Page 4 of Ice Wolf
The stories were becoming even crazier the later it got in the evening.
Nine feet tall? I wish. Maybe that would clinch the playoff position.
I took another gulp of my drink and considered my favorite comment of the thousands that had popped up in every social media outlet.
With a grin on my face, I pressed my hand down on my junk. Two cocks, huh? Maybe that would allow me to get more hot dates. Especially since I couldn’t remember the girl’s face at all. Sure, I dated a lot of women, if you could call a one-night standdating them. A six-month relationship? Bullshit. I wasn’t into relationships of any kind. Not good for my career.
But a full moon. Really? People spent way too much time watching horror flicks made in the nineteen eighties. Werewolves didn’t exist. Not on this planet or any other.
The sound of my phone chirping was right on cue. I was shocked that it had taken my dad this long to call. I hit accept and slowly brought the cellphone to my face. “Yeah, Dad. How’s it shaking?”
“Now isn’t the time to act nonchalant, son. Being the arrogant playboy isn’t going to get you out of this mess.” Barrett Masters suffered no fools, including among his children. He was too powerful. Too influential.
And too fucking rich.
Plus, I’d been labeled the bad boy of my family, not just with my team. “Hello to you too. I guess you heard.”
I thought the man might be having a heart attack given the amount of noise he was making. “I’ve had fifty-two calls in the last three hours. Fifty-two. Reporters. Investors. Board members. Hell, your grandmother called and she’s way too busy with her bridge club to stay in contact. How the hell did you get yourself in the middle of this shit?”
Cringing, I took a deep breath. Maybe I’d had a couple too many drinks in my celebration of getting one win closer to the playoffs. “Some asshole took a video of the whole thing. Just a bar fight. I was protecting a chick.”
He cursed under his breath. “Well, money-grubbing assholes are a dime a dozen. Videos can easily be doctored. Hell, stupid kids do it all the time on TikTok. Here’s what we’re going to do. First,you’re not going to answer any questions. Not with reporters and not with your team. Not until I’ve figured this out.”
The only good thing about the incident was that none of my teammates had been at the bar when the shit went down. “I have a meeting with the coach in the morning, Dad. I can’t tell him no comment.”
“That’s exactly what you’re going to do. Our attorney is already working on discrediting this James person and the asshole who took the video. They’ll be nothing more than pedophiles when Michael gets done with them. Just stay to yourself and keep your nose to the grindstone. This will all blow over before you know it.”
I took a swallow of my drink. My dad was a control freak and always had been, but he’d never been this disturbed about anything, including when I’d wrecked his beloved nineteen sixty-four Camaro. “What if it doesn’t, Dad? What then?”
His snort was full of the same arrogance he accused me of having. “Trust me. It will. One way or another. Just let me handle this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
His deep sigh meant he had more on his mind. “What? Just say it.”
“I think it’s time you took a week off to fulfill your more primal needs.”
Primal needs. Playing hockey soothed the ache, but the hunger was increasing. Nothing seemed to appease the beast inside. “After the playoffs, Dad. There’s too much riding on the last game of the season. We gotta win.”
“Just remember everyone needs a reset.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Reset. The last time I’d returned to my roots, I almost hadn’t found my way back to the life I’d fought so hard to achieve.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “I’ll deal with the fucking reporters.”
“Whatever you say, Dad.” There was no arguing with the man when he set his mind to something.
If there was one thing I knew about my father, it was that he didn’t make threats.
He made promises.
And everyone in his path should rock with fear in their boots.
As the news returned to the story of the day, I tossed the phone and narrowed my eyes.
Channel 3: Back to the news. “The question of the day. Is it possible werewolves have invaded Chicago?”
That was it. I’d reached my limit. I flicked off the television, tossed my iPad aside, and rose to my feet.
When were they going to get it right? If they wanted to malign my reputation, they needed to convey correct information. I wasn’t a goddamn werewolf. Ugly fucking hunched-over creatures with fangs and claws, shifting only during the kiss of the full moon to kill unsuspecting humans and beasts alike.
