Chapter 28

MAC

Coach eyed me up and down. "That's all you have to say then, Mackenzie?"

I nodded tightly.

To my dismay, Coach didn't look pissed this time. He looked disappointed. He folded his hands and then cleared his throat.

"You know, you can always talk to me. If you need to, that is," he said. Even as he said the words, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

I had to restrain a dark laugh. When Coach had called me into his office to reprimand me for missing practice, he'd reamed me a new asshole. But then he'd asked me what the hell was going on with me, and I'd shut my mouth.

I wasn't about to spill all my dirty little secrets to my coach. Besides, none of that had anything to do with hockey. My personal life was just that: personal.

"I'm sorry I missed practice and almost missed the game," I repeated. "It won't happen again."

Coach gazed at me for a long moment. "You look like shit. Have you been eating? Taking care of yourself? There's a counseling service you can use—"

I held up a hand. "I'm fine. Thanks for the concern. Like I said, I won't miss practice again without calling in."

"Hmph. Well, if you're sure . . ." Coach cleared his throat again. "Um, you can go, then. Just—take care of yourself, okay?"

Coach had never been the type of guy to show anxiety for his players. He preferred the gruff approach, where he told you get your head out of your ass and stop fucking around. The fact that Coach spoke to me gently was enough to make me run away.

I took the back way through the stadium, mostly because I didn't feel like running into my teammates. I'd already had Brady calling me nonstop, asking me what the hell was wrong. And then of course Elodie, who'd finally stopped calling after I'd ignored her long enough . . .

When I'd finally called Brady back, he'd told me that Elodie had been worried about me. I wanted to believe Brady, but I couldn't let myself. Elodie was just worried that she'd completely alienated her nice, juicy story. I needed to keep reminding myself of that.

When I saw her standing by my car, I couldn't even feel surprised. Worse, I felt excited. Hopeful.

Don't be a fucking idiot. Don't let your guard down.

Elodie looked frazzled. Her hair was in a messy bun, she was wearing wrinkled sweats, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Worry struck me, even as I pushed the feeling down.

"Mac," her voice made my heart jump. "I'm so glad to see you. Are you okay?"

"What do you want?"

She flinched. I forced myself not to care.

"I wanted to see if you were okay. Are you? Okay?"

I folded my arms. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"I get why you didn't want to call me back—"

"So you showed up to my practice instead? Pretty sure that's classified as stalking."

Now she looked pissed. "Mac, if you'd just let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain. You lied to me. Unless you lied about lying?"

Elodie's expression fell. "I know. I did lie to you. I should never have done that. The guilt has been eating me alive. I know our relationship started out on the wrong foot, but everything between us was real. My feelings for you—they're real. They've always been real, I promise you."

I looked away; I couldn't stand to see the tears in her eyes. "Is that why you came here? To tell me what you've already said?"

"No. I came to warn you. My boss took me off the story about you, but he's assigned another reporter. Darren is a total bloodhound. He can track dirt in a snowstorm."

"And what? You'll get a byline in Darren's story? Congrats." My tone dripped with contempt.

"No, listen to me!" Elodie hissed. "Darren has the address to the club. He's been watching it. He's been watching you. You need to stay away from there."

"And let me guess, you gave him the address? Sweetheart, if you're trying to do the right thing here, you suck at it."

"I did, before I got to know you." Elodie hung onto my arm, her gaze intent. "I wish I never had. But I'm telling you what I know before it's too late. You'll keep a low profile if you don't want the whole world to know about the club."

I stared down at her. I had a feeling that in this instance, she was telling the truth. I could hear the regret in her voice. But it was too late for regret. The damage had been done.

I gently moved her hand from my arm. "Thanks for telling me," I said quietly. "I'll be careful. Now, I need to go."

Elodie looked frantic. "Mac, please. I'm so, so sorry."

"You've said that already."

"Do you believe me, then?"

