Page 2 of The Publicity Stunt

Rudy just smirks and stares at him. "Okay."

"I refuse to play with a snake like you," he says and turns towards the door.

"Lyons, where the hell do you think you're going?" Coach shouts.

"To call my agent. I'm taking an absence for the day. If not, you're going to be cleaning up blood and missing teeth from the ice, assuming one of us doesn’t kill the other and end up in jail."

He sighs. "Fine, take the day. But I expect you back here tomorrow."

"If I'm still on the team tomorrow," he growls and slams the door behind him.

Out in the hallway, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. How can someone who was supposed to be his friend, someone he should be able to count on, carry on an affair with Kace's girlfriend?

Not only that, how could she do this to him? Sasha Roberts has been his for the past two years. She's gotten a little chilly the past few months, but he never expected this to be the reason. In fact, he was so sure she was the one for him that he went out and bought an engagement ring two months ago. In a couple of weeks, he planned an extravagant proposal.

With two VIP tickets to the opening show of Sasha’s all-time favorite artist, Bri Waters. She starts a tour in a couple of weeks, and Sasha’s favorite song is Two Lovers. When the song started to play, he planned to get down on one knee, pull out the ring, and ask her to be his wife. Now he’s stuck with two VIP tickets that cost an arm and a leg to a show he doesn’t really want to go to with a ring for no one.

Calling his agent, he waits for the man to pick up. Oliver Weiss answers on the second ring, which isn't surprising. Kace brings in a lot of money. "Lyons! What's happening, my man?"

If the guy wasn't a damn good agent, Kace would've dropped him years ago. He sounds like a used car salesman at a frat party who constantly relives the best years of his life that are now behind him. But Oliver's one of the best out there, and he managed to bring in more money and better endorsements than some of Kace’s friends with better scoring records on more established teams. He can overlook the cheesy tone for money.

"I need to be traded."

"What's going on?"

"My captain's screwing my girlfriend. Has been for six months."

"Marshall? I thought you were old buddies."

He chuckles and clenches his teeth. "Yeah, so did I."

"You have one year left on your contract, okay? Most teams are capped out right now and unable to make a trade."

"I'll take a pay cut. I'll take a one-year term. Whatever it takes to get the fuck away from the Bootleggers."

"There's another piece of this, Lyons. Your GM has already talked about renewing your contract after this year, which we've been negotiating to get the best terms. Even if we found a team willing to trade for you, I don't think he'd be willing to give you up. Not after the numbers you put up last season. You had fifty goals and one hundred and twenty points."

Clenching his fist, he cracks his neck. "It's either get me onto a different team, or I'll be in prison for murdering that bastard. Either way, Louis loses me."

Louis Gregario is not only the general manager, but one of the biggest hockey fans since he could walk. His father's best friend used to attend parties with Wayne Gretzky back in the day, and although the man's as wide as he is tall, he loves the sport. He's never been able to stay up on two skates, but it doesn't deter his dream of winning the Stanley Cup by proxy. If anything, it makes it worse. Those who can’t do, and all that.

"Okay, before we jump to any extremes, let me call around and see what I can do, okay?"

Kace cracks his knuckles and nods. It takes everything in him to calm the rage boiling right below the surface with Rudy only a few yards away. Only a door separates and protects the man from the fists Kace wants to throw at him. "Yeah, okay. I'm not practicing today to give him at least one more day to live. Let me know as soon as possible, Oliver."

"Go get a bottle of whiskey and drown your sorrows while I check around."

"I don't drink," he reminds him, "regardless of what endorsements you sign me up for. I'll be around all day because I have to box up the rest of Sasha's shit and throw it on the curb."

Four hours later, Kace has everything Sasha either left or bought in four boxes. Her clothes, hair products, makeup, and dietary restriction products. The girl claims she has a gluten intolerance, but she has no issues scarfing down pizza when she’s drunk. On top of that, he's included the throw pillows she insisted he needed to have, the ugly cow hide rug in front of the gas fireplace he hated, and various other nicknacks lying around. She had more stuff in his place than he did considering how bare everything now looks.

Moose Jaw wasn't what he considered home, and he never wanted it to be. When Brett got offered his spot with the Twisters, but Kace didn't, he was devastated. Still is, if he's honest. Being a born and raised Texas boy, all Kace wants is to be close to home. Instead, he ended up as far north as he can get from his family.

Walking around to make sure there was nothing he missed only to find later and re-fuel his rage, he takes note of the items he'll need to replace. Like the blankets she said he could never use because they were "aesthetic." It's fucking Canada. It's cold as hell, and he had blankets they couldn't use. No, he plans to get blankets and use the shit out of them. Wear damn holes in them. He'll also make sure they’re as un-aesthetically pleasing just to spite her. Flannel. He’ll get brown flannel.

He never minded her decorating in the past, but now he can't stand anything she put in his place. Like the glass coffee table that always has smudges. Or the rugs he had to walk around rather than on because they were dry clean only. Who the hell has a rug that can't be walked on? His feet were always fucking cold because he had to walk around the rug on the hardwood floor. Again... in fucking Canada. The land of the cold.

Before packing up the three rugs she put in his place, he made a point of walking on the white one with his shoes. Sure, he acts like a five-year-old child, but he believes he's entitled to a little bit of a tantrum. No, he's entitled to a big tantrum, but it's not much fun if no one else is around to witness it.

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