“The team owner used to be your stepdad?” Ian asked after the doors closed.
“Yup.” And no one was more surprised than she was that he’d remembered her.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he gave her a considering look. “Seems like there’s a lot about you that I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s one way to fix that.” Did that sound desperate? Did it matter?
Staring at the closed executive elevator doors, he gave one of his patented noncommittal grunts and walked into the locker room.
Annoyance and hurt singed every nerve from her toes upward. What a jackass. What had she been thinking? That things would be different? No. Not with Mr. I Don’t Need to Say Anything.
He only wanted her when they were out of the tri-county metro area and they couldn’t get enough of each other. That was dangerous. It was that makes-no-sense in-love-with-love territory her mom was always in. Everything was about the flash and the fire. Then, when that settled, she got bored and found a new husband. Out went Jasper and in came Andre and then Paul and then Scott. Shelby had seen firsthand the damage that type of instant ignition could have. That’s why she’d known she had to keep Ian to just one night that turned into two. It couldn’t be three. She was too sure she wasn’t like her mom. She wouldn’t bounce back. She’d fall with a splat. She already had.
…
Ian was trying to wrap his head around the idea of Shelby’s former stepdad being Jasper fucking Dawson when he walked into the locker room and nearly slammed into a group of players circled around his dad.
He bit back a snarl, and it took longer than normal for him to get the locks in place holding down all that rage bubbling up underneath. By the time the other players went to dress, Ian was back in full control.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
His dad slapped him on the back as if he was in on the joke, the movement covering the fact that he was shoving Ian toward the door. “Can’t a man come see his boys play the game he loves?”
With a quick maneuver, his old man got him back out into the hallway. Ian could have stopped it, but he was done walking away from this man. He was done having to keep the truth on lockdown. He was just 100 percent done.
“Cut to the chase,” Ian said, looking his dad in the eyes. “What do you want?”
After a quick visual sweep of the hall to make sure they were alone, David leaned in and lowered his voice. “We need to do an interview. The three of us. Patch things up on national TV. It’ll be good for you two, and it will lessen some of my negative exposure.”
Ian laughed in his dad’s face. “Negative exposure?”
“That’s what my business partner is calling it.” David focused his attention in short bursts on everything in the hallway except Ian. “I’ve sunk everything I have into a development outside of Toronto. Investors are getting worried by the bad press you two are causing.”
“We’re causing?” There wasn’t even a hint of a whine of the metal on his mental locks under pressure; they burst open as if they’d never been there, and all those years of stuffing everything down came roaring up. “You’re the one who had a secret second family.”
His dad tensed and looked around before saying through his teeth, “Lower your voice.”
Hands curled into fists, stance ready to throw down, blood rushing in his ears so loudly that his dad could be yelling right into his face and he wouldn’t hear a thing, Ian pulled back, ready to let go with a vicious punch when the locker room door exploded outward. Alex strolled out as if all was right and good with the world, his body loose and his grin welcoming. He didn’t stop until he was practically between Ian and their dad.
“Heya, Pops,” Alex said. “I heard you’d come to visit.”
David’s face was bright red with fury. The man hadn’t made it through the number of years in the professional hockey league that he had by not knowing when things were about to turn ugly. The catch was, there was no way he didn’t realize he wouldn’t come out on top.
“They’re mine, you know,” he snarled at Alex. “The records will always be mine. You may get close, but you’ll never get there.”
Alex shrugged as if he didn’t give two shits about the records or anything the man in front of him could say. “I’d rather go scoreless for the rest of my career than to ever hold a record that had ever been connected to you.”
“Who do you think you are?” he asked, emphasizing each word by jabbing his finger into Alex’s chest.
Ian didn’t think, he just reacted, grabbing his old man’s hand and shoving it away. “He’s my brother, and he doesn’t have to take your shit.” He took a step forward. He may be half the hockey player his dad was, but he was bigger, madder, and he had someone more important than himself to fight for. “Now get out of here before security comes for you.”
He and Alex stood there, silent, shoulder to shoulder, and watched until David Petrov stormed out of the VIP door. For his entire life, after one of his father’s “little lessons,” he’d been left feeling completely alone.
This time was different.
“Brother, huh?” Alex asked, landing an elbow into Ian’s side.
“Yeah, welcome to the family.” Ian returned the nudge with a light shove of his own. “Don’t forget to bring a side to Thanksgiving.”
“I make a mean Jell-O salad with marshmallows and canned fruit.”
Ian’s taste buds revolted at the thought. “Crescent rolls might be more your speed.”
They went into the locker room together, bickering back and forth like the old days, and
