Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Riggs

The last thing I want to be doing is stripping naked with a bunch of dudes.

If I had a nickel for as much dick as I've seen in my life—mine excluded—my retirement account would floweth over.

But that's the job, spending far too much time with other dudes, bonding over stupid shit, pulling stupid pranks, and then going to bed alone.

Or going to bed with someone but then waking up alone.

I went to the salon earlier, found it empty—no sign of Kit or Nova, though one of the stylists working had been nice enough to tell me she didn't have any clients booked for the day.

Something that would have been enough to make me worry even if I already hadn't been near panic because of last night's little shit show.

We were supposed to talk this morning.

But instead, I woke up with the sun flowing through the windows, my alarm suspiciously turned off, and the space beside me empty.

Then I spent the morning trying to track down a certain brown-haired beauty who was running from something.

From me?

From her past?

From something shitty that happened when I was gone?

I don't fucking know and that's killing me.

But she's not picking up my calls, not returning my texts. And she's not at her house or the salon or Lake and Nova's. She's not at the bar or on the patio, nor at the bakery or sandwich shop. She's not shopping at the base of the gondola—or not that I could see amongst the crush of people still enjoying the ski runs made possible by the Snowmaggedon a few months ago.

And then I had to pause my search.

Because of a bunch of dicks—literally and figuratively.

"My legs are fucking shot," Knox grumbles from next to me, towel knotted around his middle but split up this thigh, giving me a glimpse of his balls before I jerk my gaze away, grinding my teeth together.

See? Dicks.

I grunt.

Because my quads and hammies are on fire. Because Knox and I hit the gym after we crawled our asses off the ice.

We have a new offensive coach, which means working on implementing a new system. It's not game ready, yet, but Coach Joey—short for Josephine—is a perfectionist.

I'm excited.

She brings fresh blood and an enthusiasm for the game I haven't seen in years.

But our locker room isn't all camaraderie and sword fighting, crossing streams in the shower and pulling pranks on the rookies.

We have two main groups—Lake, Knox, me, Leo, Bear, Storm, and a few others form one. And the other…I look across the room, see them clapping shoulders and punching each other and generally acting like unfocused idiots—same as they behave on the ice.

We're winning—for the most part—so it hasn't created too much of a problem.

But…it's not great.

It's getting sloppy.

And I'm worried that we're going to get worse.

Plus, we haven't won a Cup, and we won't until they get their shit together.

Or maybe everything's fine and I'm in my own head because everything's fucked up with Ella.

I exhale, focus on Knox, who's still complaining about his legs.

"This was your workout," I remind him, pulling my underwear and pants on—see? Now I'm helping solve my dick problem.

"You got me there," Knox says, dropping the towel.

Jesus.

Dick problem once again.

Ignoring him—it—I pull on my tee and sweatshirt, sit down to tie my boots.

"So," he says as I get to work on my second lace.

I flick my eyes to his. "So what?"

"So," he drawls again, "are you going to tell me why you've spent the afternoon being extra growly and grumpy Riggs?"

I straighten and shrug. "I'm tired."

Not a lie. But not nearly the truth either.

" Bzzt ." He shakes his head as he yanks on his pants. "Liar, liar pants on fire." He leans around me, pointing at Lake. " That man is grumpy. You're the steady and even, but quiet one of our trio."

I scowl.

He points at my forehead. "And to support my case, I present growly, grumpy frown lines."

Lake snorts from next to me.

"Hilarious," I grumble.

"I know I am." Knox collapses onto the bench next to me, sweats hanging low on his waist, expression light, but his eyes are serious.

And I know he puts on the effect of everything being a joke, but the fucker doesn't miss a thing.

"Now," he orders, "spill."

I should talk to him. Ella's his sister and he knows her better than anyone except maybe Nova. But something stops me from actually spilling my guts, from telling him what went down.

Maybe it was the look in her eyes, the sadness that bottle of vodka did nothing to hide.

Maybe it's fucking cowardice because divulging what went down means admitting to the shit that happened to me because who wouldn't want to have wild, drunken sex with the woman they've claimed as their own?

A man who worried that she might wake up in the morning and regret what happened.

Like I had all those years ago.

I clench my teeth together so tightly that pain shoots through my jaw.

A man who is weak, useless?—

My phone buzzes and I yank it out of my pocket, nearly tearing the material in order to get a view of the screen.

So, imagine my disappointment when I see that it's not Ella calling.

It's my dad.

"And yeah," Lake mutters from next to me, "that's a normal reaction to a phone call."

I grit my teeth together again, ignoring the pain this time. "Fuck you."

"Fuck you right back," he says, shoving his feet into his boots.

A hand on my shoulder, clenching tight enough to leave bruises.

I look up at Knox.

"What'd you do?"

I should have done more. Shouldn't have slept. Should've blown off practice and tracked her down.

"I need to go," I mutter.

He doesn't release me, just squeezes tighter. "Riggs," he warns. "What did you do to my sister?"

"I didn't hurt her. I didn't do shit," I snap. "She was drinking when I came home last night, wouldn't talk about what's bothering her—" I sigh and admit, "I'm worried about her. She was drunk and wouldn't talk, so I put her to bed, intending to hash it out this morning, but she skipped out before we could talk about it." I rub a finger over the throb in my temple. "She cleared her schedule at the salon, wasn't at any of her normal spots and has avoided my calls and texts the last couple of days and Nova said?—"

"What did Nova say?" Lake asked, rigid possession in his question.

"You don't know?"

He just lifts a brow.

"Nova said that she's worried too, but that it's Ella's story to tell."

A nod. "That's what Nova told me too."

"Fuck." I shove my phone in my pocket when it starts ringing again, my dad's fucking unrelenting. "I?—"

Raucous laughter echoes through the room.

Christ.

Fucking idiots.

Knox's grip tightens further.

I rip his hand free. "I told you I didn't hurt?—"

"Reading that loud and clear." He tilts his head to the door.

"Let's go. I know where she is."