Page 8 of Traded

I will not cry in front of these people. I direct my words to Lauren. “Sure. I have to… do something first. Meet me by the locker rooms in fifteen.”

I’m gone before she can respond. We make it halfway down the hall before I stop. “I…”

I don’t know what to say.

They didn’t evenconsiderme. I’ve brought them four million followers in two years, game attendance is up eight percent year-on-year, and they still didn’t think I was good enough. My eyes find the floor.

How embarrassing.

Carter grabs my hand, striding down the hall as I follow. “This isbullshit. Not even an interview? After everything you’ve done for the team?”

Shit. He can’t focus on that now. Not with everything else, and now a shared rink with the Aces on top.

“Carter, it’s fine.” When I sniff, he twists and places his hands on my face, our foreheads pressing together. His scent—black pepper, a winter bonfire, sharp and deep and smoky—does wonders for my nervous system, and I lean into it until my blurred vision clears. “And it’s done. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you. You say the word and I’ll go postal on their judgmental asses.” He studies me and kisses my forehead before we keep going. “God, the team is gonna lose their minds over all of this. And the fucking Aces moving in. What thefuck, Ro?”

I can’t see how it’ll work. The season is kindling at the best of times. Even the tightest, most loyal teams have moments where anger gets the better of them.

Having both teams in the same place? It’s only a matter of time before tensions ignite.

When Carter stops, I collide with his back. “Ow. What—”

“Look who it is.” A low, long whistle. “Hey, Cart.”

Oh, this isnot good.

My stomach flips over as I peek around Carter’s massive bulk.

The alpha shoves his tattooed hands into his pockets, hiding indigo-marked skin an exact match for Carter’s, down to the last carefully inked knot. Hazel eyes drag over me, a dozen shades of gold and green.

Boone Mercer tilts his head to the side, one side of his mouth lifting. “Ragdoll. Been a while.”

My hand grips the back of Carter’s shirt. More to remind him where we are than because I have any hope in hell of stopping him if he decides to launch himself forward. And from the harsh breathing growing louder, that moment is seconds away.

“Don’t call me that.” I plaster myself against his arm. “Heard you’re moving in for a while.”

One tooth is still crooked, courtesy of a too-hard practice shot from Carter that went awry and sent us all to the hospital. Boone had pressed my sweater over his mouth as we’d all sat in too-small chairs waiting for him to be seen.

My heartbeat speeds up, and from the look on his face, I’d swear he could hear it. A faint flush spreads across his cheekbones, but otherwise, he looks bored as he examines me. “And here I thought we were supposed to be the very best of friends this season.”

“Don’t look at her,” Carter says finally in a low voice. He steps forward, and I suck in a breath as Boone straightens, my head twisting to look down the corridor for help.

Only one other person is here.

Mike? I rack my brains. No,Mackenzie. Goalie. Scottish. Wildly popular online. He leans against the wall a few feet away, watching with a mild expression. When our eyes meet, he grins and nods his head in greeting but doesn’t say anything.

“We should go,” I say desperately. Carter and Boone ignore me. “Save the face off for tonight, yeah? We all have things to do.”

Boone laughs softly. “That’s right. Been too long since we were on the ice. Looking forward to it.”

His eyes slide to me. “Looking forward to the whole season, if we’re being honest.”

Carter slams his hand into Boone’s chest. “Leave her thefuckalone. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Boone steps back and shrugs. “Taking orders was never my strong point, though. Best of luck for the season. I’ll be seeing you, Ragdoll.”

Carter sucks in a breath as I yank on his hand, but he lets me pull him forward.