45. Weston

The last thing I want on a slow Tuesday afternoon when I’m waiting for Renee to get home from work is a text from the front office, asking me to come in for a chat.

Fuck. These things are never good.

It could mean I’ve been traded, although I have a no-trade clause written into my deal. I know there are ways around that kind of thing, but I’m hoping the team hasn’t gone around my back.

It could also mean that I’m being called to the principal’s office for some infraction. That’d be weird, though, because I’ve been on my best behavior lately. I haven’t stepped out of line or broken any rules. Haven’t even had a good fight on the ice in a while.

Since her.

I smile, thinking of Renee. Her taste is still buzzing on my lips. I’d barely been back in my place five minutes after leaving hers before I already had my finger on the button, ready to call her over so I could pick up right where we left off.

But I made myself put my phone down. She wanted casual, no strings attached. And ringing her up the moment I said goodbye screams clingy, not cool.

So I let it go. Even though every part of me is burning up with the need for more of her.

I brush the thoughts aside. I need to figure out what the hell is going on that I’m being summoned.

I take the stairs down, get in my car, and head over to the arena. But even the drive doesn’t feel quite right today. I’m on edge—no prizes for guessing why—and by the time I get to the arena, I’m in a full-on mood.

When I stroll into Hud’s office, I see someone waiting for me. Even from behind, I recognize this prick’s tailored suit and the flash of his rose gold Rolex.

Patrick Forrestor, the team’s owner, is there.

He turns when he hears me open the door and ambles forward, arms outstretched, veneers gleaming in the fluorescents. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite superstar! So good of you to come, Weston. Always a pleasure.” He says it as if I had a choice.

I smile as I shake his hand. No point in starting a war. Not yet, at least.

But if they try to send me away from here—away from Renee—I’ll burn the fucking place to the ground.

I nod at Hud and quirk an eyebrow. He gives a slight shrug. So he’s just as confused as I am, it seems.

“Now that we’re all here…” Forrestor motions for me to take one of the chairs in front of Hud’s desk. Hud is standing with his hands braced against the wall, while Forrestor sprawls himself into Hud’s chair. “As you may or may not have read in the financial section, I recently bought a manufacturer of luxury cars.”

I haven’t read anything, but I grunt, “Congrats,” because Patrick Forrestor is the kind of guy who thinks everything he does should be documented and celebrated. It’s easier to just grease his ego, even though what I’d rather do is reality check his ass into the upper deck.

“And my niece, coincidentally, has just opened a commercial photography studio downtown. She thought it would be a great idea to have you, superstar Weston Scott, endorse the brand.”

I shake my head. “Sorry, Patrick. I already have an endorsement deal with a car maker. They’d go apeshit if I did something with the competition.” I glance over at Hud for support, but he seems very interested in a hangnail on his thumb.

Patrick slaps the table cheerfully. “Oh, come on, Scott! This is a luxury line. State of the art shit. Heated and cooled leather, German engineering, satellite this-and-that, smart car this-and-the-other. Zero emissions.” His grin spreads a notch wider. “There isn’t another brand that deserves to have Weston Scott as its spokesperson. It’s that simple. And as for the photographer… she’s my sister’s kid. Massively talented, too, but a little nepotism never hurt, am I right? You’ll like her.” He chuckles. “Play your cards right and maybe you’ll even love her.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I see what this is.

He’s not asking—he’s telling me what I’m going to do. And there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about it. Not if I want to continue to be a Firebird who gets ice time. Or, for that matter, a Firebird at all. I wouldn’t be the first talented player that Forrestor has shipped off for failing to properly smooch the ring.

This is the kind of shit that pisses me off.

I put asses in his seats. Bring fans to the stadium. Earn awards and accolades for his team. But to him, I’m simply a piece of meat. A fungible asset, to be used and discarded at this pleasure.

Apparently, he can see I’m unenthused. He looks at Hud and his voice loses all the charmer’s sparkle it had just a moment ago, going flat and venomous instead. “Talk to him, Johnson. Make him see reason. I wouldn’t want to have to bring in someone else… Reese Dalton, maybe?”

I grimace. It’s no secret that Reese, who’s currently lighting it up for the Dallas Bulls, is looking for a new team. It’s also no secret that there’s no way the Firebirds can afford both of us.

Which means that this is a threat. Cooperate or get exiled.

It’s a veiled threat, sure, but not so veiled that I don’t see it. Trades are a part of the business, but I hate that Patrick thinks it’s okay to dangle that shit over my head as a way to get me to risk my high-dollar deal for a favor for him and his niece.

Forrestor restores his grin and turns his gaze back on me. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two gentlemen to work out the details. My niece is excited to meet you, Weston. Very excited.”

Then he saunters out like he owns the place. He does, technically speaking, but he doesn’t have to be such an ass about it.

I wait until he’s gone, then I glare at Hud. “Did you fucking know about this?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t, but what can you do?”

“I’ll tell you what I can do: I can say, Hell fucking no. I can tell that pompous douche to take his car line and his contract and trade threats and shove them straight up his own fucking ass.”

Hud sighs. “If you want me to make some calls and find you a good landing spot, I can do that. Assuming you really want to call Patrick’s bluff. But he’s proud, Weston. You know that. He’ll do what he’s threatening. Isn’t it easier to just bite the bullet?”

I grimace. He’s right—he knows it and I know it. But goddamn, I hate that. “This sucks, Hud.”

“I know. It’s bullshit. But that’s the business. We all have to do shit we don’t wanna do.” He walks over and claps me on the shoulder. “One afternoon of cheesing for the cameras and then it’s back to the ice. That’s all. Use it as fuel.”

I sigh one more time. I want to break something, to throw a chair against the wall if nothing else. But this is Hud’s office, and he’s never had anything but my best interests at heart. So I leave his stuff intact and skulk back out to my car.

One afternoon of taking pictures, then back to the ice.

Or, if things break my way… maybe I’ll go back to Renee’s bed instead.

That thought puts a smile on my face.