CHAPTER SIX
JONAH
Fuck Thursdays,I thought to myself as I climbed out of my ride and hooked my bag over my shoulder. I had never given a shit about Thursdays in my life until today. Until I knew that I was going to be dealing with the Glaciers’ ambassadors—whatever the fuck that was.
I was trying to pay attention to whatever Tucker was babbling about, but I was distracted. We’d come home from the roadie, and my goddamn phone exploded with messages from Nikos telling me my dad had fallen.
He only had my number, not that Micah or Caleb would have done anything about it. But the situation was getting serious, and now I was waiting on phone calls because I had no other choice but to find him a memory care facility.
I couldn’t live with him. That wasn’t a choice I could make. But I also didn’t want to toss him into the first state-run place I found either. He hadn’t been a great dad, but he deserved some goddamn dignity.
Fuck, if this could have happened over the summer, that would have been wonderful. Or if my mother were less narcissistic and monstrous, she would have left me withsomething—anything—about what had been going on the last few years.
But as it was, I felt like I was sitting there with both thumbs up my ass and my wrists zip-tied together.
Grabbing my cane, I navigated toward the door, and as it flung open, a burst of AC hit me. A second later, as I attempted to swallow, I could feel cat hair in my mouth, having blown off my shirt and into the air. Jesus, I loved my little furry monster, but why was her hair on literally everything.
I scraped my tongue as I headed inside and, after a beat, heard a voice calling out, “Are you practicing deep-throating or what?”
I flipped Tiago off with my spit-covered finger. “Athena.”
He laughed as I heard him approach, and his elbow brushed mine to let me know where he was. “Tell her I love her and that she’s doing the lord’s work.”
“You’re a fucking troll,” I snarked. My voice must have sounded a bit sharp because he sucked in a breath, and I bowed my head on a sigh. “Sorry. I mean, you are a troll, but I’m having a bad day. I don’t mean to sound like a dick.”
“Come here, my little marshmallow,” he said, throwing his arm around me. I curled my fingers around his elbow, and he took my cane. He didn’t use a cane all the time—not yet anyway. But he’d been practicing, and I heard his very precise tap-sweep-sweep-tap as he led us down the corridor. “Do you want to talk to Daddy Tiago about it?”
“Dude, if you made enough money, I would so employ you as a sugar daddy.”
“You’d have to get real comfortable with dick,” he warned.
“I’ve had a dick my whole life. I’m very comfortable with it.”
He snorted as he turned us left and down the familiar path to the stalls. Normally, that was my safe space. I felt at home there—even if it smelled like ball cheese and toe fungus spray. But today, there was a knot in my stomach.
“I can’t believe Tucker got talked into this bullshit with the Glaciers,” I murmured. I could hear voices up ahead and recognized a couple of the guys.
“You know that wasn’t up to him, right?” Tiago swiped his badge with the low beep, then pushed the locker room door open, where the voices got louder.
Not all the guys were participating. Only three guys from the Glaciers were coming, and Tucker thought it would be overwhelming if we had the whole team, so it was just me, Tiago, Andrey, and Matty.
“I’m just sick of this dog and pony show.”
Tiago hummed. “Never did learn what a dog and pony show actually was. But yeah. It’s fucked. The guys are cool though.”
I stiffened. “You met them already?” I knew one—unfortunately. Alexio the Asshole was going to be on the ice with us. Luckily, he wasn’t a goalie, so I didn’t have to work with him, but I had no doubt he was going to find a way to get a few chirps in.
I was still reeling from realizing he was in Tucker’s office when he was chewing me out for fucking up the game, and I didn’t trust him not to spill my secret before I was ready.
“Yeah. I’m paired up with Zeki. You know him?”
“Mm. Don’t believe anything that guy says. He’s a dirty, filthy liar.”
“Sounds like you know teammate already,” came a thick Russian accent. A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “We going to be best friends now, yes.”
My brows flew up. “Uh…”
“You gotta introduce yourself, Vanya. Dudes here can’t see you,” came another accented voice. Finnish, I think. Itwas getting easier to tell now that we were working in closer proximity to the NHL.
