Delaying heading into his office wasn’t going to change the outcome. I could feel bad news in my bones. That was the way I was made.
Maybe that’s why when I heard my father’s ringtone, I laughed bitterly. Speak of the devil. One of his many unearthly abilities was being a mind reader. I doubted that it had anything to do with being a big, alpha wolf and more about his honed instincts from being a father.
“Hey, Dad. How’s business?”
I leaned against the concrete block wall, closing my eyes in some crazy hopes of blocking out the bullshit.
“Don’t you dare ‘how’s business’ with me, son. What the fuck did you say to the people at theToday Show?”
“I didn’t say a single thing to them, Pops. And why do you always assume I’m the bad guy?”
“Call it experience. Let’s not hide behind any pretense, son. We have a crisis to handle and you know how I feel about this kind of shit.”
Nope. My dear ole dad had never minced words. Barrett Masters suffered no fools, including among his children. He was too powerful. Too influential.
Too fucking rich.
And always right.
Which was the usual truth. My dad had an uncanny ability to know when people were lying. He could smell it on their breath. He’d been the single reason our pack had been protected for as long as it had.
“Why can’t you and your brother just stay out of controversy? Seriously?”
“Dad. I didn’t talk to that damn reporter. No phone calls. No emails. Nothing. They are simply trying to hype their program. Call it click bait.”
He exhaled so many times I was certain the man was going to either hyperventilate or have a heart attack. “Do you have any idea how many phone calls I’ve had over the last two hours?”
I knew this speech by heart. I daresay so did Saint. So I mimicked it when my father started to speak.
““I’ve had fifty-two calls in the last two hours. Fifty-two. Reporters. Investors. Board members. Hell, your grandmother called and she’s way too busy with that new boyfriend of hers to stay in contact. How the hell did you get yourself in the middle of this shit?”
Wow. My grandmother had a boyfriend. Now that was new. “Dad, I’m not guilty. Just like you know Saint isn’t going to spill some shit about the gym and our pack. People are fishing. Or someone opened their fat canine mouth.”
“What are you insinuating? That we have a mole out to get us?”
“How else would reporters know about the park and our special gym?”
Of course the man was weighing whether or not I was telling him the truth. “You have a point, even if I don’t like it. You’re not lying to me?”
“What point would there be with my lying to you? We have too many enemies as it is. I’d like to actually have a career in the NHL. You know?”
“You had better believe our son, Barrett, or so help me God, you won’t get any for a month.”
Hearing my mother’s stern voice in the background usually made me smile. Not in this case. I didn’t need to hear details about their sex life.
Not only was there an ick factor to it, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex. For all the stories told about big, buffhockey players, all the romance books and even with a new television series, it was all bullshit.
Well, unless you were the top players. Sure, they could have any woman they wanted.
Great. How many times in one day was I going down the road of feeling sorry for myself?
“I trust our son, sugar baby,” my dad said in return, barely trying to disguise the lovey-dovey tone he’d always used with her. For all his gruff and tough way of handling everyone else, Mama Wolf had him wrapped around her little finger. “Wait. Don’t take the phone.”
“Hi, honey. Let me know if your dad causes you any trouble. If so, I’ll handle him.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
“Alright. Here’s your dad. You need to come for dinner soon, son. I miss you.”
