Nor would he be dwelling on his asshole dad with a wandering dick and his former best friend who’d spent years lying to him. Or contemplating how several of his teammates didn’t see what the big deal was. Or bemoaning the fact that he was off the ice for two weeks because he’d fallen over his own damn feet at a team dinner, gone down like a klutz without any athletic ability, and had messed up his thumb enough to need surgery. Or stewing over the seemingly never-ending media coverage of the shoving match he and Christensen had gotten into and the fact that things were hostile in the locker room, to say the least. Basically, he had a lot of things that he would not be thinking about while getting blasted in the cabin Lucy had rented for him to lay low while the Harbor City sports press found other things to cover.
“This is bullshit,” the woman declared, but she lowered her stun gun. “I have the same confirmation.” She stomped past him to the nightstand and picked up her phone. A quick scroll later, she shoved it in his face. “See?”
A fast scan confirmed it was an exact copy of his confirmation from the rental management company for the cabin. “How’d you get this?”
“A sort-of friend arranged it for me.” She tossed her phone onto the bed but held on to the stun gun even though it was loose in her grip. “Who pranked you with this confirmation?”
“One, it’s not a prank.” The only person he knew who would find this kind of joke hilarious was Christensen, and they might share half their DNA but that was it. They weren’t friends anymore, let alone the kind who would set up something like this. “Two, it was our team PR person, Lucy—”
“Kavanagh,” she finished for him.
No. Lucy wouldn’t. Okay, she might have helped set up his teammate Stuckey and his now-live-in girlfriend, Zara, plus Ice Knight right winger Phillips and Tess had met and hooked up at Lucy’s wedding, but she wouldn’t do something like this—not with him, not now, and definitely not with Shelby Blanton. It had to be a mistake.
“Just look at this.” She grabbed her phone off the bed and brought up the email that had accompanied her confirmation, and there it was in black and white.
Shelby,
I know just the place. Peaceful with gorgeous views. It’s already booked. Plenty of space because the cabin is huge so you can have as much “me time” as you need without being totally alone, which you really don’t want to do, considering the threats. It’s just what you need. This is actually perfect.
Lucy
So much for not messing with a man when he was down. “She did this on purpose.”
Shelby paled. “Why would she do that?”
“Have you met Lucy?” He shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around this mess. “She’s all about controlling the situation and the spin. No doubt she thinks this will fix things.”
“I can’t stay here.” Shelby backpedaled a few steps, clutching her phone and the stun gun to her chest.
Ian didn’t need to look at his phone to confirm that it was way too late for that. When he’d pulled off the highway and onto the mile-long dirt road to the cabin with the only landmark letting him know he was on the right road being a beat-up wooden marker with the number six on it, the guy on the local radio had just announced it was ten o’clock and warned everyone to get home before the snow got any worse. Anyway, the cabin was miles away from anything even slightly resembling a town.
“Yeah, good luck with that. It’s already snowing sideways out there,” he said, because he had enough shit to deal with without worrying about her stuck in a snowbank because he’d kicked her out. “You can have this room. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
Shelby screwed up her mouth and glared at him as if he controlled the weather or the Ice Knights’ PR queen, Lucy Kavanagh. Finally, she let out a very unhappy huff. “Fine.”
Okay, one battle won. He’d take it. God knew he needed it.
He started toward the door, giving her—and her stun gun—a wide birth. “Hope you don’t talk in your sleep. I’d hate for you to go spilling any more life-ruining secrets.”
He could have sworn he heard her mumble something along the lines of “fuck you, asshole, it was an accident” as she slammed the door shut in his face. He definitely heard the lock being turned. He couldn’t blame her. The whole situation was a mess. First thing tomorrow, he’d find another cabin to sit and drink scotch in and growl at anyone who dared to cross his path. Hell, he’d rather go find a frozen hedge maze to wander until he turned into an icicle than to stay here with her.
Glancing at the window, he saw the snow piling up fast on the drive. As long as it stopped by dawn, he’d be out of here before breakfast.
…
It was a great plan, and when he woke up the next morning to bright sunshine spilling in through the huge window looking out onto the front drive, he let out a contented sigh. This was what he’d wanted, fucking serenity. Then he made the mistake of getting up from bed, walking over to the window, and glancing out.
There wasn’t a driveway anymore.
The road back down the mountain to the highway was gone. Everything was covered in enough snow to obliterate any hope of an escape.
The unmistakable pitch of
