"We're not discussing the Hardings, we're discussing the fact that I forbid you to see that boy again."
"He's not a boy, Daddy. He has a name: Nathan. And I fully plan on seeing him again." Maybe, if Nathan hadn't washed his hands in disgust of the entire situation after last night. I wasn't so sure I could blame him if he had, not after the scene at the restaurant. There hadn't been anything as horrendous as shouting or hitting but there hadn't been a need for that. My father had simply stared Nathan down as everyone around us watched. Then he tossed a few well-placed barbs designed to put Nathan in his place before turning to me and telling me it was time to leave. I had started to shake my head. To tell Daddy no, that I was staying. And I would have, if Nathan hadn't quietly told me to leave.
My father pushed to his feet now and planted both hands against the surface of the desk. He leaned forward, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw as he stared at me with eyes that looked so much like mine. "You'll do as I say, Adelaide."
"Or what?" I winced at the sharpness of my voice, at the blatant dare that edged my words. My father flinched, the reaction so subtle I almost missed it. Then he straightened to his full height, his dark eyes flaring with suppressed anger.
"Or I'll make sure he no longer has a team to play for."
Icy fear and disbelief washed over me, stealing my breath and making me gasp. I'd never seen this side of my father, had always dismissed the overheard whispers of his reputation as a ruthless businessman while we were growing up. Seeing that side of him now made me realize how badly I had miscalculated.
"You can't do that."
"I most certainly can. And I will. The choice is yours."
I stood there, a sense of shock and betrayal rendering me speechless for the longest time. I couldn't believe my father would do such a thing. That he could be cold and heartless enough to threaten to destroy another man's life simply to get me to do what he wanted. As much as I wanted to push the issue, to stand up to him, I couldn't—
Because he would do exactly as he threatened. He would destroy any chance Nathan had at ever playing hockey again. Not just here...everywhere.
I had never hated anyone as much as I hated my father in those few minutes.
"Well, Adelaide? The choice is yours. Will you see him again and force my hand?"
I lifted my chin a notch and wondered if the tightness in my chest was because pieces of my heart were breaking off. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and slowly shook my head. "No. No, I won't be seeing him again."
My father nodded, like I'd given him the exact answer he'd expected. He lowered himself to his seat and reached for the fountain pen. "Wise choice. I want you to meet with Joanna later to go over the menu for tomorrow night. A few business associates will be joining us—"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. I won't be here." I spun on my heel and headed toward the door, only to stop when my father spoke again
"And where exactly do you think you'll be? If I find out you're with him—"
"Don't worry, I won't be. I won't let you use me to destroy Nathan's career." I glanced over my shoulder, saw the same surprise in my father's eyes that I felt. "But I won't let you dictate what I do with my life, either. Not anymore."
"Adelaide—"
I closed the door behind me, shutting off my father's stunned voice before hurrying upstairs to my room to pack.
Chapter Twenty
Nathan
"I told you the shit was going to hit the fan. I'm just surprised it didn't hit sooner."
I ignored Dylan's voice and told myself he was as full of the shit he was talking about hitting the fan. Speaking in vague generalities, he might have a point. Technically, though, nothing had hit anything—shit, fan, or otherwise.
It had come close, though. Too fucking close. The only thing that had kept me in my seat was the realization that Addy probably wouldn't appreciate me hitting her father, especially in front of a restaurant filled with people. It wouldn't surprise me to learn she knew half of them.
I bent over and tugged on my laces, tightening them until I was sure there wouldn't be any give in them when we hit the ice. I'd made that mistake before last night's game and it had cost us a goal—and me a nearly sprained ankle. I didn't want a repeat this afternoon, not when there was a good chance we could carry our winning streak over to this game against Charlotte. Okay, maybe calling two games a streak was pushing it—and that was only if we won today—but I'd take whatever we could get. It felt damn good to win, especially after our disastrous preseason and our first two regular games at home.
I'd take that good feeling, too, because anything was better than the way I'd felt the other night at that damn restaurant. Seeing the look on Landry's face, like he couldn't believe I had the fucking audacity to be in the same room with his daughter let alone at the same table. He was a protective father. So what. I got that. Shit, I'd probably be protective as hell, too, if I had a daughter that looked like Adelaide Landry.
So yeah. Maybe I could understand the whole protective father routine. To a point, anyway, but Landry had certainly gone way past that point. What I didn't understand was the look of utter disappointment that he leveled at Addy—or the fact that he'd done it with a restaurant filled with people looking on. He hadn't even tried to be discreet about it. It was like he didn't care at all about the scene he was causing or how it might make Addy feel.
If he had simply come at me, I'd be fine with it. Hell, it was my own damn fault for picking that fucking restaurant in the first place. But I'd been so anxious to take Addy somewhere nice, somewhere that would let her know I was more than just faded denim and rough hockey and cold beer. Tristan had suggested the fancy iconic restaurant and I had jumped at the idea, especially since I had no idea where else to take her.
