Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(63)

I alone was the one who slipped up.

Convinced that this is the only way for Aubrey to get out of her contract unscathed, and also the only way for us to be together, out in public, before the summer, I pick up my cell and call Nolan.

“You still have that video of me at the strip club?” I ask as soon as he picks up.

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Where are you?”

“Over at my house.”

“Great,” I say. “Stay put. I’ll be over in five minutes. I’ll explain everything once I’m there.”

“Okay. See you then.”

I disconnect, grab my keys and head for the door.





What the Ever-Loving…?





When I return to the living room, Brent is gone.

“What the hell?”

Did our professions of love scare him off?

I don’t really think that’s the case, but I have to question why he wandered off so quickly and out of the blue.

Plus, where did he go?

Since I’m still wearing my business clothes, a light blue linen pant suit, and it’s kind of warm inside the house, I decide to shower and change. A short while later I bop back down to the living room, dressed in the much cooler outfit of one of Brent’s Wolves tees, which is very oversized on me, and short jean shorts. Since Brent’s still MIA, I plop down on the sofa and fire up my laptop.

May as well get some work done, right?

One of my jobs is to keep tabs on social media, including all the popular sports blogs and hockey news sites. I don’t expect to find anything bad about Brent. Working through a slump and incurring a couple bad penalties, and even a suspension, doesn’t make him all that newsworthy. At least not the kind of newsworthy the team frowns on. The Wolves’ management worries more about character stuff. That’s why Benny was sent to rehab back in August. Couldn’t have pics of a raucous drunk representing the team surfacing all the time, now could we?

No.

Benny still whores around, but he’s very discreet about it. He sure wouldn’t have been if he’d been inebriated out of his mind.

And that’s what matters—appearances.

“Everything looks quiet today,” I murmur as I scan through the usual sites.

But then, just as I’m about to close the laptop, an alert pops up for a new site that’s just like Deadspin.

Crap, this new one always seems to find the most lascivious material. Still, I’m certain this newest story, whatever it is, won’t involve Brent.

Geez, I sure hope it’s not about someone else on the team. I love the Wolves, and the players have become like an extended family to me.

I click the link to go to the site and discover there’s some kind of recently uploaded video. And the buzz is already crazy.

I click and read the headline—Brent Oliver Gets His Grind On.

“What the ever-loving…?”

I watch the video.

Good God, it’s of Brent, my Brent, sloppy and drunk at a strip club. But the worst and most disgusting part is he’s getting a lap dance…and enjoying the hell out of it.

“I am going to kill him!”





I Effed Up





With the deed done, I return to the house.

I need to find Aubrey and engage in some preemptive damage control before she discovers the online video. Hopefully she hasn’t seen it yet. Nolan tried to keep me from posting it, but I ignored him. For the record, he thinks I’m a fool for f*cking things up on purpose.

I hope he’s not right.

I find Aubrey on the sofa, legs curled up under her. She has her head in one hand, her dark hair spilling over it.

Shit, she’s seen it.

“Babe…” I stop in my tracks.

She looks up at me. “Brent, what did you do?”

There are tears in her eyes, and her question is murmured in a whisper. I immediately feel like crap. “Aubs, it’s not what it looks like.”

I go over and sit next to her, but she scoots away. “Just… Give me some space, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” I assume she’s angry over the content of the video, so I address that. “Nothing more than what you saw in the video happened, Aubrey. I know it looks bad”—she peers over at me and scoffs—“but I swear that was the extent of it. The guys bought me a lap dance that night, nothing else. It happens sometimes. I know I should’ve declined, but I was drinking at the time.”

“Clearly,” she interjects, her voice dripping with sarcasm. And then she asks, “Was that video taken the night you came home drunk? The same night you let me blow you, Brent.”

“Yes,” I sheepishly admit.

She sighs, and I sense I’m in for it. But I guess we have bigger problems since she says quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me what happened? I could’ve prevented that video from getting out.”

I shrug, feeling guiltier than ever.

She shakes her head. “This is so, so bad, Brent. You don’t even know.”

“Maybe it’s not,” I counter, running my hand down my face. “We have to look at the bright side here.”

“What the hell kind of bright side are you seeing in this scenario?” she practically yells at me. “’Cause, really, Brent, if there is one, I’d like for you to share it with me.”