I sighed. "I believe that you feel guilty and are doing anything you can to make yourself feel better."

"It's not that! I want to help you." Tears spilled down her cheeks now. "Mac, I love you. I know I wasn't supposed to fall for you, but I did. I love you so much. I hate that I hurt you. I'll do anything to make it up to you."

"Elodie . . ."

"You said you had feelings for me. Are those gone now?"

I didn't know what my feelings were anymore. Everything had gotten so fucked up that I didn't know where to begin to untangle everything.

"You know, I've heard those words before," I said. "Caroline would always tell me she loved me and couldn't live without me when I tried to end things."

I shook my head. "Christ, I should've called Tony back. I'm such a goddamn idiot."

Elodie looked confused. "Tony?"

"My lawyer. He pulled a background check on you, but I didn't want him to do it. It seemed unnecessary. I guess he was right after all."

"I'm not a criminal! And I'm not Caroline either."

"You might not be a criminal, but you and Caroline are both liars, that's for sure."

Elodie flinched. "Mac—"

"You're both liars. You both use love as a weapon to get me to do what you want. Now that I think about it, you ladies are two peas in a pod. I guess I have a type." I laughed, but it was hollow.

"I'm not using my love as a weapon. I'm just telling you that I'm doing this, trying to make things right because I love you," Elodie protested.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night."

Elodie's expression shuttered. "Now you're being cruel."

"Am I? I told you to go. You're the one intent on keeping this going."

"What can I do? What can I do to make you believe me?"

"Nothing. It's over, Elodie. We're over. Don't you get that?" I brushed past her and opened my car door. "Just leave me alone, Elodie. Go home and move on with your life."

She wasn't crying anymore. She raised her chin, her fists clenched, and she looked like a warrior. Like she'd beat down the gates of hell to get to me. But it was too late for that. Her lies had ruined everything between us. I'd told her that trust was the most important thing to me, and she'd betrayed my trust.

"This isn't over," she vowed.

I gave her a sad smile. "Sweetheart, it never even began in the first place."

Our home game the following weekend was a disaster. We lost by three points, and Coach was pissed and looked apoplectic.What was worse was that I couldn't muster the energy to care. I'd fallen into a pit of pathetic, self-pitying despair ever since I'd seen Elodie. I'd spent my nights drinking, my days hating the world, and with little interest in what I thought I'd care most about in the entire world.

I also didn't care that my brother Brian wasn't around as my decoy. He'd bailed at the last minute, telling me he had to go to the East Coast. Whether it was for work or for a woman, I didn't ask.

So when I exited the stadium, I expected the usual crowd. What I didn't expect was a literal mob of people.

"Mac! When did you join The Scarlet Rope?" one reporter yelled as he tried to shove a mic in my face.

Another reporter asked, "When did you get into BDSM? Are you a sub or a Dom?"

It felt like time slowed down. I couldn't get through the mob of people fast enough, like I was being pulled back toward them by an inexorable current.

How had they found out? Had Elodie's coworker gotten someone to squeal? Or was it Elodie herself?

"How does your dad the pastor feel about your interests?" another reporter asked me.

I felt ice drip down my spine. The reporter asked the question snidely, like they couldn't wait to see my reaction. It took everything inside me not to grab the guy and punch his lights out. I pushed through the reporters and paparazzi, pulling my hat down over my face as far as I could. But the questions wouldn't stop. Even as some of my other teammates came outside to see what all the commotion was, I was the only player they cared about.

"What made you get into something like BDSM?" a woman asked me. She had a wide smile on her face, her expression almost deranged.

I just looked at her and shook my head. "No comment," I growled and continued to push my way through the crowd.

They followed me, even as I could hear Brady and some of my other teammates tell them to back off. They stalked me to my car. One even tried to open my passenger door, like he'd get into my car with me.

