Trouble : Boston Bolts Hockey

Track 4

FUN

“Why can’t you take a bodyguard? Or take Ford. He’d love to get out of the house and see a game in person,” Lake says over the speaker as I finish up my makeup.

It’s been a long, quiet week, and I’m itching to get out of the house.

There was a fire in an abandoned warehouse, and that kept Declan pretty busy. Not that he told me about it. I heard about it from Ford when I was over at their house.

While difficult to admit, it hurt not to hear about it from Declan. I crave his attention, even if all we seem to do is fight. It makes zero sense.

Even though I barely saw Declan, his control was still felt. I swear a patrol car drives by on an hourly basis. Each time I see it, my unease grows. It feels like I’m being watched. Like I’m the one who did something wrong, rather than the one who needs protection. Like rather being there to keep people out, the police are monitoring to ensure I remain in the house.

Even when Lake and I grabbed lunch in town, a gaggle of firefighters just so happened to be taking their lunch at the same place.

It’s stifling.

Although focusing on my irritation with Declan has distracted me from stressing about how I can’t write a lyric to save my life, so I guess that’s a plus.

“You know as well as I do that your husband doesn’t want to leave your side.” One last swipe of mascara, and I’m ready.

The car service has already been arranged, compliments of Cade, my bag is packed, and Sara and Lennox made arrangements for me to sit with them. It’s exactly the kind of night I need. A reminder that I’m not a prisoner.

That I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman who’s done nothing wrong. That I’m allowed to have fun.

Once the game is over, win or lose, I’m counting on Cade to take me back to his apartment so he can do filthy things to my body.

My legs tingle at the mere thought of it.

Since Saturday, I’ve been insatiable. Getting off in Declan’s house, knowing he’s on the other side of the wall, is strange.

Especially since every time I shut my eyes, I can’t help but imagine his body, despite how annoyed with him I am.

I blame Cade. He painted this picture of the two of them touching me, and now I can’t get it out of my head. I want them both. Badly.

But only one has made himself available to me.

Declan warned me that Cade was a playboy, yet Cade’s the one who’s not playing games. He tells me what he wants and follows through. With Declan, I constantly find myself questioning whether I’m misinterpreting his actions.

“Then we’ll both go. We’ll bring Nash. He’d love to watch his big brother play.”

“Lake, he’s an infant. Pretty sure he won’t be watching the game,” I say. Then, with a wicked smile, I throw in “It’s twenty degrees out. Keep him warm at home with his mom and dad. He’s got enough of an uphill battle, seeing as how his other brother is your ex.”

“Shut it,” she hisses, though the sound quickly turns into a laugh.

My chest feels lighter. My life has felt so serious this week. “I’m serious. Can you imagine the memoirs they’re gonna write about that kid? You better start saving up for all the therapy he’s going to need.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

She sighs. “I just want you to be safe.”

My heart clenches at her sincerity. God, she’s a good friend. “I will be. I’ll be at a hockey game with a million people. Jason hates hockey. And he lives in Jersey. Even if he somehow spotted me on TV, he couldn’t get there quick enough to cause a problem. It’s going to be fine.”

Dina: We’re going to the festival of lights tonight. Wish you were here.

I stare at my cousin’s text for a long moment, hit with a confusing mix of emotions. Attending the festival of lights is a family tradition that’s existed for as long as I’ve been alive. It’s held at this beautiful church that has acres of private land. Every year, the space is decorated beautifully. The older Portuguese parishioners cook for days and serve the food family style on cafeteria tables covered in beautiful linens that have been passed down for generations. Every Friday night in December, they hold a candlelit vigil, and our family always attends the second one.

As a child, I’d sing in the chorus, and as an adult, I donate and kept my head down. Year after year, I’m reminded by my family that it’s improper to boast, and apparently, they believe that if I continued to sing with the chorus, that’s what I’d be doing.

I loved the event, even when I couldn’t participate, and a part of me wishes I were there. Though a bigger part, the part that finally worked up the nerve to cut off everyone there but Dina, knows that I can’t go back. That the tradition has been sullied. The magic that surrounded it and so many other special activities died when my family chose Jason over me.

Me: Miss you.

It hurts, how Jason is still stealing from me. How often I think that it would be so much easier to agree with my brother. To believe that my consent was implied because he was my boyfriend. Or that I obviously tripped the time I ended up with a broken ankle. But I do know better, and wishing for things to be different does no good.

As the car pulls into the arena parking lot, my phone buzzes again.

Sara: Are you here yet? I’m stuck with the press right now, but Lennox is going to meet you at the players’ entrance. That should allow you to stay under the radar.

“Excuse me,” I say to the driver.

He glances at me in the rearview mirror, then quickly returns his focus to our surroundings. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Could you take me to the players’ entrance?”

He gives me a warm smile. “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Fitzgerald directed me to drop you there.”

