Page 105 of Playing His Game

“Turns out they don’t like being yelled at about ethically dubious NHL sales.”

“Youyelled at them. So you didn’t know about it?”

Mo’s stomach soured. He’d felt bad enough knowing Adam thought he’d been in on it. He hadn’t stopped to think about all the other perceived betrayals. “No! God, no, knowing about it would require them to tell me anything about their business. Now Adam thinks I fucked him over and—I mean, Ididfuck him over, I should’ve told him how I felt instead of trying to cut things off before I got hurt, but as you may have noticed,I am not good at feelings.”

Mads caught his wrist, making him aware of the rag he’d been waving around for emphasis, and gently pried it away from him before he could smear grease all over her, himself, and the desk. “So are you going to fix it or what?”

For the first time, he let himself hope. “Do you think I can? I mean, he told me to fuck off and blocked my number.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mads nodded gravely. “It’s totally hopeless. You should definitely give up on true love because your fake ex-boyfriend has head trauma.”

Mo startled into a sharp laugh, his stomach wobbling at the wordstrue love. “Okay, uh, I see your point, but it’s hard to ask to talk when my only option is showing up on his doorstep again and yelling at him through the doorbell camera. If one of his neighbors gets video of that, he might actually die. So unless someone in his inner circle takes pity on me and agrees to get him a message…”

“So you can explain he only half made a mistake in trusting you and that if he gives you another shot, you’ll spend the rest of your life content with the fact that your garage—I mean the one at home, not this one—will always smell like hockey funk?”

Mo’s throat tightened. Fuck, why did that sound so good? “Mads.”

“So?”

“If it works—the next, like, twenty years of paint nights are on me.”

Finally, Mads smiled. “Twenty years? You’d better have a pretty good plan.”

Not yet—but he would.

“I’ll make it work.”

Adam had just showered after a morning run on the treadmill when Jorts knocked on the door. He had his smallest—two-year-old Jane—on his hip, a diaper bag over his shoulder, and an envelope in his free hand.

“Good morning. Say hi to Uncle Adam, sweetie!”

Jane babbled and held out her hands, so Adam took her and left Jorts to deal with the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asked once they were settled in the living room, Jane at their feet with toys.

“Janey and I are making a stop on our busy morning of errands.” He blinked innocently, which meant he was up to something.

“Uh-huh. And what kind of errand involves me?”

He spread his hands. “I’m on a mission from God. By which I mean my wife.”

Adam raised a brow. “She got sick of you already?”

“Oh my sweet summer child. It’s notmyattitude she’s sick of.” Adam flushed at the implication. “See, she has this dumb friend who went and got his heart broken for no good reason, and she’s a big softie so it’s really bumming her out.”

Adam huffed. “Sorry.”

“For what? No one said this story was about you.” Jorts reached out to tickle Jane, who shrieked happily before returning to her toys. “Anyway, this guy’s having a bad time. Breakup, makeup, breakup again, disowned by his parents and thrown out on the street—I guess you weren’t exaggerating when you complained about the Du Ponts.”

The words hit him in the solar plexus. Mo got disowned?How? After everything he’d done to stay in his parents’ good graces… why lose it now?

“What happened?”

Jorts shrugged. “According to Mads, he said something about yelling at them over shady business deals. Look, Murph, I don’t know the guy like you do, but I do know you deserve to know the truth of what happened between you. Mo wants to tell you.”

Adam looked down at his hands. “What good would that do? What would it change?”

“You won’t know unless you look.” He held out the envelope.