Page 87 of The Fine Line
JustRhett’s wifeandBear’s daughter.
Sounds about right.
“That won’t be necessary,” Dad cuts in. “I said everything I needed to in last night’s statement. Caroline and Rhett are happy. We’re happy for them. But they’ve got jobs to do, and that’s their priority. Let’s keep it on hockey.”
There’s a collective groan, but it fades when someone up front changes the subject.
“Buck, Toronto picked up Callahan this offseason. You ready to face him in net?”
And just like that, the pressure in my chest loosens.
Back to hockey.
The rest of the press conference is uneventful.
I wait in the back, hoping to slip out once the crowd thins?—
Until a voice stops me cold.
“Well, well. Nothing going on, huh, Care Bear?”
I grit my teeth.
Mick.
“You know, back in school, people used to ask me if there was something between us with the way we were always at each other’s throats. I always told them it was nothing.” His smirk is pure slime. “But hey, by your definition ofnothing,maybe I should’ve held out longer.”
“I would rather staple my tongue to a wall, Dick.”
“Funny, I’ve heard you say similar things about Slutty Sutty in the past—and then you married him.” He snorts. “In Vegas? Thought you were classier than that.”
I take a step closer. “Don’t call him that.”
“You know who you married.”
“You’re right,” I say. “And you know absolutely nothing about him.”
“To think you fooled us all. Makes me wonder what else you’ve lied about.”
“I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation. My personal life is none of your business.”
“Well, now it’s the entire NHL fan base’s business. You two made sure of that with your cute little coordinated Instagram posts.” He holds up his hands in air quotes. “‘Couldn’t Barrett any longer #SuttonlyMarried?’ Really? Who came up with that?”
I certainly didn’t. But I know if Addie were still here running the Storm’s social media, she would’ve come up with something so much better—and far less gag-inducing.
“Are you done?” I ask. “I have places to be.”
“Where next? The CEO of the NHL’s office? Do you two have a special appointment?”
“Mick, that’s enough.”
“You know, even though we never really got along, I always saw it as friendly competition. I respected you.” He laughs. “Never thought you’d be the type to sleep your way to the top. But here you are—whoring your way up the ladder. From the baby crib to a custom California king with more notches in its bedpost than either of us can count.”
My vision goes blurry. My voice comes out small but sharp. “Fuck you.”
“Way to set women in sports back twenty years?—”
“She told you that was enough.”
