Logan Romano took the NHL like a hurricane- dark and brooding.
With his natural talent, brute force and sheer determination, he goes completely unchallenged both on and off the ice.
He's notorious. Both for his success and his stormy personality...
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The second the phone starts to ring, I know I'm in for a world of trouble.
I should have seen this coming- I should have prepared some kind of alibi or background story. Something, anything, to try and ease this pain and prevent this inevitable grilling.
But I didn't think hard enough. I didn't act quick enough.
The news had already travelled to the wrong ears before I got the chance to stop it. And now I have to pay the price.
* Incoming call: Tate Wilder *
Tate was one of my closest friends in college. He was our team captain, one of my roommates and probably one of the only reasons I made it out of Michigan semi-sane. I have him to thank for a lot and I'm extremely grateful for our friendship.
But living across the country from one another has changed our dynamic. We don't talk quite as much as we used to and, when we do, it's usually about work, our fantasy hockey league or how his wife's, Willow, pregnancy is going.
Sure, he asks me how I'm doing and they're both always checking up on me but I'm a pretty private person. I like to keep stressful situations under wraps until I manage to get control of them. I don't want them to worry.
But I don't think I'll ever get control over the current fucked up situation I find myself in, so I've simply not told them.
I suppose the press has done that for me. Bastards.
"Here goes nothing." I mutter to myself with a clenched jaw as I slide the answer button across and bring the phone up to my ear.
I inhale deeply and expel the breath in a harsh huff before speaking. "Hey, man. What's up?" That's my best attempt at seeming casual. If he sniffs out one ounce of fear, it's game freaking over.
"What's up?!" A female voice screeches back, a voice certainly not belonging to Tate. "Are you fucking kidding me right now, Logan Romano?"
I wince, the sound of Willow's voice sending a chill down my spine. If I thought being interrogated by Tate was going to be bad, God knows what Willow will do to me.
From the second they started dating, they became my surrogate parents and, at times, therapists. Even now, as we're all nearing 30, they still see themselves as my protectors.
Willow seamlessly fit into our lives like a missing puzzle piece and I wouldn't trade her for the world. She's like my little sister- someone I adore and despise all wrapped into one. But fuck does she know how to give me one hell of a headache.
