12. Axl

twelve

Axl

“My ex is right over there in the corner,” Sophie whispers under her breath as we do our best to glide into the room, chins up and arms entwined. I swallow as I scan the large banquet room, which is eloquently decorated in fall crimson and gold. A small band is set up in the corner, playing light jazz. Everyone’s dressed in cocktail coats and dresses, taking petite steps as they meander through the crowd, flashing their freshly whitened smiles. My stomach flips at the strong aroma of clashing perfumes and colognes, and I long for fresh air. “If you think it looks like he’s in the NFL,” Sophie continues, “it’s because he is. He also has a terrible temper, and he doesn’t get along with most people because he’s very violent.”

Of course, I knew she had dated Rocco Bella, an NFL superstar, but I didn’t need the ab-lib about his temper or what a bully he is.

Just like she says, he’s off in the corner. Dressed for the occasion in a black suit. He has beady eyes and an oversized nose that looks like it’s been broken more than once. He’s surrounded by several people, including a female on his arm, but his gaze lasers on us. I can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me return his inquiring stare. Even though I’ve never met the guy, cheaters are all the same, and I’ll go on record to say I hate them all. “I really don’t care to talk about that jerk.”

I guide her farther into the room and with each step we take, I can feel another set of eyes latch onto us. I know I’m here to perform, and I’m used to people watching me, but not like this. Usually, I’m focused on getting a puck and don’t have time to notice who is nudging who as I pass. This is slow motion, a torture I’ve never experienced. Of course, it is quite ego-inflating to have Sophie on my arm. She is so radiant, she practically glows, and people just naturally gravitate toward her. It makes me consider how stupid Rocco must be—a few too many blows to the head or something—because no other woman in the room even comes close to being as gorgeous as Sophie.

Not that I’m looking.

It’s just a fact.

“Should we get something to eat?” Sophie motions to the rows of tables draped in white linen cloths and layered with so much decadent food that you’d think this was a presidential reunion. It was an outright buffet with everything from ribeye and lobster on one end, to cheesecakes and tiramisus on the other.

“If you want something, I’m happy to walk over there, but it’s a little early for me.” I don’t tell her that my stomach is a pit of nerves. Over the last few hours, I’ve somehow become personally invested in the outcome of this event. I couldn't care less about these high-society dinners, but thinking of Rocco cheating on Sophie brought me back to a place I swore I’d never return to. Ever since this morning when I opened up to her about my ex, the memories of feeling as if my heart was being ripped out of my chest had come flooding back in nearly overwhelming ways. And the hard part is, when I went through my healing journey, I did it privately on the ice, but poor Sophie had everything aired out in the public eye. I can’t imagine how she can be in the same room with him and holding her head so high. She sure is strong, and it makes me so proud of her.

My gaze snakes its way over to the corner. It’s clear by the way Rocco has a woman practically crawling up his sleeve that he’s doing it intentionally to make Sophie jealous. My bottom lip rolls in as I attempt not to look in his direction. I can’t stand a cheater. “Maybe later then.” She pivots, scanning the room, and motions to the other side. “Should we check out the silent auction?”

“That sounds wonderful.” I’m eager to have something to focus on to avoid the people gawking at us, and we cut clear across the room to the tables in the back. I point to the homemade baskets of goodies. “It’s not a silent auction without the desserts.”

“Right?” She laughs airily, and we both slowly pace along the rows. “I’d like to find something to bid on to help out, but I can’t do all the calories.”

“It looks like they have art further down, and I see some pottery and things . . .” My voice drops off as I pick up a picture frame with Sophie’s photo. “Look at this. It’s a framed list of a prize package that includes a photo and lunch with you. Did you know about this?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “I do that every year as my donation. My manager always submits it, so I haven’t even thought about it.” She leans over on one foot, reading the bidding log. “What in the world?” Her words fog together while her feathered brow hikes. “What does Rocco think he’s doing?” She jabs her perfectly manicured finger on the paper. “Rocco bid on it. That can’t happen. I’ll file a restraining order before I let him win this.”

“Is that a joke?” I narrow my gaze, hyper-focusing on the names, and sure enough, the name on the bottom is Rocco Bella with a bid for a thousand dollars. I grab the pen and scribble my name below his, upping the bid to two thousand. I don’t have an extra two grand lying around as I’m still paying off my stupid student loans, but there’s no way I’m letting that creep win a date with Sophie. Not after what he did to her.

“You don’t have to do that.” She grabs my arm, gently guiding me away from the table. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal about that. I’m sure someone else would have outbid him.”

