Page 5 of Reckless On Ice

Did Knox fucking send her? Why is she putting me through the damn inquisition now? Where are my questions about playing style or season plans? I have to shut her down before this gets even more out of hand.

“I haven’t talked to Knox and have nothing more to say about him now. If you have questions about the Hydras or hockey, you better ask them.” My voice is low and threatening, grittier than the shoulder of I-85, the nastiest freeway I’ve come across in three states.

Clearly, she has no self-preservation instincts as she takes a step closer, her voice low and venom-laced, meant just for me to hear. “How can you possibly know anything about aman you just said you haven't spoken with in over a decade, who’s never made any statements about his sexuality, nor given anyone reason to suspect he’s anything other than straight as can be?” She ticks off each point on her fingers like the strikes she’s already thrown against me. “You spoke with such conviction and, well, homophobic rhetoric, you must have some knowledge that the rest of us don't from personal experience. That, or you’re just being an asshole with a nasty mouth looking to bring down the reputation of an upstanding player, in another sports league at that. A player who has given so much of his time and energy to wonderful causes and makes a point to give back quietly rather than run his mouth, like you. I figured you would either double down now and provide the necessary evidence, or backtrack like a scared bigot and dig yourself into a deeper hole. It’s not looking good for you either way, Kingston.”

Holy fuck. This woman is something else. I’ve never had a sports journalist drag me through the mud the way she is, and there have been plenty of shitty stories written about me. But the difference is it was always focused on how I played, not what I said or my fuckingcharacter. Shit, this is bad. But more than anything, she’s got me seeing red. The audacity of Lilah Williams. How fucking dare she question me like this?

“Someone decided to violate my privacy and post a video of a conversation they had no part in. It’s taken out of context and edited to only show the worst. If you had any fucking integrity, you would validate your sources and not report clickbait anduse negative-leaning videos that are meant to stir up viewers for engagement as your only source.”

“If you want to set the record straight now, we will. Can you clarify why you would call Knox, and I quotea queer stalker?” She pops a hand on her hip, drawing my gaze to her nails. They’re bright red with the Condors' black and white bird logo and football designs painted along their tips. Of course. It makes so much sense now. She’s a fucking football fan and probably knows Knox through reporting on his games. This is personal for her.

“No comment.” The words barely make it past my grinding molars. I’m fucking done with this interview and this antagonistic woman. She can fucking choke on her questions and take the stupid video with her. I’ll have to get my agent on the phone and see what we can do about controlling the spread of this stupid-ass video before more people see it. Three million views? What the hell is that? How would something like that spread so fast?

I turn toward the social media intern, finally remembering she’s been off to the side, ready to usher me to the next station. I roll my eyes when I catch her wide-eyed stare dropping between me and the video she found on her own phone. Some help she is. Now that’s three million andoneviews. Fucking hell. I push past Westy as he moves along the line of media stations and head for the door, skipping the rest of the questions and reporters waiting for me. Today is a bust, and I don't have it in me to answer anyone else. My hands shake, andmy stomach is in sour knots. I’m in deep shit and so fucking angry about this whole situation.

It can’t get any fucking worse than this.

Four

Knox

My phone pings with a new text from Lilah, which isn’t out of the ordinary. She probably needs another quote for her article about the game.

Lilah: Hey, it’s Lilah. I think I need to take you up on that drink now.

Oh shit, I didn’t expect that turn of events after another refusal to hang out with me. I type a quick response.

Knox: Hey, Lilah girl, good to hear from you. Changed your mind about being friends with me? *Winkyface emoji*

Lilah: Yeah, actually. Are you free? I could really use a drink. I’m downtown.

Knox: Of course, I’m just hanging out. Wanna meet at Brick and Barley? It’s not too far from me.

Lilah: Sure, how soon can you be there?

I look around my condo, like it will give me an estimated time of arrival. I’m in casual clothes and was just watching SportsCenter. Not like I had any plans other than catching Monday Night Football and seeing how the league is shaping up for this season. That and nursing my feelings about fucking up the game yesterday.

Knox: I can be there in twenty minutes. Good?

Lilah: Cool. See you there.

Well, shit. I guess I have plans after all.

When I walk into Brick and Barley fifteen minutes later, Lilah is already in the bar area at a high-top table in a corner. I walk over, keeping my nondescript ball cap pulled low and avoiding eye contact. This isn’t a sports bar, but I never know who will recognize me when I’m out and about in Atlanta. It’s common to be stopped on the street, out at a restaurant, or even while shopping for groceries. I’ve taken to getting everything delivered at this point to avoid it. I like fans; that’snot the problem. I hate the lack of anonymity and the constant feeling of being under a microscope. Like a fucking goldfish in a bowl, someone is always tapping at the glass and peering in at me.

I slide into the seat across from Lilah and catch the look of surprise that crosses her features before her pretty grin stretches her face, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“You’re early,” she says as she turns her phone over so the screen is against the table and gives me her full attention.

“Can’t leave a pretty girl like you waiting.” I lace my fingers together on the table and give her a quick once-over. She seems off, agitated, maybe. She’s usually so unruffled and confident. It’s throwing me that she’s anything less now that we’re one-on-one. I don't want her to feel nervous around me when there’s no need.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't message you because I want to get in your pants or anything,” she says. “You’re awfully complimentary for someone who just wants to be a friend, so don't try too hard to win me over.”

“Did you expect me to call you a troll and treat you like one of the guys?”

This makes her laugh, a small snort escapes as she looks down and shakes her head. “No, of course not. I'm just reiterating that I don’t date athletes, so you can chill on the flirty banter.”

I shake my head adamantly. “And I told you, you’re safe with me. I have no interest in you except strictly platonic. Sowhat’s up? You seem off. We’re friends. You can unload about whatever it is.”

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