Chapter 4

Four

EMORY

"Nice digs, man."

I flip the camera around and flop onto the couch. My sister and Ford share the camera, and I can tell that she's lying on top of him, which still makes my skin itch, partly because I know my best friend is fucking my sister, and partly because I think the majority of relationships are disillusioned and fake.

Don't get me wrong, if anyone deserves true love, it's them. I just think it's very few and far between these days.

"It needs a woman's touch." Taytum drags her gaze from the open space behind me to my face. "Mom didn't do nearly enough when she was there."

"What? It's fine." I look around my new home, thankful I finally found one after months of searching. I act unbothered by the fact that it's nearly empty, but if my mom asked me one more time what I thought about the color sage, I was going to put a for sale sign in the front yard.

"Maybe get some family photos or something. Hang them on the wall? It's kind of…cold." Taytum's mouth forms a straight line, as if she's trying not to hurt my feelings.

That was something that started after the shit show last season.

I may have been a bit testy, and it caused everyone to walk on eggshells with me. Truthfully, I prefer her asshole remarks over her trying to spare my feelings, though.

"Cold?" I repeat, glancing at the bare walls. I shrug and bring my attention back to my sister. "I like the cold."

She snorts with a roll of her eyes and climbs off Ford. He watches her walk away in the frame, and I choose to ignore it because if I say something, then it'll just result in him calling me bitter.

"How is her new monitor?" I ask.

I can't question my sister about her diabetes because she gets frustrated, so I ask him instead.

He rubs his hand along his face. "It's good. Takes some getting used to."

I chuckle. "Good thing she has you there to remind her to check her levels, though. Right?"

Taytum shouts from another room. "I don't need reminding!"

Ford and I share a half smile, and he glances up from the screen and winks at my sister. In the midst of the phone call, I start to gather my gear for practice. Ford rambles on about their schedule and pokes some questions here and there about my new teammates.

I give him a roundabout answer, but he can tell something is eating away at me.

"Spill," he says.

"What?"

"What's bothering you? Is it because I'm not on your team?" He sighs dramatically. "Don't worry, Emory Bemory . I miss you too."

I snarl. "You're in a completely different state, and you're still on my nerves."

He laughs, and I rest my elbows on the kitchen counter after leaning my phone against the half-opened cereal box.

"Did something else happen?" he asks, becoming serious. "You in the media again?"

"Not yet," I mumble.

"What does that mean?"

I watch Ford move throughout his house, likely to put me out of earshot of my sister. I wait until I hear the door click to let a sigh rush from my tight lungs.

Ever since Cherry—or Scottie, whatever the fuck she wants to be called—showed me a fake photo of me manhandling some girl in lingerie with the same shade of sunshiny hair as hers, I've been on edge. Who does she think she is? Because from our short conversation, I truly can't decide if she's a selfish gold-digger with no respect for others, or if she was acting out of character. Was she dared to corner me in a bathroom and threaten me? It's fucking with my head, and I don't like it.

She was determined but timid. Resilient yet still willing to compromise. All her features were delicate, but there was a thick wall of hardness in her eyes. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her or that fucking photo for days.

"Are you contemplating something or having a stroke?"

I shake my head at Ford's sarcasm. My hands lie flat on the smooth counter, and I fill him in quickly, hoping he can make sense of it.

He blinks a few times before whistling. "Sounds like a missed opportunity."

My fingers press into the stone of my counter. "What?"

"I mean, she'd probably suck some mean dick."

I hear a gasp. "Ford!"

And here I thought he was giving us some privacy with our conversation. I was wrong.

He laughs out loud and shouts over his shoulder at my sister. "I'm kidding, baby!"

"If you make a joke about my sister sucking your dick, I will book a flight right now and choke you."

Ford laughs harder. "You two are so sensitive."

The screen blurs, and my sister's face pops onto it. There are worry lines on her forehead, so it's obvious she's much more concerned than my best friend. "Did she delete the photo?"

I shrug. "She apologized and then ran off."

"She apologized?"

I nod. "Yeah, it was a mindfuck."

Ford pulls the phone back. "You should have struck a deal with her. Pay her to help you fix your shitty image."

Taytum's voice is farther away now. "Stop giving him bad advice! Emory, you need to make sure the photo is deleted and she's not going to do something out of desperation because it seems like she's desperate for money, or maybe she's a puck bunny who likes to use hockey players for monetary gain."

I don't argue with my sister. But something tells me she's wrong.

Ford attempts to defend himself as I head for the door. "Bad advice? Remember when I told Theo to fake date Claire to fend off the puck bunnies in college? Now look at them! Happily in love."

"You're a real matchmaker." Sarcasm. Full sarcasm . "I'll talk to you guys later. I gotta head to practice. Good luck tomorrow," I say to Ford.

Before I hang up the phone, my sister shouts at me to make sure the photo isn't going to pop up somewhere and make things worse for my reputation.

Taytum is right.

That photo popping up is the last thing I need.

Practice is just as tiring as I knew it would be. Coach and Rhodes snapped at the younger players to get them into action—except for me, because although I'm still considered on the younger end, I'm much humbler than they are, thanks to the growing up I just had to endure. Still, we're all dripping with sweat by the end.

We have an away game in two days. We're undefeated, but it's the start of the season, and an undefeated record doesn't usually happen in the pros. We're bound to lose eventually, and that's not the pessimist inside of me talking. It's just the truth.

Malaki catches up with me as we head for the locker room. "Are you going with us tonight?"

I send him a look. "You think it's best for me to go out and party with everything going on?"

"I think it's best if you bond with the team a little."

The locker room is full of men changing out of their practice gear. We're all tired and sweaty, yet they are hyped up on their plans for the evening to celebrate Kane's birthday. Some of them are trying to convince their captain to go out with them too, but Rhodes has a pretty good excuse—a five-year-old daughter with no mother and a disappearing-nanny problem.

Malaki elbows me. "Come on, man. Just make an appearance."

I wiggle my fingers after my gloves fall to the floor. "When and where?" I ask, fully fucking annoyed, but also, I know that team bonding isn't something to skip out on. It took me a few years in college to understand the importance of it, but hockey is not a one-man type of sport, even if my position on the ice is a little more isolated than the rest.

"Strip club." Kane wiggles his eyebrows.

My chest tightens.

I'm instantly on edge. Last fall, I would have jumped at the opportunity, but now there's a resistance that wasn't there before. The thought of going out with the team wires me in all the wrong ways, yet I find myself agreeing.

If anything, maybe I'll lay eyes on a little blue-eyed devil and leave her a note just like she left me.