Chapter 30

CHAPTERTHIRTY

Trey timedhis entrance to the gala perfectly, sauntering alone down the red carpet so there was video evidence of his presence. Once inside, he covertly dropped off a hefty check in the glass donation box in the museum’s lobby. Now all he had to do was survive the director of the hospital board’s remarks and acknowledgment of the gala chairmen. Then he’d be home free. Literally headed home. It was never too early to get ready for next week’s game.

The Growlers were six and one through the first-third of the season. Trey was on track to break his own records from last year. Kessler and McGraff were proving to be the most reliable targets in the league. And the new tight end they’d picked up from waivers more than made up for his surly attitude with his strong blocking ability.

Football continued to be Trey’s failsafe. The one area of his life he dominated better than anyone else. The game had kept him sane for the past seven weeks and for ten years before that. Stepping out of football mode for events like this was a necessary evil. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it on his own terms.

Make an appearance. Leave a big gift. And get the hell out of here.

“Fletcher never wastes an opportunity to show off his hairy legs, does he?” Alek fucking Bergeron remarked when he came to stand along the perimeter of the crowded ballroom where Trey was currently lurking.

This was his fault for slowing down his movement around the exhibit hall. Small talk—especially with hockey players—was not in Trey’s game plan tonight. Except the captivating view of the museum’s glass roof brilliantly exposing the night stars had stopped him in his tracks. The image never failing to remind him of nights on the lake with London.

Focus, asshole.

London had moved on. At least physically. She continued to inhabit his dreams at night. And whenever he wanted to share something interesting or amusing with someone, hers was the first face that popped into his head. Football still dominated his life and his focus, but London Headley was always there, hovering on the periphery. He drew in a rough breath.

“You would think he’s the only man ever to wear a kilt,” Bergeron continued to gripe as he gestured to the Growlers’ kicker. “He can’t put on a pair of tuxedo pants like the rest of us?”

“You jealous, Bergeron? Or just peeved that you didn’t wear your family’s plaid?”

The goalie snorted. “Dude. I’ve spent most of my life on skates. These muscles would make Fletcher’s look like chicken legs. I wouldn’t want to embarrass the guy.” He winked. “Or make the ladies swoon.”

Trey shook his head. “Humble much?”

Bergeron was still crowing when one of the committee staff approached them.

“Mr. Bergeron. Mr. Van Horn,” she said. “We will have the opening remarks shortly. Can you and your dates make your way toward the holding area behind the dais in five minutes? It’s on the other side of the silent auction items.” She pointed to the opposite end of the long room.

Nodding, Trey headed that way, skirting the crowd by sticking close to the curtained-off wall. Bergeron did the same.

For fuck’s sake.

“Don’t you need to collect your date?”

“I could ask you the same question. Where’s London?”

Trey nearly stumbled over a cord bisecting the room. Why was the guy always asking him about London? Their affair had been brief and conducted in private. No way did the goalie know Trey’s true feelings. “In Chicago, I assume.”

“You assume?” Bergeron grabbed him by the arm, practically shoving him into a waiter carrying a tray of drinks.

“What the hell, man?”

“No! What the hell to you! Why don’t you know where London is? Aren’t you two together?”

The dull ache in his chest grew stronger.

Aren’t you two together?

Trey suddenly wanted to scream. Or hurl something. The goalie, perhaps. Damn Bergeron for picking at a scab that had barely healed.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he snapped. “No. We are not together. Never will be. She’s all yours.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He drew in a steadying breath so he could get the rest out. Because, above all else, he wanted London to be happy. And the arrogant swine standing in front of him could do that for her. “In fact, you two would make a great couple. She deserves someone who can make her happy. A decent guy who will put her first.”

Bergeron swore savagely. “There’s one problem with that, Van Horn.”

“How can there be a ‘problem?’ You’re moderately good-looking for a hockey puck. Some might even say you are successful. She seemed into you every time I saw you together.”

The goalie gritted his fake teeth. “You’re a dumbass, you know that? London was never ‘in’ to me the way she is with you. Hell, man, what I wouldn’t give to have her look at me the way she looks at you.”

The room seemed to spin as Trey absorbed his words. Luckily someone placed a strong arm around Trey’s shoulders.

“How are my two favorite clients doing tonight?” Collin asked as he stepped between Trey and the goalie. He lowered his voice. “Tell me I’m seeing things, and you two are not about to throw down right here in the middle of a museum filled with everyone who’s anyone in this town and beyond?”

Trey leveled a hard look at Bergeron before shrugging off Collin’s arm. “Who let you in here?”

“I bought a ticket like everyone else.” Collin straightened his tuxedo jacket. “You didn’t think I’d miss a fundraiser chaired by two of our firm’s biggest clients?”

“Then make sure you bid on several of these things.” Bergeron swept his arm out to indicate the tables filled with items donated to the cause. “And bid high. It’s for the kids.”

A framed photo on an easel caught Trey’s attention, drawing him closer. It was a stunning image of sunrise over Lake Geneva. He studied it carefully. It didn’t take him but a minute to realize the picture could only have been taken from the vantage point of Pops’ boathouse.

“Yo, Trey,” Collin was saying. “Gunther is still furious at you for blowing off his grandkids on the field opening day. I’ve been holding him back at the games, but it’s a lot harder in this environment.”

Trey ignored him. He leaned in closer to inspect the inscription on the frame.

Every sunrise brings an opportunity for a new beginning.

London’s initials were below it.

The room began to sway again. She was here. She had to be. But what did this painting mean? He needed to find her. To find out.

“Heads up. Gunther is at three o’clock. I think we should make a beeline in the other direction,” Collin insisted.

