Page 24

“Good for you, man. That must keep you busy.” I smile appropriately, despite knowing nothing about kids other than the fact that I was one.

“It does.” He nods with a beaming smile of his own. “Good thing I love chaos. We have another one on the way.”

“Another kid?”

“Yep. Amelia’s due in a couple of months.”

“Wow. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Now back to you. We have this group chat going that’s kind of like a support group and⁠—”

“Nope,” Easton calls out as he walks past, and I’m surprised when Luke stops speaking. I hadn’t even realized Easton was talking to us.

“Don’t mind him. He’s on the chat and he’s in denial.”

What the hell? “What exactly are you asking me?”

“If you want to be in the group chat?”

“Oh. Thanks for the offer but I’m okay.” I smile with false gratitude. I couldn’t think of anything worse. “There’s no bad blood between me and Atlas. We just live and play on opposite sides of the country. We grew apart.” That’s all. Sort of.

“I’m guessing you haven’t read the article.”

Fuck. “I haven’t.” I hesitate, speaking slowly as he pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it over.

Childhood best friends-turned-rivals Atlas Grant and Beckett Myers are facing each other this weekend after spending time together in Vegas last month. A source close to the two ex-friends said that they barely spoke during the three-day bachelor party for a mutual friend, and that there was tension between them when they were seen exiting an elevator together before heading in opposite directions. Atlas was later photographed with the wedding party, while Beckett was spotted boarding a plane back to San Francisco.

Was Beckett’s early departure caused by a rift between them?

Our sources say yes.

I force a laugh while inside I’m fuming. What the actual fuck? A source close to the two? If that source knew me at all, they wouldn’t be questioning my departure.

“Gotta love gossip. Thanks for showing me. It’s good to know what I’m walking into.”

“With Atlas?”

“No, with the media.” I have no doubt Atlas will be as confused about this as I am.

“We’re here for you if you need us.”

“Thanks.”

I rush to shower and get dressed, stopping past our general manager’s office on my way out, making sure he knows I don’t plan on causing trouble. When I finally get home, I curse my suitcase waiting patiently by the door. If only I could use this to get out of the wedding. I wouldn’t want the media circus to ruin Hunt and Olivia’s moment, would I?

An image of Lily comes to mind, and that always-present tightness in my chest has me cursing out loud for an entirely different reason.

I can think of many excuses to justify playing hooky and avoid this big extravagant event. For my sake and others. Yet, there’s a not so little part of me that actually wants to go.

And that right there is probably why I shouldn’t. If only I wasn’t already there for a game.

Damn Hunter and his genuine need to make sure his wedding is convenient for the rest of us.

The team arrived in New Orleans late Tuesday, ahead of our Thanksgiving Day game against the Phantoms, and I’ve just made it to my room after an early Storm dinner on Wednesday night when my phone lights up with a call from Henley.

An audible groan escapes me.

I’ve already had my mom check in; I don’t need Henley doing the same. It’s as if they think I’m going to abandon my team just to avoid a bit of unwanted publicity. You’d think they didn’t know me at all.