Page 46 of Bleacher Report
The alternative is thinking too hard about how soft she felt nestled against me last night watching the movie. How we ended up talking most of the night instead of watching any of it.
Then waking up to find her straddled over the pillow wall, dead asleep, but peaceful.
I’ve been expecting a snarky text in response to the last thing I said to her, but she must be deep in editing mode because it’s been thirty minutes since my last text asking if Sproutacus is taking well to the new place.
My phone dings in my hand, and I’m a little too quick to check.
A flash of disappointment settles when it’s not her.
It’s my agent who I met with earlier today.
Dale: I still don’t get it. New Jersey had you for the last four years and didn’t play you in the NHL. I can’t believe they’re making a play for you now. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you apprised of any new developments with Bethany. But maybe you want to consider this. You’d be closer to your mom. Just a thought.
He’s right. Being close to my mom is probably the only attractive piece to the possibility of a trade. Still, I’m not even sure if my mom needs me there. She’s playing this whole thing off, assuring me that it’s all going to be fine. And what if it is all going to be fine? What if I’m making something out of nothing?
“Finally,” Slade says, pulling me out of my thoughts, and then handing me a beer. “Thought you were going to bail.”
“Not a chance,” I say, cracking it open and taking a pull off the hoppy beer. He had no idea how badly I needed it after my agent asked me what the hell was going on and why Bethany Richards called him to discuss a trade deal, giving up two of her best players for me. “Had to meet with my agent, and physical therapy took longer than I thought.”
He shoots me a concerned glance as if he wants to pry into the conversation with my agent, but he doesn’t. Now isn’t the time, and there isn’t much to tell. My agent said that when he called Everett, he said that this was the first he’d heard of it, thoughI suspect Everett is holding his cards close to the vest. He’s a billionaire for a reason.
He just nods and then the door rings. “Must be the pizza guy. I’ll be right back.”
The rest of the guys are sprawled around the room. Aleksi’s lounging on the bean bag, Scottie and Olsen are double-teaming Luka inNHL 24, and Trey—Trey’s texting like his thumbs are trying to break the screen.
“You okay over there, Hart?” I ask him.
He looks up from his screen as if just now realizing I’ve arrived.
“I would be if Adeline’s nanny would just give me a straight answer about whether she’s going backpacking through Europe with her boyfriend next month,” he says, exhaling sharply as he tucks his phone into his pocket and pushes up from the recliner.
I follow him to the wet bar, where there’s a generous spread laid out—sliders, chips, wings, and a dangerously large platter of cookies someone probably made from scratch. And apparently, pizza just got here too.
But it will all get polished off before we leave. Morning skate was grueling earlier today, and these guys can put away some food.
He pops the top off a beer and takes a long pull before I ask, “Still having trouble with the nanny?”
He nods, jaw tight. “Yeah. She knows my hockey schedule, knows I’ve got no one else for Adeline until the season’s over. I knew she was a little young and maybe not the most mature hire, but Adeline bonded with her so fast…I let it slide.”
“And now she’s trying to take a vacation mid-season without anyone to stay with Adeline for away games,” I say, knowing exactly how this screws Trey.
Ever since he left the Army last year to take care of Adeline after both of her parents passed away in a car accident, he’s beendoing the best that he can for her. Trying to give her as normal of a life as he can as her uncle and guardian. I know Trey enough to know that failure isn’t an option, and that anyone messing with the peace he’s been trying to establish for Adeline is going to get the brunt of a not-so-nice, ex-special-forces badass.
There are only two things Trey Hartley gives a shit about in this world: winning a Stanley Cup and Adeline.
AndAdeline? She’s firmly planted in the number one spot.
“You’ve got time though, right?” I say. “Just call up one of the other nanny services. Tell Maddy to go backpacking across Europe and find herself, but she’s going to need a new job when she gets back. Easy fix.”
He grabs a chip from the bowl and crunches down like it personally offended him. He chews for a second and then responds. “I wish it were that simple. I’ve already called every agency from here to Tacoma. No one has a nanny willing to do overnight shifts, multiple days a week.”
“Shit,” I mutter, then a thought hits. “Wait—why don’t you talk to Isla? Her sister owns a nanny company, right? She was at Oakley’s that night that I, uh…accidentally called Peyton a puck bunny.”
A rare grin tugs at his mouth. “Vivi Newport.”
I raise a brow. “Yeah. What—do you know her?”
“No. But Vivi’s hard to miss.”
