"--but I know our best chance of success is because we have the hottest goalie in the league right now, who also happens to be a legend already by way of his past record. We're going to hurt without you next year, man, but I have to say...I think you have a hell of a woman to compensate."
"Hear! Hear!" Zack says. We all raise our bottles, tapping the long necks against each other.
I take a sip, feel it's a little hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. This decision made, I can now start to mourn the loss of my career and then be able to put all of my attention on feeling euphoric because I'm getting the girl.
Chapter 26
Gray
As I drive into my neighborhood, I start to decompress slightly, but today has been so stressful I hope Ryker brings two bottles of wine and multiple orgasms with him. My shoulders are stiff with tension and my brain is overwhelmed with everything that happened today, so I'm not sure I'll be able to do much more than just lie there and let him do nasty things to me.
To say the meeting with Claude Amedee did not go well is an understatement. From the moment he walked into my office, I could feel the animosity vibrating off of him. Frank felt it too, because he shot me a wary look as we all sat down at the round table that sat four comfortably. I found it was more conducive to honesty if we sat around an intimate table rather than having a general manager desk sitting between us.
Frank sat to my left and Claude sat opposite me, which gave him direct access to level a condescending glare my way. And deep within his eyes, I think I saw something close to hatred of me flicker. It made my stomach recoil as if it was filled with slimy grease.
I decided not to pull any punches or attempt to sugarcoat things with this man. I didn't bother trying to offer affirmation when I could, because I could tell it would bounce right off him. So I went in for the kill, sharp and fast.
"Claude...I know you abhor my statistical models and everything I represent, but I also know one thing you can't argue with is your plus-minus rating."
He narrows his eyes at me because he knows all about plus-minus ratings. The league has used this particular sports statistic since the 1960s to measure player impact. It's pretty simple. Your score is increased by one for every time you're on the ice when a goal is scored, and decreased by one if you're on the ice when your team gives up a goal.
Claude's is at a minus twenty-one, which is among the lowest in the entire league. It's the absolute lowest on our team.
"We attempted to shop you for a trade but had no bites. As such, we're releasing you from the team and you'll be an unrestricted free agent next season. Frank will go over the terms of your contract buyout with you and your agent at your convenience."
I kept it short and simple.
His reaction was volatile.
Exploding out of his chair, he slammed his palms down on the table as he leaned across it and screamed at me, "You fucking cunt. You're going to regret crossing paths with me."
Frank and I may not get along very well, but I have to give him credit. He was on Claude like stink on shit. He had him in a headlock, wrenched him away from the table, and shoved him hard toward the door. With his fists curled tight, Claude looked like he might charge Frank, but then the door opened and in stepped two of the arena's security guards.
Bless Frank Lessier and his foresight.
Frank nodded at Claude and said, "You can go quietly with these gentlemen or they'll drag you out kicking and screaming. I frankly don't care which you choose."
Claude looked at Frank, then turned his gaze on me. I had to stiffen my spine hard not to shrink back from the hatred in his gaze, and I knew exactly what Ryker meant when he said that Claude was unbalanced.
The security guards took a step forward, but Claude held up a hand, silently requesting they hold still. I thought that meant he was going to leave in a calm and professional manner. Instead, he hacked up a mouthful of spit from the back of his throat--hell maybe the bottom of his lung the way it sounded--and proceeded to expel the huge glob right on the floor.
"Fuck you, bitch," he said before turning around and shouldering his way past the guards.
Frank jerked his head toward the door. "Follow him all the way off the arena's property. I don't want him loitering."
When they left and my door closed, my body practically sagged in my chair from relief that was over. When I looked down at my hands as they rested on the table, they were shaking hard.
Frank walked back to the table, sat down heavily beside me, and said, "That scared the shit out of me when he jumped up like that."
I looked at my assistant general manager. The man who I have butted heads with all season. His face red, a light sweat on his brow.
And I busted out laughing.
