Page 37 of Slapshot Bride

“Is anyone in danger?”

I contemplate telling her the full truth, but knowing how worked up she gets, and considering her current hassle of the divorce proceeding, and having to deal with my asshole of a father, piling up my situation with Riley into that heap isn’t going to help.

“No one is in danger, mom. Just something about work and a friend.”

“If that’s the case, then do the right thing, sweetheart. Not the easy one. You have always known the difference. It's the one thing your father never managed to take from you.”

I smile faintly.

“I love you, mom,”

“Love you. Call me Sunday.”

She hangs up.

I sit there. The engine is still running. The sun has moved across the lot enough that I'm no longer in shade and the bright striking rays slant across my face but it does nothing to pull my thoughts from my distorted headspace.

Somewhere in this city, six months of footage of me is sitting on a hard drive with a woman who is going to look at the news cycle that is brewing right now and see exactly one thing.

Leverage.

Maya is going to see it, and she's going to act on it, because that is who she is.

Which means I have exactly one window of time to figure out what the hell I'm going to do before she does.

I put the key in the ignition for the second time. I start the car and drive home, knowing I have to come up with a plan to protect Riley.

8

RILEY

One Kiss

Ifinish the book on the couch.

It's mid-morning and quiet. Easton left for practice a couple of hours ago, and the house has settled into a peaceful silence.

I like it. There’s just something about the silence that mirrors peace, and reminds me that for once, I’m simply enjoying my company, not performing.

The sun has moved across the living room floor twice since I sat down.

I close the book, a James Hadley Chase paperback I picked off the coffee table the night before. I sit with it on my chest and try to remember the last time I finished a book.

I can't.

That is the second realization in twenty-four hours that has done this to me.

I don't know what I like. I don't remember the last time I finished a book.

Each one a window into how thoroughly I had stopped being a person who lived inside her own life.

I stretch. I notice, with mild surprise, that my phone isn't on the coffee table.

Then I remember. It died last night. I borrowed Easton’s charger and plugged it in by the lamp. I have not looked at it in almost two days.

I lean over and pull the cable out.

The screen powers on, and the notifications start.