I wasn't rolling in the money and wasn't making what I would if I was playing in the pros but I wasn't hurting, either. My agent was both shrewd and insistent and I'd lucked out with a fairly lucrative two-way contract and a very healthy salary that I'd carefully invested. I'd never be able to afford something like the mansion Addy lived in—especially since I was pretty sure there'd be one hell of a lot of changes in my contract when it came time to renew—but I hadn't squandered any of the money. I wouldn't have to worry about struggling to make it in five or six or even ten years once my body gave out from all the time on the ice. And in a purely egotistical move that I still didn't understand, I'd wanted to show Addy that I could fit in her world without being an embarrassment.
Yeah. Talk about something backfiring.
"Have you talked to your girl at all?"
I glanced up then swallowed a groan when Tristan took a seat on the bench next to me. It was bad enough Dylan had been pumping me for information since yesterday morning—I sure as hell didn't need the two of them tag-teaming me. At least Luke wasn't here, making himself a pain-in-my-ass along with Dylan and Tristan. I figured that was because he was down the hall in his own little corner, practicing yoga and working on his pre-game woo-woo shit.
"Well? Have you?"
I shot a glance at both men, rolled my eyes, then grabbed some tape from my bag. "No, I haven't. We've been a little busy."
"Don't you think you should?"
"Yeah. And I will."
"When?"
"When I get around to it. What the fuck is this, an interrogation? Why are two so invested in my relationship with Addy, anyway?"
Dylan shrugged then grabbed the roll of tape from my hand and started using it on his stick. "You two are pretty cool together. And I like her. She's a sweet girl."
I choked back a bark of laughter. "Since when is the troublemaker into anything sweet?"
"I'm not. Usually." A broad grin creased Dylan's face as he raised and lowered his brows in a humorous gesture. Then his expression turned serious as he focused on wrapping the blade of his stick with short, measured movements. "Like I said, I like Addy. She's sweet."
I o
pened my mouth to tell him Addy was anything but sweet then promptly closed it without saying a word. Neither of the men flanking me needed to know a damn thing about what Addy and I did in private. Besides, Dylan was right: there was something sweet about Addy. In her smile. In the way she talked. In the way she treated everyone she met. Even in the way she included everyone in the conversation, drawing them out until you couldn't help but feel as if you'd known each other forever instead of just meeting them. I'd been a little worried to include her with some of the outings with the other guys. Not just because I was still feeling some of them out myself, but because she was Landry's daughter. I didn't want anyone to get the wrong impression of her or to think I was using her. And I sure as hell didn't want word getting back to Landry that I was seeing his daughter.
Yeah. Uh-huh. That had worked out really well.
I snagged my roll of tape back from Dylan and busied myself with wrapping my own stick. The simple act of doing something I'd done damn near every night for years usually relaxed me, helped me clear my head so I could focus on the upcoming game.
But not tonight.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop remembering the sight of Addy's face from the other night. The embarrassment that heated her soft cheeks. The sorrow that glistened in her dark eyes. The utter dejection that stooped her shoulders as she lowered her gaze to the table, like she knew she'd somehow disappointed both of us—her father and me—and didn't know what to do about it.
I'd wanted to reach for her, to grab her hand and tell her none of what happened was her fault. I'd started to do just that but her father had stepped even closer, silently warning me with dark eyes that were so much like Addy's yet so different.
So I just sat there, keeping my curled fists out of sight under the table. Telling Addy it was okay, that she should go with her father. Not because I wanted her to go—I didn't want her going anywhere unless she was going with me—but because her father had caused her enough embarrassment. I didn't want to add to it, and I sure as hell didn't want to put her in a position where she felt she'd have to choose.
"You need to call her." Tristan repeated Dylan's earlier words.
"I know."
"Seriously, Shaw. Like, tonight."
"I know. I will." I tore the tape from the roll and secured the loose end against the shaft. I tossed the roll toward my bag but Tristan snagged it mid-air and proceeded to use it to wrap his own stick. I opened my mouth, ready to ask both men why the hell they kept using my tape when I knew damn well they had their own. The words died in my throat when Coach Somers walked into the locker room, followed by the rest of the coaching staff.
One look at Coach's face and I knew, I fucking knew, that something was up. We'd already developed a routine and it was too early for his talk. No way in hell would Coach deliberately mess that up unless there was a damn good reason.
The expression on his face as his gaze searched out mine told me that he did, indeed, have a damn good reason—
And I wasn't going to like it.
"Shaw. A word."
I exchanged glances with Dylan and Tristan and a few of the other players then pushed to my feet. My gait was uneven as I walked across the rubber mats and slowly followed Coach Somers out of the locker room and down the hall. He stopped at the end of the last runner then turned toward me, the expression on his face confusing me as much as his summons. His mouth was pursed in what I thought was anger, but there was definite frustration there, too, especially in his eyes as he watched me with a narrowed gaze. I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, already knowing I didn't want to hear whatever he was about to tell me.
He sucked in a deep breath then pushed it out through his pursed lips, the exhale sounding a little like a low whistle. He reached up and ran a hand over his whiskered jaw then dropped it to his side.
"I knew you had a fucking reputation as a damn rule breaker before you got here but even I didn't think you'd be that fucking dumb."
