Page 103 of A Little Secret
Don’t fuck this up.
I’ve thought long and hard about this. With all the shit going on with our families, the idea of leaving. Of moving away. It feels wrong. Even before I slept with Finley, it felt wrong, and I couldn’t figure out why. I kept telling myself it was because of everything that happened with Archer and Mav. Then, everything went down with Dylan and Reeves’ dad, and Raine’s ex beat the shit out of Ev, and now I’m with Fin, and she’s pregnant, and I can’t…I can’t leave. I also don’t have a choice. Not if I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for. But there’s no way I can walk away and move across the country. Not anymore. Can I? She needs me. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she does. So, here I am, doing the only thing I can think of, no matter how stupid it is.
Don’t fuck this up.
“You can go in now,” the receptionist offers. Erica’s been a family friend since I was born and has worked for my Uncle Henry at Buchanan Enterprises for decades. But even the familiar smile does shit at calming my nerves.
The media can be a bitch in this line of work. If I had a dollar for every time someone said shit about my talent on the ice, blaming my familial connections for my success instead of the blood, sweat, and fucking tears I’ve shed for this sport and my future, I’d be as rich as my Uncle Henry. Now, here I am, calling in a favor and giving each and every accusation merit.
They’re gonna have a field day with this.
I shove the thought aside, hook my finger in the silk noose around my throat, then stand.
As I step into Uncle Henry’s office, he looks up from his desk and smirks. “This feels official.”
“Thanks for meeting with me.”
“Anytime.” Fingers steepled in front of him, Maverick’s dad, the owner of the NHL Lions, watches me approach the armchair across from his desk and motions to it.
My spine is straight as I sit on the edge of the cushion and hold his stare.
“So?” he prods.
Just. Say. It.
“I need your help,” I announce.
“Figured as much. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to trade me to the Lions.”
His brows kick up. “Pardon?”
Shifting in the leather seat across from Henry, I repeat, “I said I need you to trade me to the Lions. There’s an opening on the team, thanks to Mav’s”—I clear my throat—“early retirement, and I know there’s been talk of you wanting to rebuild the Lions from the ground up. Ask the Tornadoes to trade me for Erickson.”
“Erickson’s a good player,” Uncle Henry argues, mentioning the Lions’ right wing.
“He’s an old player,” I argue. “I’m young. Healthy. I’ll be on the team for years, and I will win you a Stanley Cup. I promise.”
His eyes thin. “Did Everett put you up to this?”
Blindsided by my best friend’s name, I pull back. “What?”
“He came in last week asking for the same thing, though he went with trading Collins instead. Same idea, though. Rebuilding the team. Making some unconventional moves. Shaking things up a bit.”
Fuck. Everett wants to be traded to the Lions, too.
I didn’t know this. And by the look on Henry’s face, heknows I was also left in the dark as soon as the words were uttered.
“He wants to stay close to family,” Uncle Henry explains. “Wants Raine to stay close to her family and her career at the tattoo shop.”
Hating myself more and more with every passing moment, I nod. We’re after the same spot. Everett and I are after the same spot. The room spins, and I dig my fingers into the armrests. Shit just got a hell of a lot more complicated, but I can’t back down. Not now. Not with Fin. Not with the baby.
“I don’t suppose this has something to do with Caruthers’ injury before Christmas, does it?” Uncle Henry prods.
“The Tornadoes want me to play out the rest of their season.”
“And in the process, kiss your degree goodbye, as well as the rest of your season with the Hawks,” he realizes.