Chapter 4

Wade

"Kali Roth?" I whisper her name.

"The one and only." Her mouth pulls to the side slightly, as if amused.

"And Kali will be your new publicist," Savanna informs me.

"But you're a model." I sound like a complete dork as I stare at one of the world's top supermodels.

Myles had a poster of her on his bedroom wall when we were sixteen.

This is wild.

"Was," she states matter-of-factly. "I was a model. I"ve owned a public relations agency for the last five years and fully retired from modeling a year ago. Your head's clearly been up your ass. Although how could you know? Outside of hockey you do nothing in, around, or for the community, and you never attend charity events."

I get the sense that's all about to change.

She's right. I read the sports pages and blogs only. I'm not one for gossip and showbiz news. Since my mother is never out of the damn things, I'm NFI: Not Fucking Interested.

Laying the folder she was carrying on top of the boardroom table, she gets straight to business, while all I can do is wonder how tall she is and why she changed career.

"So, this is not fighting?" she asks as I follow the curve of her long neck, along her elegant arms that are wrapped in expensive black silk, down to her fingertips that are perfectly manicured and painted in glossy red-ish black polish.

She flips open the folder and points to a headline she's printed off. "And this one… not fighting?" Pointing to another, she flicks through newspaper stories in her homemade ‘Wade's a fuckup' folder.

As if she poured a bucket of freezing water over me, she snaps me out of my moment of appreciating every inch of her. "So, not this one either." I read the scathing headline, under which is a surveillance camera image of me grabbing someone by the collar and clearly screaming in their face.

I don't recognize myself.

I look evil.

Possessed and fucking crazy.

"Oh, shit," I mumble under my breath. "I can explain." But I can't. Because I don't remember. I was too trashed after yet another binge drinking expedition.

I check the date and realize it was the month my life started to unravel. I was in the paper almost daily. On the ice drama, off the ice drama.

It was the month of all months.

The month that everything changed.

Kali's no-nonsense chocolate eyes hit mine and I'm momentarily speechless.

"Explain it to me, Wade. What is it then?" she demands, but I keep my mouth glued shut.

Her features soften as she calmly pushes me for an answer. "The stories in this file start twelve months ago. I searched hard but didn't find one single bad news article about you before then. So, give me one good reason why you think you don't need grief counseling? Because, according to this file, up until twelve months ago, you were a model athlete. So, the total one eighty in your personality has nothing to do with losing someone you loved? No?"

Keeping her emotions in check, she's too calm.

I don't like it.

I don't like her calling me out on my bullshit attitude, exposing the person I've become.

The truth is, I don't know who I am anymore without Gretchen in my life.

She was my lighthouse; she kept me safe, but she's no longer here to guide me back home.

Wrapping my lips around my teeth, I stay quiet and shake my head. There is no way in hell I am telling an audience how empty and broken I feel.

She stares me down, all badass and beautiful.

My heart races a million miles per hour, making me feel hotter than a jalape?o.

"I can't do this."

Pushing myself away from the table, I prepare to stand and exit the room. That's my default setting. When the going gets tough, I run.

As I'm about to bolt, I can feel that little black cloud that was about to dissipate, returning, and it's darker than ever.

"Why not?" she asks.

When I rise to my feet, she doesn't seem to be intimidated by my height in the slightest.

My blue eyes meet her dark ones, which question me in ways that make me feel uncomfortable.

"You've just confessed that playing for the Eagles is all you care about. So, what is it Wade, fight or flight? What you do now will determine your future. Decide."

"I don't like you." I grind my teeth together.

"I don't care. I don't particularly like being called at midnight to arrange a meeting to come here today and now I have bags under my eyes because I stayed up all night making a plan to help you. I'm here to do my job."

She's lying. She has zero dark circles under her eyes. Just like her photos, Kali Roth is flawless.

Turning away from me, I follow her movement as she addresses Marcus. "Sorry Marcus, I'm grateful to be here. No offense."

Focusing back on me again, determination written all over her face, she says, "You might be accustomed to the coaches and managers bailing you out of jail and covering for you when you've been arrested. Or taking yet another game suspension on the chin and passing it off as being young and reckless. Call yourself a rebel, perhaps. Or wild, like the tabloids call you, proving they are all right about you. But it's time to admit you need help, Wade. You are more than just a hockey player. The Eagles team is a brand. You're a brand, but you appear to have forgotten your obligation to everyone to maintain your high profile. You've had hours of press training and years of experience living life in the limelight. You know this stuff, but somehow it seems to have dropped out of your head. You've given up and aren't even trying anymore."

Her words burn like fire flicking across my skin, burning pit holes through my flesh.

"How many more suspensions will it take before you finally wake up one day and realize you're no longer the incredible hockey player you hoped you'd be? What would Gretchen have to say about that?"

She gets right up in my face, and my anger becomes a living, breathing thing.

"You have no right to talk about her," I snarl, but have zero intention of touching her. I have become a monster lately, but a woman beater is not who I am or will ever be.

To my left, Ash and Leon jump out of their seats.

"Step away, Wade," Ash shouts from across the table at the same time Leon snaps, "Cool your shit."

And the entire time, Kali doesn't look at all fazed by my outburst as she holds her hand up in their direction. "I've got this." She's unflappable and I sort of admire her for that. "Do you think Marcus is joking about transferring you?" Her voice firm as she asks.

"Who do you think you are talking to?" I move a millimeter closer to the woman who is every man's wet dream and has suddenly become my nightmare.

"I'm talking to the asshole that's about to throw away his career because he refuses to get the help he needs." Her breath, that smells sweeter than I imagined, puffs against my face.

Desperately trying to keep my cool, my fists clench by my sides as my annoyance bubbles low and deep in my throat. "You know nothing about me," I point out, gritting my words through my teeth.

"I know enough to see what you can't." She lifts a brow. "There's a contract written, with your name on it, transferring you to an AHL team of Marcus's choosing."

"Bullshit."

"Show him." She crosses her arms in front of her and pops a hip like Little Miss. Know It All.

"Here, read it over. It's all there." Marcus drawls as if bored with my antics and pushes what looks like a contract across the table.

I can't bring myself to look at it, but I glance at it for a split second. It's all there in black and white.

Fuck, she's not lying.

I take a step back and run my hands through my hair. I swear all the blood has rushed to my feet; I feel lightheaded. "You would never?" Shaking my head back and forth, I look up and down the table at the fixed faces.

"Agree to let us help you, Wade, and that gets torn up and never spoken about again." Laying a much gentler hand on my forearm than expected, Kali's touch stops me from spiraling any further than I already am. "Can you all give us five minutes, please?" Kali instructs everyone to leave and drops her hand away.

Head nods and sympathetic smiles acknowledge her request.

One by one, they leave on her command.

Last to go, Leon gives my shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze.

Until it's just the two of us.

Me and Kali-fucking-Roth.