Page 27 of Wild Blades

Using the arms of his chair to push himself to his feet, Marcus walks around the side of the desk to me.

In his later fifties, he’s a handsome motherfucker. Silver haired, he’s fit, tall, wealthy. He exudes confidence unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Hell, he’s cockier than a hockey player, and that’s saying something. Coming from the wealthy Edwards dynasty, who have shares in oil and gas, own superstore and hotel chains, clothing brands, you name it; he inherited the Eagles from his father and his wife’s father, who owned it together, and it will be handed down to Zane.I hope I’m not here when that happens.

“You’re an incredible player, Wade. Show me your hunger and your drive. Prove to me you’ve got what it takes to become captain of my team.”

That sounds a lot like a test.

“Am I in the running?” I ask doubtfully.

Marcus stuffs his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and stands wide. “You won’t know if you don’t try. It’s earned, not given.”

“I’ll work hard.”Try harder than I am now.

He holds his hand out for me to shake. “I’m pleased with how far you’ve come already.”

I stand to meet his height. “Thank you,” I say, shaking his firm hand.

“Who are you?” His eyes narrow into slits.

“An Eagle.”I hope I answered that correctly.

His other hand covers mine. “Not justanEagle.”

“No?”

“Wade Collins, you’re a legendary Eagle. Make me proud.”

Hope and confidence bloom in my chest. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Edwards.”

“Please.” His eyes soften around the edges. “Call me Marcus.”

“I won’t let you down, Marcus.”

Then he winks, dismissing me for the weekend.

I might just make captain after all.

Fuck off. Stop kidding yourself, Wade Collins.

CHAPTER NINE

Wade

I’m getting ready in my hotel suite that’s my temporary home. Ezra and Myles arrived ten minutes ago and they are desperate to hit a club tonight as they are only in town for a couple of nights.

Standing in front of the mirror, I finish buttoning up my shirt just as Ezra takes a pull of his beer. “Are you sure you aren’t drinking tonight?” he asks, lying on my bed.

“Positive. Soft drinks only.” I’m not falling down that rabbit hole. I fucking hate drinking, and like I keep telling everyone, I only do it to forget.

I have a point to prove to myself and my support team… or care package, as Jordy, our Eagles’ wingman, put it when I told him.

Jordan Miller, who we all call Jordy, is one of the few guys on the team I trust. Quiet, driven, and only recently split up with his girlfriend he had been with since high school. Unlike me, his head is screwed on right, and he didn’t jeopardize his position on the team after she left him to pursue her career in Los Angeles as an actress. He was also injured last year but came back fighting this season. I like his spirit. While I’m hot headed, he’s thecomplete opposite; calm and considered with his actions. On the ice, he intercepts passes and blocks shots with ease. He’s a cool guy. I really like him.

Following the ambush, which was only six weeks ago, but feels like a lifetime, I was mad at Marcus’s surprise intervention. When Jordy asked me to tell him how angry I was, I think he got his answer. I slammed my locker door shut, then punched it, leaving a dent.

He just chuckled, then informed me in his calm voice that it was what I needed.

I was seething for weeks.

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