Page 97 of Lucky Puck

I stop in my tracks and lean against a wall. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Fuck you. I don’t have time for this, and I don’t owe you anything⁠—”

“If you hang up, I’m going to sell the most salacious version of events that happened in Vegas, including the fact that you’re not married to⁠—”

“Fuck. Alright.” I take in a deep breath as my heart hammers, and I barely stop myself from punching a wall. This isn’t good. If he outs the fake marriage, it may not be a big deal for me, but it would kill Brooks’ career. She’d lose all credibility and possibly her license for fraud. Fucking Bigelow.

“Bianca promised that I would be compensated and sent me a small sum of money, but that isn’t enough. Things have changed. I was fired for helping you, and you need to take responsibility.”

“Look, I’m sorry you were fired. We can talk about arranging some compensation in a few days. But right now⁠—”

“If you don’t wire me ten thousand by tomorrow, I’ll have no choice but to sell my story. I could call Bianca for more money, but that doesn’t seem fair since you have so much more money than she does, and the whole mess was your fault in the first place. She worked hard to bail you out⁠—”

“I told you we’ll have to talk about this next week. I’m playing a game tonight, and nothing is going to distract me from doing that.” I hold my breath and hope to hell he doesn’t call my bluff because no way am I going to let Brooks take the fall.

“Fine. I’ll call Bianca to wire me the money, and you can pay her back⁠—”

“Fuck no. Don’t you dare call Bianca.” The last thing she needs is the threat of her career being ruined. Because of me.

He laughs. “Well, well, well. The hockey frat boy actually gives a shit. How much is she worth to you?”

“You piece of shit.” I can’t let him call her. I’m overwhelmed with relief that he hasn’t—or has he?

“Have you already talked to her? So help me if I find out⁠—”

“No. Like I said. I know who has the money.”

“I’ll wire you ten thousand⁠—”

“The price went up to twenty-five thousand.”

I hold onto my shit, barely, and take a fucking deep breath, nodding at a stick boy who walks by me. I only need to stall Bigelow until after the fashion show. After Brooks and I stage our fight, we’ll have a falling out, and it shouldn’t take more than a few days for us to end things publicly. That’ll take the sting out of his threat.

“We have a game and a charity fashion show coming up, so I’m busy. Next week⁠—”

“I want twenty-five grand.”

“You’re a fucking piece of shit. Like I said, I’ll arrange something next week. In the meantime, if you say one word to Bianca, I’ll⁠—”

“I won’t. She’s too good for you, you know. She’d never really marry the likes of you.”

“That’s something we can agree on.” I end the call and shove the phone in my pocket with a shaky hand. I hope to hell he’s not lying about talking to Bianca.

I don’t eat, and I don’t sleep. The one thing I do is call Brooks. As I press her icon on my phone, the bikini-body cartoon, I’m hyperaware that this is the worst possible preparation for a hockey game I’ve ever had. And I don’t give a fuck.

She’s surprised to hear from me.

I tell her I should make a move on Nora rather than rely on her to misbehave.

She’s insisting that I can’t be painted as the bad guy, that it has to be Nora and her who are the targets of social media outrage, not me. She’s counting on Kara’s help with that.

Now, with Bigelow’s threats hanging over our heads, unbeknownst to her, I have some work to do to make sure Brooks comes out of this situation whole. Since I haven’t heard from Bigs the Blackmailer, I’m assuming he’s going to sell us out whether I pay his blackmail money or not.

During the game, I’m so fucking distracted that the team would have been better off if I were still benched. We lose in overtime. But even guilt over missing an easy shot doesn’t bother me as much as the need to neutralize Bigelow’s threat.

“Where are you going?” Sabien asks as we’re leaving, and I’m heading for the bus to the hotel.

“Come out with us in Boston,” Ax says, trying to maintain a positive attitude, though his smile lacks its usual enthusiasm. “Where’s Brooks? She should come too.”