Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Riggs

Thankfully, our game against the Gold went better than the one against the Grizzlies—meaning that we managed to squeak out a win in a shootout instead of getting obliterated in regular time.

I jab at the button for my floor, waiting for the elevator's steel doors to slide closed, and ride the car up to the sixth story, where all of the team's rooms are located for tonight.

Tomorrow, we have one more game against the Southern California Vipers and then we'll be heading back up into the mountains.

Clear air instead of smog. Winding roads instead of multi-lane highways.

Ella instead of…a busty puck bunny one of my teammates is escorting down the hallway, disappearing into a room in the distance.

Shaking my head—because some things never change—I turn the other way, moving toward my own room, rounding the corner and?—

Halting.

Because…

Some things never change.

"What the fuck are you idiots doing?" I ask, moving to where Lake is propped up against the wall, watching the shenanigans take place.

"Rookies," he says by way of explanation, and I get it then.

Get what Knox is spearheading.

"Storm," I mutter, spotting a familiar duffle bag on the end of the bed my idiot teammates have somehow moved out into the hallway.

The queen-sized bed. A pair of nightstands with lamps. The TV stand and television itself. An arm chair, floor lamp, and ottoman.

Jesus Christ, they've even brought a vase of flowers and the fucking bath mat.

"Yup," Lake says on a sigh as Bear carefully positions the floor lamp based on Knox's very specific instructions: "A little more to the left. A little more. No, a little more ?—"

Bear growls.

"Perfect," he announces wisely, spinning slowly as he takes stock of the hallway that now looks like one of the generic hotel rooms we're all staying in threw up in it. "Just perfect."

"This is why Leo offered to buy Storm and me a drink?" I ask Lake.

I knew that something was up—and that something was likely shenanigans—but I didn't expect this .

That a hotel room exploded in the hotel hallway.

Lake's mouth tips up slightly at the edges. "Gotta give the rookies their due."

"So long as my room isn't in the hallway," I mutter, "I fully support Knox's nonsense."

"Knox's Nonsense," my idiotic teammate in charge of this shit says, coming up and leaning against the wall on my other side, surveying his handiwork. "That should be the name of my prank show."

"Punked already existed a lifetime ago," Lake says.

"So, maybe I'll throw it out there on YouTube."

Lake lifts one shoulder, drops it. "People make a shit-ton of money on there."

"And none of that is telling me my shit isn't in the hallway," I say, pinning him in place with a narrow-eyed stare.

Knox clamps his on my shoulder. "Your room is untouched," he says. "And only because you've gotten your head out of your ass about my sister."

I groan quietly, but Lake beats me to replying.

"You're the only motherfucker on the planet I know who's actively encouraging someone to fuck your sister."

Knox stiffens then exhales, shakes his head, waggling his finger at us. "Nice try, asshole," he mutters. "My sister is a virginal—" A smirk. "Or rather, Riggs here is the virgin— ow!" He clamps a hand to his arm, rubbing the spot I punched.

"Jesus," I mutter, shaking out my fist. "Fucker is a ball of muscle."

Lake shrugs again. "So much time in the gym, so little time to be an actual human being."

"Rude," Knox says. "Well, not about the muscles." He flexes, waggling his brows. "And your nonsense isn't true because I also spend a lot of time in the bedroom. So much time."

Lake groans, reaches over me to shove at his shoulder then pushes off the wall, turns for his room. "I've gotta get the fuck out of here." He brushes a finger over the shorn patch on the back of my head as the guys have begun to do—like I'm a fucking Buddha statue or a lucky rabbit's foot.

I smack him away. "Asshole."

"Night, Patches."

I narrow my eyes as he walks down the hall.

Knox sighs, drawing my focus. "My point was?—"

"Oh, there's an actual point in all your rambling?"

"Shut the fuck up." He clamps a hand on my shoulder, voice growing serious. "I know you"—his fingers tight—"and I know you'll treat my sister well."

There's the hint of a threat in his words.

Which I respect.

I have no plans to hurt Ella, but if it was my hypothetical sister that a teammate was sniffing around…

Yeah, threats would be made.

Even if I was responsible for them getting together in the first place.

"It's true," I say, knocking his hand from my shoulder. "Same as it's true that I care about your sister a whole fucking lot. So fucking much that you'll get to take credit for playing matchmaker for the rest of our lives." I push off the wall, turn in the direction of my room. "You can even give the wedding speech."

I look back, grin at his wide eyes.

God, there's nothing better than taking an Adler by surprise.

"I don't fuck around." I chuckle. "Not with women and meaningless sex." I lift my brows, hoping he might take a fucking hint and get his own bedroom in order. "And not when I've found someone I want to keep forever."

Those eyes are still wide.

Then he fist-pumps. "I fucking told you!" he says, practically bouncing on his toes in excitement. "Adler matchmaking at its finest."

He's not wrong.

Which is even worse.

Because I know I won't hear the end of it.

But I can't summon an ounce of outrage.

Ella's—

Mine.

Enough said.

The elevator dings from behind me and I glance over my shoulder in time to see Storm walk around the corner.

And skid to a halt in an almost comical fashion. "What the actual fuck?"

The guys start busting up.

Knox comes up behind me, slinging an arm around my shoulder, tilting his head down the hall for me to follow him to his room.

As Adlers are wont to do, I'm surprised.

There's food and beer and a video game console set up.

But I'm also not surprised.

Because Knox takes my phone—which has been buzzing with displeased texts and phone calls for the last couple of hours.

I haven't talked to my dad since our fight.

And he's made his displeasure very clear.

I was going to deal with it—with him—once I was alone in my room.

"Best of five," he mutters, tossing me a controller. "And then you're going to call my sister and tell her about the wedding plans?—"

I snort as I recline back on the bed. "—you said you want me to look after your sister, right?"

Knox underhands me a beer and plunks down next to me. "She needs a handler."

"Well," I say, popping the top, "then don't do anything to fuck up that careful handling, yeah?"

He frowns.

I elaborate. "Your sister makes it hard enough to get close to her?—"

Knox's gaze flies to mine.

"Yeah," he says softly. "She's really good at that."

"Well, I'm going to change that."

His mouth ticks up. "Never doubted it for a moment."

I smirk at him, but I'm still ready to change the subject.

Especially with my phone still buzzing on the dresser.

We play our best of five—Knox, the competitive fucker taking three rounds of the first-person shooter game to my two—before I head out to check on my woman.

I call, expecting to hear her sexy voice pick up.

But it just rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

Maybe she's still with Nova.

I shoot her a text.

You awake, chérie? I was hoping to talk.

I wait five minutes. Ten. And I do it scrolling through my dad's messages, deleting the voicemails, less than thankful for the transcription feature to give me the context of them without hearing his sharp words.

…played like garbage.

Need to pull your weight before…

I hit the button to video call her.

Still no answer.

She's probably sleeping it off at Lake's place, her and Nova having indulged in one too many mules.

I'll catch her in the morning.

Sighing, I set my phone aside, push out of bed.

And then I go out into the hallway to help Storm move his shit back into his room.