Page 82 of Scoring Zone
Carefully tearing the seal, I scan the papers, but my brain glitches, and I can’t speak.
“Talk to me, Sunshine.”
I let out a grunt, forcing my brain back online.
“Dumas is suing me. Lost playing time. Damages. Emotional distress. Five million dollars.” My voice cracks on the last word.
“I will end that motherfucker.”
“No, don’t do anything. Promise me, Tinny.” The quartz countertop cools my overheated forehead.
“I’ll fix this,” he vows.
“You can’t take action without permission from my lawyer and Finn. Please don’t accidentally make it worse.” I’m not sure that’s possible, but I won’t tempt fate.
“Don’t worry. He doesn’t have a case.”
“Yeah,” I say, unconvinced. A civil case has a lower threshold for the burden of proof. “Let me call my lawyer, and I’ll call you back.” I hang up while he whispers he loves me, and guilt stabs me through the heart.
My lawyer has me scan the documents on my phone to send to her.
“This is very stressful, but it’s not terrible news. My sources say the criminal charges are going to be dropped, so I assume this is a last-ditch scare tactic on their part. We’re going to countersue for ten million,” my lawyer says.
I smother a gasp. “What?”
“Trust me, it’s not going anywhere. It’s about optics and paperwork.”
I bite back a rude comment about the lawyers winning with their paychecks. But Mr. Dimon is paying her, and it’s not my business. My sole role is to do what she tells me.
After hanging up, I lie on Austin’s bed and inhale his scent. I’ve never felt so alone, but I don’t answer when he calls back.
Chapter 35
Austin
I skate off the ice with my head down. Drake, the last person I expect, throws his arm around me.
“He’ll be fine. We will make sure of it,” he says in a low voice.
It’s understood that ‘he’ is Gray. I’m playing like shit. If this were a tryout, I wouldn’t make an AHL team. I grab my water bottle and focus on the game. My problem is that my mind wanders to Gray and the fact that he barely answers my calls and hardly texts back. He’s spiraling, and I’m thousands of miles away.
The second period ends, and we’re behind by one. Drake steers me into an empty video room instead of the locker room.
“I’ve watched my man self-destruct. The best thing you can do is keep your head in the game. If he sees you stumble, he’s going to blame himself, and it will make everything worse.” Drake speaks with the sincerity of a man who has lived it. Lucky’s addiction tore him apart.
“I’m trying.” My voice sounds weak and pathetic.
“The team is here for both of you. Lean on us.” He up-nods to the door, and we enter the quiet locker room. Normally, I would give an inspirational pep talk, but Liska bangs his stick and does it for me. If goalies could be captains, he would be ours. That thought hurts more than it should.
The team rallies, but I’m a detriment instead of a help. I miss a pass from Drake, trip before a shot on goal, and lose the puck three times. I have zero points in this game, and although the team fights back, we lose by a goal.
As soon as we get back to the locker room, I dial Gray. No answer. It’s possible he’s talking to the coaches or Doc, but he doesn’t send a text stating he’ll call me back.
The only good thing is we’re heading home in the morning. I need to see Gray in person and hold him in my arms.
No one argues with me when I say I’m skipping the team dinner. My stomach rumbles in protest, but I’m not in any condition to be around people. I spoke to my therapist earlier today, and she gave me some coping techniques to stop my perseverating thoughts.
Instead of using the strategies, I call Gray for the fifth time. My chest tightens when I get his voicemail. My thoughts get darker, and I imagine the worst. He’s alone in our apartment and hurting.
