I’m cool as a cucumber, doc.” He can’t help the smirk that follows.
“I’m serious.”
“He can say whatever the fuck he wants. You think I haven’t heard world-class trash-talking? Shit about my mom, about being in foster care, aboutanyperceived weakness? My penalty minutes are down because I’ve learned to block that out. The California Crows sent me to some special therapist tomanage my emotionsbecause I was getting too many penalty minutes. I can block him out.” Logan wraps his arm around my shoulders, and we head toward the exit behind the rest of the players with wives and girlfriends. “As long as he keeps his hands to himself, I can handle whatever bullshit he wants to say that’s probably not even true.”
Probably, being the important word there. Because there are so many things Logan knows nothing about when it comes to Dalton.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sawyer
After being gone for a week and a half, it’s been strange to be back in my physiotherapy office. Since I opened my business for low-income customers and pro bono work, I’ve never taken so much time off in a row. But it’s hard to be sure if the strange sensation in the pit of my stomach has to do with catching up with clients and figuring out where I’m at with everyone, or if it’s about Dalton becoming more connected to the team.
If I’d known it was even possible for Dalton to become a factor in the Bellerive Bullets’ organization, I’m certain I wouldn’t have taken the job. It’s bad enough that I have to see him at social functions and pretend like we ended things amicably, but having to sit in meetings with him might undo the progress I’ve made since I left him.
Of course, I can’t tell Logan any of that.
Keeping that truth from him also feels uncomfortable. A part of me wants to confide in Logan about exactly the kind of man Dalton Worthington is, unload all that trauma. The more time we spend together, the more I want Logan to know everything, every part of me. Giving him my history might make things better for me, but I’m certain my truths would make things worse for Logan and the team.
“You good?” Bituin asks as she clicks through files on the computer. “No Logan today?”
“Rest day,” I say. He’s at my house waiting for me, and I check my watch again. Matilda and her son should be here any minute.
“Are you okay if I leave? I have a nail appointment.”
“Sure. Matilda isn’t usually late.” Normally, running behind wouldn’t bother me in the slightest, but after having the intense one-on-one time with Logan on the road, I just want more. “You can leave. I’ll give her another ten minutes and then assume something came up.”
“See you tomorrow,” Bituin says, logging off the computer and turning off the monitor.
I’m in the weight and workout room when I hear the front doorbell go. “In the gym,” I call as I check my watch again and see a message from Matilda. Before I can read it, someone clears their throat.
But when I glance up, ice shoots through my veins. “What are you doing here?”
