front of the jerseys anyway.”
After stepping into the cubicle, the warm water hit me like a lover’s caress, and I groaned.
“Everything all right?” Margene asked.
“Great. Except I didn’t bring a bit of makeup with me and I have to stand in front of those bright lights for the photo ops. All you’ll see on my face are bruises after I get the blood washed off.”
“Nolan got you mostly cleaned up.” Margene paused. “Why did he come down here?”
He hadn’t considered how people might find it odd that he’d rushed to check on me. I found that unsettling and a tiny bit thrilling. Still, I had to deflect. “Probably my sister sent him.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Anyway, I’ve got face powder. That’s it.”
“That’ll work.” I stood on my tiptoes and grinned at her over the top of the door. Fuck. Smiling hurt. “Thanks, Margene, you’re a lifesaver.”
Seventeen
NOLAN
Talk about losing your shit.
I’d lost mine in a big way when I watched Gabi pounce on the other player and start pummeling her.
It wasn’t the fighting that got to me; I’d attended hundreds of hockey games and understood anger could overtake common sense in competitive situations.
But when I saw the blood spurt from Gabi’s lip like some slow-motion horror movie, rage and terror consumed me in equal parts.
Everyone in the skybox jumped to their feet when the fight broke out. Behind me Gabi’s friends yelled, “Go, go, go,” and beside me my mother said, “Oh dear,” but any other reactions didn’t register as the blood rushing in my ears blocked everything else out.
The fight seemed to go on and on.
Even after both women had gotten to their feet, Gabi was on the receiving end of a haymaker that only caught her off guard for a millisecond before she retaliated.
The crowd went nuts.
Fucking vultures.
Before Gabi even left the ice, I’d bailed out of the skybox.
The elevator would take forever, so I flashed my all-access pass to the security guard and hoofed it down six flights of stairs. Then I hustled to the backside of the arena and took the stairs down to locker room level.
Of course upon seeing me, Gabi had acted more annoyed than injured.
As she bled.
While attempting to give her the TLC she deserved, I matched her brusque attitude and made it appear my concern for her was really admonishment for how busted up she’d be for tomorrow’s big interview.
Such a fucking lie.
What I’d really wanted to do instead of taking her skates off was to sit in the corner of the locker room with her curled into me, holding her until she stopped shaking.
Instead I’d filled a bag with ice and passed it to Margene after she’d kicked me out.
Now here I was, lurking outside the locker room. Listening to her male teammates—including my damn brother—giving her kudos for getting tossed from her first NHL game.
There’s something to be proud of.
But maybe for her . . . it would be.
Jax barreled out of the locker room and almost mowed me over.
“Nolan? What are you doing down here?”
As far as Jax knew, Gabi and I had declared a tentative truce after I’d apologized for the Buddy’s incident. I couldn’t tell him why I was concerned, so I picked a plausible reason for my presence. “Mimi saw the fight and the blood, and she asked if I’d come down and check on Gabi.”
Jax’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Because I just got a text from Mimi asking if Gabi could teach her to fight like that because it was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.”
Jesus.
“So you wanna try again?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave him my slickest smile. “Actually, no, I don’t. See you upstairs.” I strode off.
The perks of the skybox were comped food and drink, but I needed a shot to calm down before I returned.
Standing in line at the scotch bar, scanning the options of the twenty different varieties they offered, I heard, “Nolan?” from somewhere behind me. I turned and a brunette with big brown eyes smiled at me.
She sauntered closer; her two-sizes-too-tight GO WILD! T-shirt left the strip of skin above the waist of her skinny jeans completely bare. “I thought that was you.” She gave me a once-over, from my Hermès tie to my royal-blue custom-tailored suit jacket and pants to my Tom Ford loafers and back up to meet my eyes. “You look good, but you don’t look much like a Wild fan.”
I’m not. “My brother, a former Blackhawks center, played in the exhibition game.”
“Oh. Right.