Joel
“Every media outlet on the planet wants to talk about your woman.” Coach had drawn me to a halt just inside the door to the locker room, leaning in to speak over the din of my teammates.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“I’ll keep them out until you’re gone,” he told me. “But do me a favor and change quick then get the fuck out of here, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said, still muttering.
Tired as fuck of this shit.
Already hating this shit.
And we were two days in.
But also knowing there was nothing to do but endure it.
So, I nodded my thanks, hustled to my stall, and got out of my gear—sweater into the bin in the center of the room, along with socks and underthings. Helmet, gloves, skates, elbow and shin guards, shoulder pads, jock. All hung up or shoved onto the shelves. The fuck out of the way so I could take the fastest shower on record and get dressed.
Coach nodded at me when I shrugged into my suit jacket, allowing me to slip by him and make my way down the hall toward the exit that led to the player’s parking lot.
I turned the corner, bypassing any risk of running into the media…
But nearly running into Fox.
I’d been in such a hurry I hadn’t noticed my teammate wasn’t in the locker room.
Instead, he was still geared up…
And standing about two inches from Dessie, towering over her, expression fierce, snapping out, “Don’t you fucking dare deny that what we—”
Dessie noticed me, probably because I was very much not gracefully avoiding the contact, arms windmilling as I did my best to skid to a halt and not interrupt…
Whatever the fuck was going on here.
Because Dessie and Fox were oil and water, and they did not get along, and did not like each other at all—
Hmm.
Then again neither had my Rosie and I.
Fox clearly noticed Dessie’s reaction because he spun to face me, jerking Dessie behind him, and she wasn’t a small woman by any means.
But Fox was a big fucking man.
Her tucked behind him?
She disappeared.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she hissed, shoving at Fox, stepping to the side.
“I thought you were with Rosie,” I said, trying to break some of the tense silence that was filling the hallway.
“We called it a night. I just needed to…” Her eyes cut to the side, to Fox, and it was at that moment she seemed to regret being out from behind him, being back on the conversational radar.
“Yeah, sugar lips,” Fox muttered, lifting a sardonic brow. “You needed to do what?”
My brows shot up.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossed one skate over the other, taunting grin twisting his mouth. “No quick answer to that, darlin’?”
“Fuck you, Fox,” she snapped then shifted her focus back to me. “I was stopping by here to…”
Here she faltered again.
But only for a moment.
Had to give the woman credit—she had spine and could bullshit with the best of them.
“The media were gone from your house,” she whispered. “I wanted to see if they were here instead. I wasn’t sure if you’d need someone to run interference or warn you if they were camping out in the parking lot.” She nibbled at her bottom lip. “I know Billie was worried, so I decided it was easier to just stop by.”
“And you just happened to get back here, sugar lips?” Fox murmured, ankles still crossed, sarcasm held in place. “In the player’s only section.”
“It’s not players only,” she whispered. “There are staff here too,” she added when Fox snorted disbelievingly. “And Timmy let me back when I said I needed to talk to you.” This was paired with her glancing at me again.
But I hadn’t missed that she’d shifted closer to Fox again, that his body had rotated toward hers.
That neither of them were focused on me.
Not really.
Hmm.
And as interesting as this all was, I didn’t want to play this game. I wanted to be home with my woman.
“That’s not why you came,” Fox said, uncrossing his feet and straightening to his full height. Which—even though I wasn’t small by any means—was quite formidable. “Admit it.”
Dessie straightened to her full height.
Which—considering that she used to be a firefighter before she returned to River’s Bend and took over one of the local bars, Monroe’s—was formidable in of itself.
“It’s none of your business why I’m here,” she snapped.
A bushy brow lifted. “It’s not?”
Dessie plunked her hands onto her hips, eyes narrowed. “It’s not. I’m here because I need to talk to Joel—”
“About the media?” Fox said with a laugh, and hell, if I didn’t detect a hint of jealousy in that question.
And seriously, as amusing as this whole scene was, as intriguing as what it hinted at, I just wanted to get the fuck back to my Rosie.
“Dessie,” I said firmly enough to draw her focus. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”
Her eyes slanted to Fox then back to mine.
And I got it then.
The web of bullshit she was spinning to protect herself.
Since I’d been spinning my own particular brand of bullshit not all that long ago and not wanting to believe it was bullshit, too fucking scared to admit it was more, I decided to end this, to put her out of her misery.
Because it was a kindness.
Because the sooner I did, the sooner I could get back to Rosie.
“I—” she whispered.
Fox snorted.
But before he could say anything further, voices grew louder in the hall.
“I think I saw him go this way.”
“Hurry up.”
“Move out of my way!”
“I fucking saw him leave first. I get to ask—”
Fox scowled. “Get out of here,” he growled. “And take her”—a narrow-eyed glare at Dessie—“with you.”
I didn’t argue.
Not when I wanted to get home to my Rosie.
Not when I wanted to get the fuck away from whoever wanted to ask me questions about shit I wasn’t prepared to answer.
Not when Dessie looked as desperate to escape as I was.
“Come on,” I said, taking her arm, drawing her down the hall and toward that back door. “Let’s get out of here.”
I pushed at the handle, a sliver of night air hitting my face.
“Joel—”
I glanced back at Fox.
He cut his eyes toward Dessie. “Make sure she gets home safe.”
I nodded, shoved the door further open, dropped my hand to her back, guiding her outside.
Toward my car.
“I can get home.” I slanted a look in her direction, silently telling her to not peddle that bullshit in my direction. “I’m four blocks away,” she said, shoulders straightening, chin lifting. “You don’t have to drive me. I can—”
I tugged open the passenger’s side door of my car, waited.
She sighed, dropped her head back, gaze on the dark sky overhead for one long moment.
Then she exhaled again, brought her chin down…
And got in my car.
I drove her back to Monroe’s, to the apartment she lived in above the bar.
Then I took the winding roads.
Back to where I needed to be.
To my Rosie.