I use the time to dive into the sludge of the online pit. I read the cruel words thrown Jo’s way, so I know exactly what I’m dealing with. So I can silence it.
With the help of Malcolm King.
Not wanting to wake Jo, I slip into the hall outside her apartment when I call him. He answers almost immediately with a terse, “Nico Tremblay, I wasn’t sure if I’d be hearing from you.”
I lean against the wall, my head back, eyes closed. “You’ve seen it?”
“Everything they’re saying about hockey’s biggest player getting married? Yes.”
“Everything they’re saying about Jo?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not good.”
“No.”
“Are you going to help me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “You going to make me beg?”
“Why should I help you when you clearly didn’t want me to before?”
“Because I’m an ass. Is that what you want to hear? Because I’m selfish and didn’t want to hear about the possibility of all this…everything I have with her going up in smoke. But you were right. I should have been more careful, and I need your help now to clean up my mess again.”
“So am I doing this for you or for her?”
“For the both of us. For her because she doesn’t deserve any of this, but for me because…because I’m all in with her, and I swear I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I need to protect her, and I need your help to do that.”
He makes an appreciative sound and says the best five words a public relations guy could say to a fuckup like me. “Then I’m glad you called.”
CHAPTER 15
JO
Even with Nico away,he still finds ways to make sure he’s never far from my mind. My breakfasts show up every day with sunflowers. Every afternoon, I receive a voice message about what he’s doing—going to take a nap, heading to the rink, about to board the plane—and then every night, he FaceTimes me after his game.
Today, the Iron faced Toronto and lost by two, but Nico played well. Although, according to reports, Fedorov will be back on the ice tomorrow, meaning Nico will have less time on the ice.
I assume he might be disappointed after the good run he’s had, so when his face pops up on my phone screen, the first thing out of my mouth is, “I’m proud of you.”
He grins. “Yeah? For what?”
“For your assist in the game today and how you stepped up this last week for your team.”
“Well, Josephine, it sounds like you might be my number one fan.”
I pan my phone down so he can see I’m wearing the pajama pants he bought me, the ones with his face all over them. I haveno idea where he purchased them. Probably had them custom made somewhere, knowing him.
“You’ve got me in my favorite place. Between your legs.”
I angle the phone up to my face so he can see when I roll my eyes, which only makes him smile wider. He loves to be crude, and I love to pretend I hate it.
“So,” he says, settling back against the pillows in his bed with his arm behind his head, the top half of his naked chest on my screen. “What did you do today?”
“Went to the gym then took a walk and got some pictures.”
“I saw.”
