Page 63 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Giving him a belligerent stare, I’ve now lost my cool. Great. I’m breathing hard, angry as fuck, my mind circling around all the possible targets for my anger. The biggest one is me. It’s all my own fucking fault, first and last, it’s all started with me because I thought it was so much fun to be big man on campus and then toast of the town. So much fucking fun. Drawing in a deep ragged breath, I shove a shaky hand through my hair.
“It’ll be okay. I can get us out of this.” My agent starts pacing in a circle. I don’t miss the fact that he owns the problem as if it’s his, as if he’s part of my team, and I realize he is. One more person whose loyalty I have. And whose loyalty I don’t necessarily deserve.
But I remember Levi’s words and shut down that crap. I pay my agent well, do him favors when he needs them, celebrate victories with him. Hell, I even attended his wedding solo at his request last year. So, yeah, maybe I am a decent friend and client.
Slapping him on the shoulder, I suck in another breath and say, “Pay him off. Just get a fucking confidentiality agreement and pay them off. No way are we going to trial.”
“It may or may not be that simple Ryan. He’s your fucking accountant.”
I nod, knowing. Tim’s got my balls in a vise and he may want to squeeze them for more than money. He may be out for blood.
“I understand. I’ll have a new accountant by tomorrow. And a lawyer. If I have to go to trial, I will. It so happens I’m innocent.”
“In this case. But you know your entire reputation and way of life will be on trial.”
“I know,” I smile. “Lucky for us I’m not a complete shithead then, isn’t it?”
He laughs, slaps my back. “That’s right. You’re a fucking decent guy and people love you. Even the women.” He shakes his head. “Especially the women.”
“Plus, I have a witness.”
I don’t mention to him my witness is the one woman who doesn’t love me. She in fact hates me. Or she should.
“Shit,” he says. I follow his scowl to the arched entryway where a few media types are gathered, phones out, excitement in their expressions. And they’re looking my way.
“Fuck. You think they sent it to the media already?”
“Looks that way. Let’s get you out of here.” He takes my arm, but I don’t budge. He’s not about to drag me. He’s not that guy. Besides, I’m a hell of a lot bigger than he is and if I don’t want to go somewhere, there are very few people who can make me.
One of those people is heading my way right now, running in heels and her insanely sexy black dress. She looks like the most gorgeous freak of nature I’ve ever seen, like an X-Men heroine come to life. She reaches me fast with those long legs, but the half dozen media people I recognize are closing in.
“Ryan.” She’s breathless and the flash of memory of the last time I saw her breathless floods my perverted, messed-up head. “This is serious—there’s a—”
“We know all about it, Ms. Wilde,” Ham cuts in. “I was just about to get him out of here.”
She nods. “Good. I’ll make the official team statement.” She turns to me. “It’s the usual we’ll-investigate-the-matter, innocent-until-proven-guilty statement.” Her eyes blaze at me, telegraphing all kinds of irresistible things. Care, worry, pleading, regret—always that damn regret. But there’s still some of that adoration underneath it all, maybe some real feelings under the layers of resistant caution.
“If I’m leaving, Chelsea’s coming with me,” I say, my eyes locked on hers.
“I have to stay and give a statement.” She turns as one of the loudest sports writers shouts a question. We’re damn lucky there aren’t any cameras in the room at this point, though they were outside earlier, so they may show up again.
“Let’s go,” Ham says, getting aggressive with his pressure on my arm.
Chelsea pushes me back, not shy about manhandling me. “Go. Now.”
“We’ll wait for you in the garage,” I say as we move toward an exit.
“O’Rourke, is it true that you sexually assaulted Tiffany Fagan at your sister’s wedding?”
Chelsea fronts the guy, blocking him from getting closer as I back away.
“Mr. O’Rourke has nothing to say. It’s a legal matter. The team will do a thorough investigation of the alleged incident before any decision is made or action taken.”
“Isn’t Ryan O’Rourke being accused of sexual assault? And if so, what will the team do if criminal charges are filed?”
Chelsea pales and I start toward her, but Ham pulls me back, farther away from the swarm of media and others as security fills in between the crowd and her—and between her and us.
She breaks from the team management line and speaks up loud and clear as we’re going through the door. But I hear her says she was there, that she was a witness and it never happened and she will testify.
