The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

What the fuck? Seriously.

What the hell is my ex doing here? And why didn’t I stop it? This is all my fault. I should’ve replied to her text. With one quick stab of my finger, I deleted it the other day, figuring I’d ignore her. Figuring that would make her go away. But maybe if I’d replied to it, she wouldn’t have sabotaged this event.

I’ve got to tell Everly I had no idea Lyra was coming. Don’t want her to think I had anything to do with this sideshow my ex has engineered out of nowhere. I can’t even imagine what Everly must think. But I can’t tell her now .

I clamp my molars together, grinding them in annoyance as I skate onto the ice with my teammates. We’re in jerseys, jeans and skates—promo wear.

The ice is packed—Donna the emcee, a photographer Everly hired, a ton of local lifestyle media, and a Chihuahua mix, a Beagle mix, a terrier of some sort, a lab-husky mutt, and a dog that looks like a Corgi met a Great Dane, and I really am not sure who was the mom and who was the dad in that situation, but if the dad was the Corgi I’d be real impressed.

As they promised they’d be here, the GM is sitting in the stands, just behind the bench, and she’s next to Zaire. Garrett’s sitting with them, too, and I feel like the bad kid at school, with Dad and the principal watching over me to make sure I behave.

Which is even harder because, oh right, there’s one more person. Lyra’s standing casually by the boards, the queen of surprises, like she’s a part of this. Because of course, that’s what somebody like her can do. Somebody world-famous can drop in and become a part of things where she doesn’t even belong.

As her bodyguards flank her, she coos and smiles at all the dogs. The press snap pictures of her kissing the mutts like she’s a politician with babies. She’s dressed in her trademark ripped jeans, with a T-shirt that slopes down her shoulder, showing off her tattoos and her silver star, sun, and moon necklaces, her wavy red hair falling down past her shoulders.

Elias latches onto her, grinning like this is the highlight of his life. “Would you want to adopt one and take it home?”

The question is dripping with hope. Obsequiousness too. Bet he’s crossing his fingers that this will be his breakout moment. That he’ll get some comment from her and use it somewhere to level up in his promotion battle. I hate that guy more than I did before.

Lyra brings her hand to her chest, a practiced move that I’ve seen from her a dozen times before, but it still convinces everyone she legitimately means what she says. “I’d love one of these sweeties if I wasn’t on the road so much.”

Everly stands like a sentry a few feet away, patiently waiting to take over the event again since hockey players are nothing compared to a pop star. We’re chopped liver, and the media wants the porterhouse of Lyra until the redhead who was supposedly brokenhearted when our romance ended—or so the public thinks—seems to notice the commotion, saying, “Oh my gosh, I did not mean to steal the focus. Let me get out of your way.”

With a wave, she takes off, leaving the ice with her entourage, her havoc wreaked.

My heart rushes to Everly, and I want to skate over, grab her, and explain that if I’d only answered Lyra I could have stopped this circus. But Everly’s on the move already. She scurries over to bubbly-faced, rosy-cheeked Donna, whispers something to her, then steps away.

With a nod, Donna strides in front of the photographers, her trademark mic in hand. “It’s always great to have a surprise guest. And dogs love surprise guests because they love everyone. We’ve got some amazing mutts here that are looking for homes. And some of our guys are going to show them off to you.”

Damn. That was some impressive ringmastering from Everly.

Donna introduces the first pup, a dog named Prancer who comes running like a springy pony toward Asher, who hugs the little guy. Photographers snap pictures. Then it’s Asher’s turn to introduce the next one. Miles goes next, then Wesley, until it’s my turn to introduce Simon the Corgi-Great Dane .

“And this guy loves long baths in the sun,” I say to the crowd, but I sound…gruff. Distant.

Like how you always sound.

Maybe no one cares. Maybe they’re all used to that from me. But I’m so thrown off that I’m barely even sure how to fucking talk anymore.

There aren’t the usual sports reporters here. These are lifestyle reporters. TV anchors. Influencers. It’s a whole new ball game, and when I pose with a cute little Chihuahua named Lulu, I feel like I’m someplace else.

All I want to do is talk to Everly and tell her I’m sorry I didn’t reply to Lyra’s text because this event going sideways is all my fault.

When the photographers lower their cameras, one of them thrusts out a phone toward me. “Is it true that the two of you are back together? Did Lyra come here for you?”

Are you kidding me? That will never happen. I steal a glance at Everly, and hurt flashes in her eyes.

Shit.

She thinks that’s why Lyra’s here too. But does she think I want that?

Briefly, the words Everly fed me flash through my head— I love animals, and I just want to help them all find a home . And I do hope they all get adopted today. But the words that come out of my mouth are, “Do you want to talk about the charity and the dogs, or do you want to gossip?”

In no time, Asher arrives next to me in a spray of ice from his blades. He pats my shoulder. “They are kind of gossip hounds , aren’t they?” he adds a wink. “But they’re here for the dogs too. Maybe we can find a new team mascot. ”

He always knows what to say, and I’m so fucking grateful. I should follow his lead. “That’s a great idea,” I say, with as much pep as I can muster.

“Let’s do it,” Asher adds.

“They’re all adorable,” I add and maybe, just maybe I haven’t dug myself a bigger press grave than the one I was already in.

A few seconds later, Everly steps into the fray holding Donna’s mic, standing next to the emcee. “That’s a great idea, Asher,” Everly says. “We can actually help Donna find a new Sea Dog. She just said she wants to take a pup home today.”

With a coolness and a savvy that never ceases to amaze me, Everly guides the reporters over to the pups and they spend the next hour helping pick a new rescue dog for Donna.

Somehow Everly saves the event. When it’s over and I finally head off the ice, Asher asks where I’m going. “Need to find Everly,” I grunt out then leave. Garrett tries to flag me down, but I give him a quick wave and shake of the head. Don’t have time for him. Don’t have time for anyone but the woman who has to think the worst.

What else would she think?

Lyra is spinning some narrative, and the media is eating it up, thinking we’re back together. But what does Everly think?

I search for her in the arena, marching down the hall to her office even, but I can’t find her anywhere. She doesn’t answer when I call her. Or when I text. But as I’m stalking down the hall to the players’ lot on the way to my car, Asher catches up to me. “Lambert, Everly’s the one who told me to say that,” he tells me.

My brow knits. “The gossip hound thing? ”

“Yeah. She saved the whole damn thing,” he says, clearly impressed with our publicist, then blunt as fuck with me as he adds, “Maybe you should…talk to her. ”

“I should. I will,” I say, owning it. “Thanks, man.”

I really fucked this whole day up by doing…nothing. Which means it’s time to do something.