Chapter 17 – Cross-Check
Blind Pass Fallout
Christmas Day
Bash
I march down the stairs. Because I don't want to make a spectacle of myself, I stop at the entryway and take a breath, trying to calm down. Everyone is seated around the TV watching the charity hockey game. I'd been invited to participate, but even months ago, my only thought had been to spend Christmas with Amelia.
I roll my eyes in self-disgust. What an idiot I've been, letting Jaxson get the drop on me like this. I huff and straighten, stepping into the room to watch the game with my family. It's a good one, with top talent from every team coming together for the cause. It's high-actionand borderline sportsmanship. The cooperation among the players is seamless and precisely what I expected. You wouldn't realize they're typically rivals.
I know that if I'd participated, it would've been even more exciting, because Jaxson and I despise each other, and the friction on the ice is obvious. The fans eat it up.
I sit, forcing myself to watch. The camera cuts to Jaxson, who shoulder-checks another player, taunting him. My jaw tightens at his cockiness, just watching it onscreen, and the burn of rivalry flares. The crowd can't get enough, cheering and hissing, some rooting for one team and some for the other.
Then the commentator's tone sharpens as the image shifts to a split screen. The blast of a popular entertainment show's opening music suddenly fills the speakers, but it barely registers because I'm so angry. That's when I realize that the game has come to a complete halt.
On one side of the broadcast, Jaxson is live on the ice, staring up at what I assume is the PuckCam. On the other, there's grainy footage of him on a hotel balcony. My stomach knots. The camera blurs the explicit parts, but it's clearly Kingston in a bathrobe with two nude women clinging to him, pulling at the robe. The feed ends with all three slipping through the sliding glass doors into the room.
The arena explodes in boos and hisses. On the ice, Jaxson stands pale and furious, framed live on the PuckCam, a breaking-heart graphic superimposed. The screen flashes to two women laughing in the broadcast booth—the same ones from the footage. They blow kisses at him as female fans surge toward the booth doors, pounding and shouting. Chaos erupts.
I sit frozen, unable to take a breath.
Amelia's voice rings in my head.
He came in one morning and demanded an open marriage, or he'd divorce me.
Then the words I spat at her only moments ago slam into me.
"Don't play dumb with me. You're married… to him."
I had refused to listen. Every plea to be heard, I shoved back. I called her a liar.
"So, all this is just a coincidence, then? The wife of my nemesis, Jaxson Kingston, is spending Christmas with me? You can't make this stuff up. You're a liar, Amelia!”
My head drops into my hands. Worse, I'd accused her of plotting with him. Yet she was innocent the entire time.What had she said? I can barely remember. Rage blinded me. But she called me a good man.
My mother presses a hand to her chest. “That poor girl. Can you hear what they're shouting?”
“Your wife deserves better,” I mumble, shame crawling up my throat.
“Oh, Sebastian,” her voice breaks. “That's your friend, isn't it? Did you know?”
Yeah. Yeah. I did know. Instead of talking to Amelia like a decent person, like a good man, I tore into her.
“I've made a terrible mistake,” I mumble, grief-stricken.
The live stream from the arena shows a riot unfolding, security hustling Jaxson and the other players off the ice as they dodge a deluge of stadium food. But all I can see is Amelia's pale, shattered face in my mind, her mouth agape, her eyes shiny with tears as I order her to leave.
I drag both hands down my face as a visceral ache sears through me. I cut her open with my words, and she'd been telling the truth all along.
What have I done?
“Amelia,” I whisper as I jump from my seat and head for her room.
Rudy stops me. “She's not there.”
Panicked, I turn away from him and race back up the stairs. “Amelia,” I shout, taking the steps two at a time. For the second time in minutes, I slam her door open, and silence greets me. It steals my breath. The room is meticulously clean, and the bed is stripped. I lunge for the closet and rip the doors wide.
