“Can you sign this for me?” the kid asked, holding out his hat.
Rossi’s whole face hardened.
“Sure, kid,” I ground out, forcing the best grin I could muster up. Rossi moved closer to the woman and slid his hand around to her hip. He whispered something in her ear, making her mouth drop slightly open. She recovered quickly, smoothing her face into a bland smile.
“What’s your name?” I asked the kid, stretching out the time to assess this situation. The young mom’s eyes were darting between me and Rossi. I knew that look. She was monitoring emotions, piecing things together, preparing.
“Baker,” the kid answered with a wide grin. “Baker Smith.”
I noted the last name. So this kid probably wasn’t Rossi’s offspring. On top of the different last name, the kid’s sweaty hair was curly and blonde, and his face looked nothing like the scowlingRossi standing before me.
“You played a good game, Baker. Solid goal in the third.”
“Wow, you really watched,” he said in awe. “Thanks! I want to be like you, well, like you and Colt Conover,” Baker rambled. “Maybe more like Conover. He’s my favorite, sorry.” He grimaced. “But just because he also plays center,” he added quickly.
“Yeah? That’s good,” I said with a forced chuckle. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
Baker’s blue eyes widened. “You will?”
“Yeah, for sure, kid. You skate here? This is your home rink?” I fished.
He nodded.
“Colt and I will probably be back here this summer,” I said, my eyes meeting Rossi’s. His scowl deepened. “Maybe we’ll see you around.”
“Woah, yeah. Thanks, McQuaid,” Baker said.
“No problem.” I smiled at him, then my face went cold as I gave Rossi one last hard look.
37. ALI - MY FAULT
“How can he be employed there?” JP snapped at Kappy on FaceTime. Ever since getting back from the rink, JP had been on edge, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was my fault.
“Because how would our manager know?” Kappy responded. “He’s a dude from Minnesota.” He scrubbed a hand over his dark hair, looking exhausted. “Rossi must’ve passed the background check. But we can’t just fire him when he’s done nothing wrong—”
“Nothing wrong?” JP burst out. He paced back and forth across Cliff’s small den.
“Nothing wrong at the rink and in the eyes of the law,” Kappy said pointedly. His eyes found mine at the edge of the screen. “I’m sorry, Ali. We’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to Johnny.”
JP’s jaw hardened. “What if I make him do something wrong? Lure him into it?”
That had my heart pounding. “Stop, JP. I don't want you getting messed up in this,” I whispered. “It’s my mess.”
JP shook his head, his jaw set with stubbornness. “Absolutely not. It’s our mess,” he said under his breath.
“Maybe we should go back to Chicago,” I said worriedly. My brain was jumping to the worst case scenarios, like JP getting into a fight with Mark and his shoulder ending up in even worse shape.
JP’s eyebrows slammed down. “I thought you were going shopping for the babies with your mom tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but maybe—”
“No, Ali, I'm not letting this asshole take anything else from you,” he said firmly. “If you want to go shopping with your mom, that’s what you’re gonna do.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to punch him,” I blurted out.
“He’d deserve it.”
I flung my arms down. “JP—”