I backed up a step in sheer surprise at his words, then stopped and shook my head. "Coach?"
"I'm supposed to scratch you tonight."
"Why?"
"Because I got a message from the owner telling me to."
Cold disbelief washed over me, seizing my lungs and blurring my vision. A hundred different emotions battered me. Anger. Regret. Disbelief. Disappointment. Searing rage. I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. In the end, I said the only thing I could think of, the only thing that summed up everything I felt.
"Fuck."
"Yeah. Apparently, that was the reason for the message. Landry wants you gone. And I do mean gone. He wants your contract terminated. Hell, he wants more than that. I've got a feeling he wants your head—and other parts of your anatomy—cut off and put on display as a warning to everyone else."
I nodded, the repercussions of everything Coach was telling me slowly sinking in. My career, shitty as it had turned out to be, was dying right in front of my eyes. All the opportunities I'd wasted. All the chances I'd squandered. Gone. Just like that.
"I'm not doing it."
My head jerked up and I gaped at the coach, wondering what the hell I had missed.
"I'm not scratching you, Shaw. As much as this pains me to say given your fucking track record, you're a damn good player and I've been impressed with what I've seen so far. You're nowhere near where you could be so I hope to hell I'm not making a mistake tonight that I'll come to regret."
"Yes, Coach. I mean, you won't. But Landry—"
"Is a pompous ass who doesn't know the first damn thing about hockey. And I never talked to him so there's no way he can say for sure I ever got his message. But—" Coach stepped closer and pointed at me with one blunt finger, "He's a shrewd businessman and has a reputation for being ruthless that you wouldn't expect from looking at him. If he wants you gone, you can be damn sure he'll find a way to do it. We've got ten minutes before warm-ups. I suggest you move your ass and grab one of those fucking cell phones none of you are supposed to have in the locker room and call your agent to give him the heads up."
"Yes, Coach. Thank you."
"Don't fucking thank me yet. There's no guarantee Landry won't get his way. In the meantime, don't make me fucking regret this tonight."
I nodded then hurried back to the locker room, ignoring the curious glances shot my way as I dug through my bag for my cell phone.
"Seriously, Shaw? You're going to call her now?"
I brushed off Tristan's question and headed to the shower room, the only place that would guarantee me at least a little privacy. I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at my agent's name before tapping his number with a trembling finger. There were so many thoughts whirling through my mind that I couldn't hold on to any single one for longer than a second. The only thing I could focus on, for reasons I didn't understand, was Addy.
It was her eyes I saw in my mind as I listened to the phone ringing in my ear. It was her face that flashed in front of me as my agent answered the phone. And it was her voice I heard in my head as I tried to explain to my agent what was going on.
And the only thing I could think of as the jumbled words fell from my mouth was: if Landry was so angry that he was doing this to me, what the hell was he doing to punish Addy?
Chapter Twenty-One
Addy
Addy, call me.
Addy, it’s me. You ok?
I need to talk to you. Call me when you can.
Hey, you ok?
Addy, I’ll be home around 11. I need to see you. Call me. Please.
I scrolled through the text messages for the umpteenth time. I wasn’t sure why since I knew every single one by heart. Reading them only made me feel a little worse each time, the words constricting my heart until I was certain it would simply burst like a lonely little balloon and that would be it. Maybe it would be better if that happened because then I wouldn’t feel so utterly miserable.
I tossed the phone to the side, my sigh a little too loud
and forlorn. Jacqui looked over at me and I didn’t miss the small shake of her head or the roll of her eyes. How could I, when both were directed straight at me?
"I still don't understand why you don't just call him. The poor man is practically begging." Jacqui grinned over the rim of the colorful martini glass. "And begging certainly does have its uses."
I didn't bother to react to her little innuendo, knowing she had said it just to get a reaction from me. Maybe. I was never totally sure of anything when it came to Jacqui.
I rested my head against the arm of the sofa and hugged one of the throw pillows to my chest. "I can't call him."
"Then send him a text."
"I can't."
"Why can't you?"
"Because my father will find out."
"He's not going to find out, cher."
"But he will. Don't ask me how, I just know he will. And then he'll ruin every last chance Nathan might have at playing hockey."
"Your daddy is an ass, cher, but even I don't think he'd go that far."
"Oh, he would. He really would. You didn't see the look on his face. He was so..." My voice drifted off as my mind searched for the right words. Angry, yes. But there'd been something more to it, a kind of ruthlessness I didn't understand and that made no sense to me. Those emotions were still there under his conciliatory apology, lurking just beneath the surface as he tried to stop me from me leaving yesterday morning. I'd been so stunned, so shocked by the side of my father that I had never seen before, that I left without saying a word and came straight to Jacqui's. I hadn't left the small apartment above her shop since, except to meet Marie for a long lunch early this afternoon.
Jacqui muttered something under her breath and I wondered what I missed by being so preoccupied with my own thoughts. I knew better than to ask her to repeat them, though. Whatever it was she'd said, I probably didn't want to know. I was entirely too mired in my own misery to even care and right now, I was fine with that.
Rule Breaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 1) Page 13