Frank followed suit and we laughed like two nervous idiots hopped up on meth or something. It was manic laughter, and I even admitted to him that it scared the shit out of me too. We finally both calmed down, and before he left Frank said something that would at least go in the positive column for my day.
He said, "You handled that very well, Gray. Better than any man could have ever done. Makes me proud to be on your team."
I almost pulled a totally girly move and hugged him. Instead I held my hand out and we shook while smiling. I think some peace had been made between us.
Yes, my afternoon was so shitty I'm seriously considering bypassing orgasms from Ryker and just getting drunk on the wine.
And that's not even considering my run-in with Hensley this morning.
Ugh. When I think about how close I came to just giving up the man I love, I want to kick my own ass. Then I want to hunt Hensley down and kick her ass for preying upon my heart as a weakness. It's so messed up that I'm actually thankful she threatened me, because without that little maneuver on her part, I may have found myself going home alone tonight to get drunk on wine.
As my house comes in to view, I start to relax a little more. Ryker will be here soon, and just the thought of him has me reconsidering. What the hell was I thinking of bypassing the orgasms and just drinking wine to make me forget about the day? There's nothing that can consume me as much as Ryker Evans can, so I'm thinking we put the wine up in the cabinet and just hit my bed for the remainder of the evening. We can order Chinese if we get hungry.
Just as I pull into my driveway, my phone rings.
Speak of the handsome devil.
"Forget the wine," I tell him as I answer, bringing my car to a stop and putting it in park. "I've decided your amazing body will make me forget all about my crappy day."
He laughs into the phone. At ease, rich, happy laughter. I smile because I can't fucking help it. I turn the car off and exit, slinging my purse over one shoulder while I hold the phone to my ear.
"Too late. I'm already at the grocery store," he tells me as I walk up my sidewalk to the porch steps. "Any particular brand you want?"
I open my screen door and fish my keys out of my purse, holding the phone in between my shoulder and my ear. "I'm not picky. Whatever looks good. Oh, and why don't you just pick up some cheese and fruit while you're there?"
The scuff of boots on my sidewalk has me turning to look behind me as Ryker is talking on the other end. But I can't hear a word he says as a shot of adrenaline pulses through me when I see Claude Amedee walking toward me.
He's wearing a dark hoodie pulled up over his head, but I recognize him.
Walking fast.
Now breaking out into a jog.
Barreling up my steps and toward me.
I'm frozen in place by fear as he crashes into me, slamming me up against the door and causing my keys and phone to go flying. My head snaps backward and hits the corner of the quarter-inch molding around the glass panes in my door. I can feel my skin split open upon contact but otherwise, that didn't hurt too bad.
Claude takes me by the shoulders, pulls me from the door, and then slams me back into it again. This time my head catches the tempered frosted glass, which shatter
s but harmlessly crumbles without cutting me. The impact, though, was hard enough that I immediately go dizzy and start to sag.
"Oh, no you don't, bitch," he snarls in my face as he holds me up. "Can't have you passing out on me yet."
I smell the tangy, sour alcohol on his breath and notice that Claude is slightly weaving. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin sallow. He grabs me by my hair at the back of my head, his fingernails digging into my wound, and shoves me down to the porch.
"Get your keys," he commands me with a slight slur to his words.
"Help!" I scream as I look around, hoping for anyone to be outside. But my neighborhood is very private, each lot a few acres in size, and neighbors don't sit on top of one another.
"Shut the fuck up," he screams at me, and I hope someone heard that. He pulls up on my hair so my face tilts toward him and he backhands me across the cheek. It's a glancing blow but it hurts.
A lot.
He pushes me back down. "Keys."
I reach for my keys and see my phone lying a foot away, facedown. I have no clue what Ryker heard, or if he's still on the line, but I have to believe he's on the way right now. At an ordinary pace, he's ten minutes away, and I honestly don't know if I have that long. I pray for him to speed.
