“Both of you shut the hell up,” Coach snapped. “You’re both out for this game.”
My stomach hit the floor.
“You’re fucking kidding me!” Maxim snarled.
“I’m not.” Coach shook his head. “I’m not taking either of you out on the ice. Not like this. Get dressed. I’ll see you both upstairs after the game.”
Shit.
We won, according to the television screen in Persephone’s office, where I’d watched the entire thing play out. It was close, five to four, and I knew it wouldn’t have been if I’d kept my shit together in the locker room.
Sawyer was exhausted.
The planned lines were fucked without Maxim.
The sinking pit of a feeling growing in my stomach was some well-deserved shame.
A knock on the doorframe made me turn. Persephone stood in the doorway, offering me a kind smile. “You’ve been summoned to the headmaster’s office,” she said with a cringe, handing me a fresh ice pack for my busted lip.
“Silas?” I guessed, coming to my feet.
She shook her head and scrunched her nose. “Langley.”
I sighed but nodded, following Cannon’s wife to the Reapers’ publicity office. Five minutes later, I sat across the small conference table from Maxim, who was glaring daggers at me as we waited for Langley.
“You hit like a girl,” he growled, leaning forward.
“Nice ice pack.” I motioned toward his cheek, where he held an identical compress to mine.
“Both of you shut the hell up,” Coach growled, taking the seat at the foot of the table as the door shut. “I have no problem knocking your heads together.”
“Now that everyone’s here,” Langley, the head of the Reapers’ publicity staff, sang as she sank into the chair at the head of the small table.
London lowered herself into the chair between Langley and Maxim.
Our eyes met and held for a moment that was just long enough to stutter my heartbeat and steal the breath from my lungs.
Her suit was tailored to perfection and just as black as her hair, which only seemed to make her eyes stand out even more. Those strawberry lips parted, and she leaned in slightly.
“I don’t know what happened in the locker room,” Langley launched in, drumming her fingertips on the table. “And I honestly just don’t care. But I do know that it can’t happen again.” Her lips pursed as she looked at Coach. “Sorry, did I just steal your thunder?”
“Feel free,” he motioned her onward. “I plan to take it out of their asses during practice this week, so the floor is all yours.”
“I can’t even begin to tell you what a fucking nightmare you two have the potential to be if you don’t pull your shit together,” she leveled a stare on both Maxim and me. “And I’m not just talking about the scoreboard. That’s not my department.” A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “But I bet my husband is going to have plenty to say to you about that one, too.”
Maxim sighed, letting his head fall back slightly.
At least I knew Axel…and Coach. Maxim was the outsider here.
“But if you think we’re going to pull off any kind of family-centered promotion like we have planned…” She shook her head. “Just look at you!” She threw out her hands, pointing to each of us. “Black eyes and busted lips. How the hell are we supposed to bring in a photographer? Of all the unprofessional, immature antics to pull, a locker room brawl is right up there with a—”
“Bar?” I helped her along, knowing she was probably up to her elbows dealing with Brogan’s arrest last night.
“Don’t fucking start with me, Jansen. Not today. Not when I thought I could count on you to stand up not just for the Reapers—but for the Ronald McDonald House cause.”
“Wait. What?” I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on the table.”
“I told you he was going to be the problem.” Maxim reached across the back of London’s chair and rested his arm there.
Fucker.
“Right. Like I’m the problem.” I threw my ice pack on the table.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Put that ice back on your Armani ad face, you idiot.” She pushed the ice pack toward me, and I took it, because it was Langley. Because as pissed as I was, she was my family. The Reapers were my family, not the smirking jackass across the table with his arm around my girl’s chair.
Not. Your. Girl.
“It was only one Armani ad,” I grumbled, wincing at the pressure against my lip.
“The promo shots are scheduled for this week!” she snapped. “And I never thought you