Page 114 of Don't Fall for the Goalie

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I glance automatically toward the hallway before grabbing the phone. It’s Brent, my agent.

Anxiety tightens in my chest.

This can’t be good.

I answer as I head for the back deck. “What’s up?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Brent says dryly.

I grunt.

There’s a pause before his tone shifts into business mode. “We’ve got a situation.”

Cold dread settles low in my stomach. “What now?”

“We’re getting hammered with media requests already. Training camp hasn’t even started, and hockey social media is acting like you secretly got married.”

Jesus Christ.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and stare out at the trees behind the cabin. “Tell them to fuck off.”

“Can’t.”

“Watch me.”

“Daltyn.” That one word carries years of exhausted agent patience.

I exhale sharply.

Brent keeps going before I can interrupt. “The airport photos blew up. Then the lingerie store photos hit. Now people are connecting Peyton to Landon Cross, and sports blogs are sniffing around trying to figure out whether she’s his ex.”

My entire body goes rigid. “What?”

“Relax,” Brent says quickly. “Nothing major has surfaced yet.”

Yet.The word slams into me like a body check.

“She’s not part of this,” I bite out.

“I know. Which is exactly why we need to get ahead of it before the media turns it into a circus.”

I pace the deck slowly, my shoulders tense.

“I’m setting up a five-minute Zoom interview this afternoon with a couple of reporters. Team PR. Easy.”

“No.”

“It’s happening.”

I glare out at the woods like Brent’s physically standing in front of me. “I’m not dragging Peyton into this shit.”

“Then don’t.” Brent sighs. “Just smile. Be vague. Don’t swear.”

“Got it.”

A beat passes.

“Mostly.”

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