My father told me once that cowards don't know how to react when someone fights them back. I put Claude straight in the coward category. I grab the keys, making sure my long car key sticks out in between my index and middle fingers. I close my fist hard around the rest of them, take a deep breath, and let him start to haul me up.
When he pulls me off my knees, I surge upward and bring my hand around in a roundhouse punch, intent on jamming my key straight into that motherfucker's eye if there's a God above. My aim is true and almost in slow motion, I see I'm on course for a perfect strike.
Except despite his inebriation, Claude catches me by the wrist, slams my hand downward as he brings his own leg up, crushing it on his knee. The pain reverberates up my arm, causing me to drop the keys again, and I'm pretty sure he just fractured my wrist. I'm still so scared that my instinct is to keep fighting. I bring my other hand up, determined to claw his eyes out with my fingers, when I hear a very distinctive sound.
Snick.
I go dead still as Claude holds up a switchblade in front of my face. "Don't make me use this on you," he growls.
I can't help the tiny sob that comes out of my mouth. My head is bleeding, I'm dizzy, and my wrist is probably broken. None of that matters. All that matters is that right now I don't have any fight left in me.
"Now pick up the keys and unlock the door," Claude tells me, his voice sounding a bit steadier. I'm thinking he had his own rush of adrenaline that must have helped to sober him up.
Maybe he'll start thinking more rationally, and so I try to reason with him.
"Claude," I say in a beseeching tone as I slowly bend to pick up the keys. I glance down for a minute to locate them, and see drops of my blood hitting the concrete. "You don't need to do this. There is no sense in ruining your life over this."
"My life is ruined," he sneers at me. I grab the keys and straighten myself up slowly, not wanting to give him any reason to stab me.
"No. It's not. You could get picked up by a great team next year as an unrestricted free agent," I tell him with encouragement.
Unfortunately, he's not that stupid. He knows he's committed himself to a path intent on making me suffer. He knows the minute he stepped foot on my property there was no turning back. He's committed to seeing whatever he has in mind through to the end, and with alcohol fueling him on, there's little chance of me talking him down.
"Just shut up and open the damn door," he says, bringing the knife underneath my chin. He presses the tip in just enough to sting. Just enough to let me know he's serious. "Play along nice, Gray, and I won't hurt you too bad."
I pull away from the blade and turn to the door. My hands are shaking so bad I can't believe I'm able to even stick my key in the lock, but I manage. I swing the door open and he pushes me inside.
My alarm beeps and he says, "Turn it off."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I actually have a fake code I can put in that will alert my security company I'm in danger, but I can't fucking remember what it is.
I want to scream, but I try to calm myself down. My real code is my birthday backward, year and month. What's my danger code?
With shaky fingers, I put in my dad's birthday. The alarm continues to go off.
"I said turn it off," Claude yells at me.
"I'm trying," I cry out in fear. "But I'm nervous."
I try my dad's birthday backward but that's not it. The alarm still beeps at me and Claude grabs me by the back of my head again, bringing the knife to my throat.
"Put the correct fucking code in. If it doesn't turn off this time, I will slit your fucking throat."
Tears well up in my eyes as I think this just might be the end. I can barely see the keypad as I punch in my birthday backward, then the Enter key.
The alarm goes silent and Claude removes the knife. I want to cry because my chance at alerting the police has been wasted, but I don't have time for that. I need to try to keep my wits about me.
"Where's your room?" he asks as he looks around.
"Through there," I motion with my head toward the hall behind him. My master bedroom is on the first floor but at the back of my house. If I'm able to scream for help again, the chances of me being heard are slim.
"Lead the way," Claude says, giving me a mock, gentlemanly bow and sweeping his hand out that holds the knife toward the hall.
"Why?" I ask, although I'm pretty sure I know why.
His free hand flies out and he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls on me hard. Some rips out, and my wound bleeds harder as he pulls at the cut skin.
"Why?" he asks me mockingly. "Why? You know why, bitch. I have to put you in your place. You need to learn your lesson so you don't do this to some other poor guy."
"You're crazy," I yell at him.