I was shaking now. Rage beat at me, wanting to take it out on this mob of assholes who thought my private life was fair game. These people who thought they could dig up dirt on me and then get me to talk about it against my will. They mobbed my car as I tried to drive away. Only when I heard shouts did the mob break up enough for me to pull out and drive away.

I sweat, my head pounded, and my gorge rising. I kept checking to see if anyone had followed me, and of course, there were multiple cars on my tail. Only when I got on the freeway and started driving way above the speed limit did I lose them.

I barely registered that I was home when I arrived. I practically fell out of my car, and I realized I was shaking.With horror. And with such an intense, all-consuming rage that I could barely see straight.

I was about to go into my house through the garage—I parked my shit Corolla outside since my garage was full of my nicer cars—when I heard rustling in the bushes. I paused, listening, knowing that I was acting like a paranoid crazy person.

I heard a voice then. Not a raccoon. I didn't stop to think about what I was doing. I stalked to those bushes and grabbed a man from them, hauling him to his feet and then punching him in the face before he could say a word.

The man fell to the ground, yelling and cursing. His camera equipment fell all around us, and before the reporter could blink, I was smashing his camera against the wall of my house.

"Hey!" the reporter cried out, scrambling to his feet. "Hey, what the fuck! That's my camera!"

"Get the fuck off my property!" I snarled.

"You don't have a right to destroy my stuff!"

"The fuck I don't! You're trespassing, and you think you have any rights here?" I grabbed the guy by his collar, enjoying how he struggled to breathe. "You have a lot of fucking nerve."

The man tried to loosen my grip, but I was twice his size. I let him dangle for a long moment before I finally let him go. He gasped for breath.

I tossed him his broken camera. "Who are you? How did you get past my gate?"

The man was wheezing. His nose was bleeding from where I'd punched him, and the sight filled me with satisfaction.

"Your gardener left the gate open," he finally replied, coughing. "Blame him."

"That still doesn't give you a right to hide in my goddamn bushes!"

"Look, I didn't come out here to be assaulted." The man held up his hands. "I'm just doing my job."

"That's not an excuse."

"No, but it's not worth killing me either." He wiped his mouth. "If I would've known you'd go berserk, I wouldn't have come here. Elodie never mentioned that little detail that you're fucking crazy."

I froze. "Elodie?"

"Yeah. She's my coworker. We work for the same paper. I was given you as my assignment when she dropped the ball."

Darren. That was the name Elodie had given me. "You've been watching me?" I asked.

"Obviously." Darren inspected his broken camera. "You didn't have to fucking break my camera," he mumbled.

"Did Elodie tell you about the club?"

Darren looked up. "What? No. She told me that was a dead end. She was wrong, of course. I knew she was wrong or just straight-up lying." Darren kept fiddling with his camera, which prompted me to take it back from him.

"Focus," I growled. "What all did Elodie tell you? About me?"

Darren stared. "Nothing. Why? Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it fucking matters."

"All I know is that she got offered a big check to write a story about you."

"Did she accept it?" I demanded, my heart pounding.

"Dunno." Darren picked up the rest of his camera gear. "Uh, I need to go. I'd rather you not decide to kill me after all."

I almost admired his sass even as I wanted to punch him again. "Get out of here before I have you arrested. No, wait. I'll escort you myself."

"Oh, goody," Darren retorted.

Once I finally got rid of him, I went inside. I collapsed onto my couch, the adrenaline of the past hour making my stomach roil.

Had Elodie taken the money that Darren had mentioned? I knew she was tight on cash. If she had taken it, I almost couldn't blame her.

Almost being the operative word.

I sat up, groaning. What the fuck was I going to do? My secrets were out. Everything was out in the public to consume, judge, and comment on. What did this mean for the team? And for my career? And what would my parents say?

I picked up a bottle I'd left on my coffee table and threw it at the wall. It smashed, glass scattering everywhere. But the satisfaction was short-lived.

What the fuck am I going to do now?