My belly does a swoop at the mention of Cade. For most of the day, I was focused on sneaking out without getting another lecture from Declan. Then Dina’s text diverted my attention to my family. All of it put a damper on my excitement, but now that I’m here, so close to Cade, the giddiness returns.

As the car comes to a stop, Lennox steps up to the curb. She’s dressed in a Bolts jersey and black pants, with her pink hair pulled back in a pretty braid. I love how confident she is in her own skin. While she’s much taller than I am, we’re both curvy, and she knows exactly how to accentuate all her assets.

“Ah, you’re here!” she cheers as the driver comes to a stop.

The man can’t even open his own door before she’s yanking on mine. She clutches my arm and drags me out of the car, then pulls me in for a hearty hug. I swear her boobs swallow me. I laugh the entire time, already knowing this was the best decision I’ve made all week.

“Players’ entrance, huh?” I say, unable to temper my wide smile.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

She grins and holds out her arm. “Stick with me, Mel. I know all the good tricks.”

I follow her inside, practically floating with giddiness. Normally, I’m flanked by security no matter where I go, but since Ford came up with the idea of hiding me in Bristol, where both the police department and fire department have taken on the task of keeping me safe, I’ve given my security detail time off. They deserve it after the last few months.

Cade spoke to Ford about tonight, promising that his driver would be my security to and from the arena, and that once I arrived, I’d be with Lennox and Sara. Everyone in Boston knows the Langfields are ridiculously overprotective about their women, so obviously I’m safe in their company.

So even though they’ve got their own security stationed everywhere, and even though there are eyes on us at all times, I feel a lighthearted freeness that I haven’t experienced in years.

My phone buzzes, so I pull it out of my pocket. Dina again. I don’t want to lose this feeling, but if she has sent me a picture from the festival, there’s no way it won’t bring me down. I just want to live within the sparkle for a little while, so I press the button on the side of my phone, powering it off, then tuck it away again.

“Looks like trouble has arrived,” a voice says from up ahead in the private hallway.

Heart leaping, I take off at a run toward the hot man in a navy blue suit. Already, his dirty blond hair is swept back, as if he’s been running his hands through it.

Cade opens his arms, and I launch myself at him. In one fluid motion, he grabs my ass, holding me tight against him while I wrap my legs around his waist.

“Hey, Coach.”

His face splits in a smile so wide it’s blinding. Tipping his chin up, he presses his lips to mine. “Fuck, I missed you,” he says, his breath skating over my skin. With another kiss, he squeezes my ass. He says it like he’s surprised he feels this way, and somehow, that makes me feel even lighter. I like surprising him. He’s certainly surprised the hell out of me.

When he pulls me closer, his fingers digging into my ass, Lennox squeals. “Okay, there’s press,” she warns.

Cade is zeroed in on me, his blue eyes full of fire. “I don’t care. I’m currently kissing the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. The woman I’m lucky enough to call my girlfriend.”

My cheeks heat, and my heart thumps hard against my breastbone. “I don’t care either.”

“Good,” he murmurs, dipping back in for a kiss.

“Great, you’re obsessed with one another. But we’ve got a hockey game to coach,” Gavin calls as he walks past us, waving his clipboard.

“Coming,” Cade calls after him.

“Not till tonight,” Lennox jokes behind me.

Cade sets me down, still laser-focused on my face. “So much trouble,” he mutters. With a final peck to my lips, he strides away.

I don’t take my eyes off his ass until he’s completely disappeared from view. He’s got the perfect bubble butt, and the way his suit pants mold to it allows me to see every flex as he moves.

Lennox links her arm with mine and tugs me toward the suite. “That was fun.”

She’s not wrong. Everything about Cade is fun.

I haven’t been able to stand in line for my own beer or souvenir in years. Most people would gladly give it up if they could, but it’s one of those normal activities I miss. When I’m touring, venues provide gift bags full of their team’s merch, and when I’m out and about, I’m always assigned a server who takes care of my every need.

So between the first and second period, while Sara and Lennox are busy chatting with a donor, I sneak out the suite’s door and head to the concession stand. My shoes stick to the floor as I walk, and the concourse smells like fried food, stale beer, and sugar, yet I can’t help but smile like I’m meandering down the streets in Paris.

Bolts fans push past me, and not a single one stops to notice me. Because hello, why would anyone with celebrity status like mine willingly fight through a throng of people to fetch their own goodies?

Because they can.

Excitement courses through me, making my steps lighter. Like I’m getting away with a crime. It’s absurd, I know, but truly, this simple act is renewing me, pouring life back into me.

When the concession stand comes into view, I’ve almost convinced myself that I’ve gotten away with it. I’ve almost completely bought the lie I’ve told myself—that I’m safe here—when a hand grasps my arm roughly, and I’m slammed against a wall. Before I can react, another hand covers my mouth, and the eyes of the one person I never wanted to see again look down at me.

“You’ve been a very bad girl.”