Third Man In: An Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 2)

to throwaround. He’d glimpsed it.
And his phone? It had blown up withcalls and texts from news agencies and random peeps leaving assorted threatsthat ran the gamut from slashing his tires to dismembering him. How they’dgotten his number, he had no idea.
On the bus ride from San Jose International to the arena, helet his fatigue settle into his weary joints and muscles, weighing him down. Atleast he was on friendly turf.
Or so he thought.
Along with the usual smattering of better halves and fansthat typically greeted the players, they were treated to a blinding display ofred-and-blue lights on squad cars positioned around the parking lot. A copboarded the bus before the guys could shuffle off.
“T.J. Shanstrom?” he called.
Ohshit, oh shit, oh shit. I’m being arrested.
Teammates turned toward him as hestood alone in the rear, their hard gazes slicing like daggers. Stomachcurdling from the emotions tossing inside him, he set his jaw and met eachman’s eyes with his embarrassment, anger, and growing belief they’d turned onhim.
Iwas just doing my job! he wanted to yell.Any number of them had been guilty of injuring other players—hell, even thecoaches had done it during their playing days—but all of a sudden they seemedto be suffering from shared amnesia.
Oh-so-reluctantly, T.J. raised his hand, wondering if hiswrist would soon be sporting a silver bracelet. “I’m him.”
The cop zeroed in on him while seeming to address them all.“We have a situation with some pissed-off people who decided they had nothingbetter to do in the middle of the night than get wasted and welcome our boyback home.”
“Are they Earthquake fans?” T.J. asked, unable to keepdisbelief from his voice. In enemy territory, he expected this. But at home?
The policeman gave him a pointed look. “Does it matter?” ToT.J. it did, but he kept his mouth shut. “Just follow our instructions and noone will get hurt,” the cop added.
One by one, the team exited the bus until only T.J.remained.
The cop gave him a chin jerk. “Ready for your escort?”
“That bad?”
The cop didn’t answer.
T.J. sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He stepped off the busbehind the officer and was instantly flanked by two more uniforms. A burble inthe background became a rumble, and soon loud voices brayed for “justice.” Abottle shattered ten feet away, which was when T.J. noticed half a dozenpolicemen in riot gear advance on an agitated throng.
Jesus!
His heart had been racing NASCAR-fast but now kicked up totop-fuel dragster speed.
For fuck’s sake, what dimension had he landed in?
“Keep your head down,” the main cop directed. “When we getto your car, get in, lock the doors, and get the hell out.”
Something akin to panic swelled in T.J.’s gut. “What if theycome after me?”
“By the time they realize you’re leaving, they’ll be toolate. And if any of them get behind a wheel, we’ll hold ‘emup with sobriety checks. That should give you time. You live somewhere withsecurity?”
T.J. depressed his key, and his Hummer H1 chirped. “Yes.”
“Good luck,” the cop said. “And try not to run anyone overwith that tank.”
He shook the officer’s hand before sliding into the driver’sseat. “You an Earthquake fan?”
“Fan of the team, but I can’t say I’m a fan of yours.”
Ouch.T.J. started the engine, closed the door, and lowered his window.“Thanks anyway.”
The policeman gave him a head dip. “Just doing my job.”
.~* * * ~.
The next morning, T. J. stood infront of an office door, eyes flicking over gold block letters: Dan MacNeal,General Manager. He pulled in a slow, steady breath to keep hisstomach from twisting into unruly knots. It didn’t help that he still didn’tknow how May was doing. Guymust be okay. He’s gotta beback home by now.
Clenching his hand in a fist so it wouldn’t shake, heknocked. A voice told him to enter, and he stepped into a luxurious office he’donly seen once before. He barely registered three people, instead locking on aframed picture of MacNeal gripping the Stanley Cup, abig-ass smile on his face.
God, T.J. loved that silver tower. Never got tired oflooking at it. He’d won one with the LA Kings in 2012 right before being tradedto the Colorado Blizzard on his way to the Storm, and it had only made himhungrier to hoist it again. After being bounced from team to team, the questhad seemed hopeless until now. The Earthquake had a solid shot this year.
MacNeal’s smooth voice snapped himback. “T.J. Shanstrom, meet our attorney, JacobPederson.” T.J. shook hands with a sharp-nosed, gray-blond man.
The GM inclined his head toward Coach. “I’ve also askedCoach Rogers to sit in on this meeting.” T.J. exchanged head bobs with Coachbefore lowering himself into a chair.
“I got word from the league,” MacNealsaid, tapping a piece of paper on his desk.
T.J. sat forward. “Yes, sir?”
MacNeal peered at him over the topof his wire-rimmed glasses. “You’ve been suspended for the rest of the season.”
T.J.’s stomach launched itself into his throat. He fought tokeep his voice even. “That’s twenty-one games.” Another thought jarred him.“Does that include playoffs?”
A solemn nod. “As it stands, yes.The entireseason.”
Fuck!
Fuck,fuck, fuck!
“That’s months,” T.J. choked, his mind like a runawaytilt-a-whirl. He looked from MacNeal to Coach, thelatter wearing a bland expression. Or trying not to lookguilty. “Am I the only one suspended?”
Coach shot him a side glare.
Pederson canted his head at MacNeal.“May I?”
The GM flicked his wrist in invitation. The lawyer pressedhis hands together as though holding a moth captive. “Yours is the onlysuspension, and you’re going to appeal. In the meantime, you will not speak to anyone aboutlast night. No reporters, no fans, no strangers in stores. Not your family, notyour friends. Do nottalk about it in public. Ever. I don’t care how much you’re goaded or how muchyou want to defend yourself. If people push, you tell them to contact myoffice. Understood?” Pederson’s inflection told T.J. the lawyer credited himwith all the brights of agorilla, and while T.J. was used to the judgment, it still didn’t sit well.Never had.
Pederson passed him a business card. “A word of advice. Losethe beard and get a haircut. You’ll appear less intimidating with a clean-cutlook, and you won’t be as easy to recognize.”
Nodding,