“He’s a creep to even put you in that situation after what he did to you.” I grind my back molars and glare at him. This time I don’t mind one bit if he catches me looking at him. He should just bring it.

Sophie must feel the tension shifting, because she tries to bring my focus back to the auction. “Oh, look, a Tiffany necklace.” She scoots in front of the silver chain. “I can bid on—” Her voice drops off and I already know why.

Rocco strides right up to her photo-and-a-date item and proceeds to upbid me. Blood bubbles in my veins, starting at the tips of my fingers, and I flex my fingers out before rolling them into a fist. The bubbles continue up my arm, pumping adrenaline into my chest, and anger ignites. I draw in a deep slow breath. Sophie must sense it because she places a cautionary hand on my arm. “He’s not worth it.”

“There’s no way he should even be allowed to talk to you, let alone bid on that.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t actually want to go. It’s more just his way to show who’s boss. He’s rich and can show off by outbidding you and everyone else. Please, don’t add another bid. I can find a way to have him disqualified.”

“I’ll disqualify him right here.” My fists tighten, while my nostrils flare. He may be in the NFL, but he’s about to meet his worst nightmare. Sophie may not be my girlfriend, but she is my date. I brought her here tonight, and as long as she’s with me, I will protect her.

“Excuse me, sir.” A lady, wearing a white tuxedo shirt and black slacks slides in front of Rocco. “This auction doesn’t allow for dual bids. You get one chance to vote, and if someone upbids you, you’re done. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to move on to other items.”

Blinking hard to avoid laughing, I turn to Sophie, and she too is rolling her lips in. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers, pulling me far away from the auction tables. “That was too close for me. You almost put a fist through his face.”

I wasn’t laughing anymore.

She’s right.

I didn’t lose my temper, but I was fully ready to disqualify him in my way. With all the cameras already on us tonight, that is not the kind of PR either of us need. My anger is still running high, I’m not going to let Rocco ruin our night. I jerk a thumb over my shoulder back to the food. “Don’t you want something to eat before we leave?”

“You know . . .” Her shoulders rise and fall, bringing her eyelids down a notch, too. “I’m more tired than I thought I would be. This week has been draining.” She tosses a glance over her shoulder back to the food tables and the still-growing crowd of people. “We made our public appearance, and I want to leave.”

“Are you sure?” I give her the once over, seeing how her updo is still perfectly in place, and her dress—man, can this girl wear a dress—is ready for a full night out. She must have spent hours getting ready. I don’t want to be the reason she goes home early. “I promise not to punch anyone.”

“I think we can quit while we are ahead.”

“I’m sorry if you think I screwed this up.” I lower my tone, and we both start to pace toward the exit. “If you want me to leave, and you can stay, I will. We just walked in the door. I hate for you to miss the event you coordinated.”

“It’s fine.” Her eyes seem weary when they wash over my face, but I don’t buy that as the sole reason she’s ready to leave. We didn’t even eat dinner.

She’s disappointed in me.

We didn’t even make it fifteen minutes, and I was about to lose control of my actions. Coach is right about my temper. Maybe this is something I do need to work on. Being raised in a hockey rink, aggression was encouraged. I don’t remember when I started to let it blend into the rest of my life, but it needs to stop. I trail behind her several long steps as my shame hangs heavy in my chest. We make it back to our suites, and she enters first, not looking back at me, before I step forward to follow, but something catches my eye.

A paparazzi is standing with his phone camera posed, and it appears he got something on camera. Probably us not acting like a couple, as I wasn’t even walking next to Sophie. “Hey,” I growl. “Who do you work for?”

“Celebrity Sightings,” he quips, tucking his phone into his coat pocket while he takes long strides backwards. Clearly, this isn’t his first rodeo, and he’s prepared to flee to keep his footage.

“Can you delete my photo, please?” My breath quakes on the inhale, and everything I just told myself about keeping my temper goes out the window. I’m about to mess this whole thing up for Sophie, but I have a chance to save it if I get him to delete that image.

“Have a nice night, sir.” He waves while spinning on his heel and bolts out of the hallway.

I could run after him.

I could beat him to the ground and steal his camera.

My legs twitch under my weight as they wait for my command to chase him. But I remember the disappointment on Sophie’s face when I almost lost my temper just a few moments earlier. Even if I got the photos back, I might cause a bigger scene for her by beating him up.

That isn’t worth it.

I stand back, wringing my hands together.

It seems like no matter what I do tonight, I’m going to disappoint Sophie. Guilt creeps into my gut. I hadn’t realized I put so much pressure on myself before now. Sure, I had selfish reasons to agree to do this, and it was all about me making it to the NHL, but now that I’m here, I want her to have a victory, too. I blew it.