He jerks my head hard and pushes me toward the hall. "God, I hope so," he says with a laugh. "Not guilty by reason of insanity sounds fucking perfect to me."
Claude drags me down the hallway and right into my bedroom. My bedside lamp is on because I always leave it on. I love this room. It's so peaceful and relaxing, and that soft glow from the lamp is the perfect way to welcome me home each night.
But at this moment, this room is my prison.
It may end up being my coffin.
Claude gives me a vicious shove forward and I crash down to my knees. I raise my head, my vision partially obscured by my hair. He grins at me before sticking the knife in between his teeth for a moment, just to free his hands up.
He works at his belt, his fingers surprisingly deft for a drunk. Fear turns my blood to ice as he unbuttons his jeans and then takes his knife in hand. He steps up to me, leering from above in his position of absolute power.
"I'm only going to tell you once," he says in a low, deliberate voice as he holds the knife out for me to inspect. "You bite me and I'm going to shove this knife through your eye. Are we clear?"
I look at the knife. I look at him. Back to the knife. Back to him.
I lick my lips and swallow hard, trying to coat my dry mouth. I smile at him and say, "Claude...go fuck yourself."
Chapter 27
Ryker
What in the hell was that?
I pull my phone away from my ear to look at it and the call has been disconnected. When I was talking to Gray, I had distinctly heard the squeak of her screen door open and I thought I heard a bang. No, that wasn't it. More like a hard knock against wood. A sharp crackling sound, then silence.
She must have dropped her phone is all.
No worries.
Except...did I hear her grunt right after that knock against the wood? Did she fall?
Sudden and overwhelming dread fills me up. I have no explanation for it but I don't take even a second to ponder it. I
drop the handbasket on the floor and hurry out of the grocery store.
It may be nothing.
It may be something bad by the way I'm feeling.
Fortunately for me, Gray lives on the outskirts of the city, and the route between her house and the grocery store is nothing but a two-lane road with only one four-way stop in between. I take the road at nearly sixty-five in a forty-five-mile-per-hour zone, do the fastest rolling stop through the intersection in the history of mankind, and pull up in her driveway in under five minutes.
The front door is open and my dread morphs into the realization that something is definitely wrong. My heart slams inside my chest as I quickly pull out my phone and dial 911. When the dispatcher comes on, I'm straight and to the point. "This is Ryker Evans. I need to report a break-in in progress at 3706 Carriage Lane. I'm not staying on the line but I'm keeping the line open so you know this isn't a joke. I'm going inside, so let the police know that."
I hear her say, "Sir, please don't--" but the voice recedes as I lay the phone on the hood of my car.
Jogging up to the porch, I creep up the steps silently, listening to any sounds that can help me figure out what's going on. When I look down, I see several drops of blood and I actually go dizzy for a moment because I know in my heart that it's Gray's. My adrenaline spikes and I throw out any caution I was operating on, barreling into the house. I hear Gray immediately from her bedroom say, "Claude...go fuck yourself."
Murderous rage takes my body hostage.
I seem to fly on the wind and I'm at her bedroom door almost instantaneously. I take the scene in and it fuels my fury.
Gray on her knees, cradling her forearm to her chest, glaring up at Claude who stands above her.
With a knife.
His belt and top pants button undone.
I never even stop my trajectory, running straight at Claude. He hears me before he sees me, but I'm on him just as he's turning his body. My left hand clamps on his right wrist to secure the knife and I steamroll him backward. Never in my life have I been filled with such power. It's almost like a hot knife cutting through butter it's so easy to move him.
I drive him back, back, back right into Gray's bedroom wall, where he hits it so hard the plaster cracks.
Not hard enough in my opinion. While still holding his wrist now pinned to the wall, I bring my right hand up into an uppercut punch to his gut, right below his sternum. The air gushes out of him and he starts to sag. I pull my arm back, let it fly right to his throat. I'm satisfied when he gags and then gasps for air, and I'm hopeful I crushed his airway.
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