The words registered with Trey a few seconds too late. Seth Gunther sneered as he jabbed a finger into Trey’s shoulder. Trey didn’t bother with subtlety as he shoved the offending hand away and pulled himself to his full height.

“Whoa. Hands off, man,” Collin admonished Gunther.

“Will you call your pissy agent off, Van Horn. You and I have a beef to settle. No one breaks a promise to my grandkids. You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man. I have a plan for how you can make it up to them. Starting with⁠—”

Trey had heard enough. He stepped right into the overbearing asshole’s face.

“Wrong. We are not ‘starting’ anywhere, Gunther. I never made a promise to your grandkids. That was all on you. I satisfied my end of our contract to the letter. And there was nothing in that deal about schmoozing with you or anyone else in your family.” He kept his gaze focused on the man. “Am I right, Collin?”

“Yep. Not one word about it,” his agent replied.

“We are done here. Enjoy the rest of your evening, preferably somewhere else in the museum.”

Trey moved abruptly, attempting to step around the annoying man and begin hunting for London. Gunther flinched, knocking his elbow into the easel holding London’s photo. The frame fell forward. Trey lunged, catching it before it hit the concrete floor. He released a long breath as he righted it back on the easel.

“She’s still trying to get her claws in you, I see.”

The female voice was vaguely familiar. Trey jerked his head around and nearly lost his lunch when he recognized the woman slithering up to Seth Gunther. Kellianne, Pops’ caretaker who had set everything in motion all those years ago, in the flesh.

She made a tsking sound as she linked her arm through the older man’s.

“Who’s trying to get her claws in him, honey?” Gunther asked.

“London Headley.” Kellianne scoffed. “Her mother was such a whore. Can you believe she has no idea who London’s father is? She had to name her daughter after the city where she might have been conceived.” Her shrill laughter made Trey’s entire body vibrate with rage.

“Trey,” he heard Collin mutter beside him.

Gunther was laughing now, too. “I always thought Bennie was a fool for that girl. So haughty, that one. I wonder who she slept with to get the job at Nolan and Hemphill.” He smirked at Trey. “One thing’s for sure, I don’t want her associated with my account. I’ll make sure everyone at the firm is well aware of her true character first thing Monday morning.”

It turns out people really do see red when they are truly angry. Trey had no idea how he landed his punch through that flaming haze, but the sound of crunching bone resonating through the room told him he’d connected with his target. The pain shooting up his arm confirmed it.

The next minute was a blur of a woman shrieking—Kellianne—and a lot of panicked shouting. He tried to lift his hand to land another blow, but Bergeron had already pinned both Trey’s arms behind his back. Good thing, because his knuckles were beginning to hurt like hell. Fletcher suddenly appeared in front of him, his big mitt shoving at Trey’s chest.

“He nearly hit me,” Gunther shouted, refocusing Trey’s attention.

Wait, what?

If he didn’t hit Gunther⁠—

Kessler held a dinner napkin against Collin’s obvious broken nose as he helped him to his feet.

Shit!

What had he done?

“I want to press charges,” Gunther continued. “He tried to assault me!”

“If Van Horn wanted to assault you, you’d be the one bleeding right now,” Collin said through the napkin.

“Because you stepped in the way!”

Was he kidding? Collin had taken the punch meant for Gunther? Or course he had. All in the name of protecting a client’s reputation.

Trey was beginning to feel nauseous. The crowd around them grew larger. He caught sight of the Growlers’ brass headed in their direction. Mrs. Ciaciura was leading the way, her dress billowing like the sails of the flagship in an armada as she weaved through the crowd.

Shit.

Her eyes were wide and her mouth grim when she stopped in front of them. The team’s doctor reached for Trey’s hand.

“No,” Trey snatched it away and pointed at Collin. “Take care of him first.”

“I didn’t name you as a co-chair of this event so you could give us a little sideshow, Trey,” his boss said through her tight smile.

Coach Gibson was already calling for ice as he led them to a small office off the main exhibit hall. Kessler stayed behind presumably to charm the crowd. The team’s GM steered Gunther and Cruella De Ville in the other direction. Two paramedics descended on Collin, stuffing cotton up his nose.

The team’s doctor returned to examine Trey’s now throbbing hand. Trey hissed at his touch.

“This is why you should always leave the fisticuffs to us hockey players, Van Horn.”

Mrs. C leveled her bulldog glare at Bergeron. The goalie shrugged.

Coach Gibson hovered anxiously behind the doctor. “What are we looking at, doc?”

“I won’t know until we get some pictures. But it doesn’t appear to be broken.”

A chorus of exhales filled the room.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t still be swollen come Sunday,” the doctor added.

“Send him over to the Mayhem facility. Our trainers are experts with swollen knuckles,” Bergeron suggested.

“Lovely,” Mrs. C said. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

Bergeron spoke up before Trey could. “The asshole deserved it.”

Mrs. C hiked her eyebrows and pointed at Collin. “Him?”

“No. Gunther,” Trey and Bergeron said in unison.

She scoffed. “Enough said.” She turned to Collin. “And you deserve a medal for mitigating what would have been a public relations and legal disaster. I underestimated you, Collin. You do always have your client’s best interests at heart. Nice work. Now let them take you to get some X-rays and get that handsome face of yours fixed up.”

Collin tried to nod but he groaned instead. The female EMT brushed his hair back from his face as she helped him onto the gurney. Collin gave her a sloppy grin while they wheeled him out. Trey made a mental note to call Marty and let him know Collin would be handling all of his business from here on out.

“I’m going to head back in there to put a stop to any ridiculous rumors that might be going around. I’ll speak to my brother about the Mayhem’s trainer.” She shook her head and sighed as she looked at Trey. “I hope whatever this was about was worth it. I’ll see you in my office first thing Monday morning.”

“Where the hell is that ice!” Coach Gibson yelled.