“Next time don’t run down the hallway in heels,” he chastised.
There was a collective groan from the rest of us.
“Jesus, Cannon, can’t you just say you’re welcome?” Connell shook his head.
“I’ll be more careful in the future.” The girl’s gaze dropped from Cannon to her elbow—which he was still holding.
He let go quickly.
“Miss VanDoren, you’re sure you’re okay?” Axel asked, which had us all looking in his direction.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Nystrom, absolutely. You’re actually the reason I’m down here. Langley is running over the promotion schedule for the upcoming Children’s Hospital Gala, and she wanted to make sure that you would…” Her gaze flickered past every one of us. “Ask your teammates if they wouldn’t mind stopping by my office to sign the gear we’re auctioning off so we can get the photographs taken? Oh, and if you knew of any players that you might be able to talk into coming?”
“You mean my wife asked which of my guys I’d order to be at her mercy?” Axel asked with a booming laugh.
“Well, yes, though it’s really more at my mercy, so no blaming Langley.” She flashed a smile.
“We’re in playoffs, and you want us to come to a gala?” Cannon crossed his arms.
Pink tinged the girl’s cheeks, but she tilted her head and looked up at Cannon. “Well, since the gala is scheduled over two months from now, you should be done with playoffs. Unless you were thinking you’d play fourteen games in the finals, instead of seven?”
Gotta hand it to the girl, she stared down the dragon without blinking.
A corner of his mouth lifted.
“I’ll send the guys up, Miss VanDoren,” Axel promised.
“Thank you.” She smiled again, looking each of us in the eye before turning back to Cannon. “And thank you again for catching me. Those are some reflexes you have. I hope you didn’t do too much damage to your gear in the process.”
Cannon nodded in reply, and she walked away, her heels clipping noticeably slower this time.
“Langley’s assistant gets her own office? How the fuck old is she? Twelve?” Cannon bent and picked up both his stick and his helmet from where he’d abandoned them in the rush to catch Miss VanDoren.
“Persephone VanDoren isn’t Langley’s assistant,” Axel clarified. “She’s the head of the Reaper Foundation. You know, that whole charity thing we do?”
Cannon’s jaw flexed.
“She does things like organize galas to help kids with cancer, and figure out where we can help out the community. And she’s not twelve. At least I don’t think she is. She just graduated college. Also, you’ll learn where her office is really quickly, since you’ll be the first one up there to sign whatever the fuck she wants.” Axel gave Cannon a grin and walked off toward the locker room.
Connell started laughing.
“What the hell is so funny?” Cannon snapped.
“You dropped your precious little stick!” The Scotsman roared with laughter as he walked by. “Not that I blame you. That lass is a beaut. Not that she’s my type. I prefer my women with a little more to hold on to, but still.”
Cannon narrowed his eyes on Connell’s back as he followed Axel into the locker room.
“Her name is really Persephone?” Cannon questioned, looking at his stick. “Who the hell does that to their kid?”
“Don’t,” Lukas warned.
“Don’t what?” Cannon spat back.
“Just...don’t.” He gave Cannon’s shoulder a pat as he left for the locker room.
Cannon turned his gaze on me, narrowing his eyes.
“Hey, I didn’t say shit.” I tilted my head and left him standing in the hallway.
A half-hour later, I stood by the locker Zimmerman was using as he zipped up his bag. “Walk out with me,” I ordered.
He followed, and we made our way out with the rest of the team, all headed for the parking lot.
“Look, you have to cool it,” I warned him. “I know you’re excited, and this is pretty much as awesome as it gets, but you’re pissing off the wrong people.” I nodded at Thurston as we passed his car.
He opened his door and swore as something fell out and rolled down the slope toward us.
Zimmerman and I both bent, but I caught it, scanning the label by sheer habit.
What the actual fuck.
“Here you go,” I said as I handed the bottle back to him.
He looked at both of us and nodded his thanks, then got into his car faster than I’d ever seen him do before.
“Did you see that?” Zimmerman asked me in a hushed tone.
“See what?” I questioned, my insides curdling.
“You seriously didn’t see the label on that fucking bottle?” His tone implied that he had.
My stomach flipped over.
“I don’t make a habit of reading my teammates’ prescriptions,” I told the kid. “You shouldn't either. Remember what I just said about pissing off the wrong people.”
Before he could say anything else, I got into my truck and put the key in the ignition. Thurston was using steroids. Part of me understood—he was trying to heal up from his injury and didn’t want to lose his spot.