Power Play: The Nashville Assassins: Next Generation Read online

  Power Play

  The Nashville Assassins: Next Generation

  Toni Aleo

  Copyright © 2019 by Toni Aleo

  All rights reserved.

  Power Play is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing by: Lisa Hollett of Silently Correcting Your Grammar

  Proofing by: Jenny Rarden

  Cover Design: Lori Jackson Design

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Also by Toni Aleo

  Acknowledgments

  About Toni Aleo

  This book is dedicated to my nieces:

  Madison, Kaley, Abby, and Emma

  May all of you be as strong as Posey Adler.

  Chapter One

  Posey

  Ally: So, the shitith has hitith the fanith.

  Shelli: Um, Dad is freaking out. You’re not seriously moving to Colorado, right? Just a visit to get your head out of your ass?

  Mom: Posey, I swear on everything holy, you best call me. I don’t care if you are twenty-one, I will skin your ass!

  Evan: I feel you might want to abort that mission before Dad comes.

  Quinn: Just FYI, Mom and Dad are PISSED. Don’t answer your phone.

  Owen: Are you seriously chasing after this dude? You know he’s been screwing Stella, right? Like super banging. All the time. All over the place. Surprised she isn’t knocked up.

  Owen: Okay, maybe not super banging, but I don’t think going after him is a good idea. He isn’t that good of a player either. At least go for someone who is good at hockey. You don’t want to be better than them.

  Quinn: Whatever you decide, I stand by you and I love you. But I don’t think this is a good idea. Also, don’t call Dad.

  Dad: Call. Me. Now.

  Dad: If the periods don’t say I mean business, I mean business. Call me, Posey. Now.

  Shelli: Posey, come on. You need to call me. Let’s discuss this before you embarrass yourself.

  Uncle Jakob: I didn’t tell your parents. I did tell Harper, though, and she told your mom, so this may be my fault.

  Evan: Just throwing this out there… Might want to shut your phone off.

  I swallow hard as I power off my phone. As soon as I turned it on after the plane landed, I was bombarded with texts and voice mails. I assume word got out that I left. I should have known my uncle would rat me out. Maybe it’s because he’s not biologically related to me. I bet that’s it. While my cousin, my siblings, and my parents all think this trip is a bad idea, I know it’s not. I have to try. I can’t let him go without him knowing how I feel and knowing how he feels for me.

  Maxim. Maxim Turgenev.

  The love of my life.

  I want to say I fell in love with Maxim the first day I met him, but I know that’s not true. Though, some would fall for him just for his looks. He is gorgeous. He has this boyish air to him, a friendly smile that is very misleading. You’d think he was sweet and kind—and he is…off the ice—but on the ice, he is ruthless. I love that. I love how he plays with no holds barred. When he is on the ice, he makes sure he’s making a play. It’s fun to watch. He also has these unstoppable brown eyes that sometimes look black. His hair is a dirty-blond that he keeps long on top so it falls into his eyes. His lips are thin and his jaw angular and strong. He is tall and very trim. He should be faster on the ice, and he’s working on that. Though, none of that matters when he holds me. In his arms, everything seems right in the world, and he has held me a lot this past year.

  The first time he did it was when I helped him complete a full sentence.

  I am a hockey player.

  So trivial, so silly, but he hugged me like he’d won the lottery, and he didn’t let go. I remember thinking, This gorgeous man is holding me in his arms. I think I might die. But it wasn’t his looks that made it hard to breathe. No, it was his lack of English. I love me a good accent, and Maxim has one. When he moved in, I took on the role of teaching him how to speak and write English. We spent countless hours together, not only at the kitchen counter but also on the ice. We watched Netflix, we laughed, and then I fell. I don’t even know how it happened, but I won’t ever forget the day.

  We were on the ice, just goofing around, and he sent the puck to me, which I one timed into the net with ease. I gave him a sneaky grin as I looked over at him, and he was just staring at me. By that time, we had been sharing a room, even though my parents never knew. We never had sex, but we were sleeping together. He was from a home where he slept with his six brothers, so he was lonely, and he didn’t have to ask twice. I was willing to get caught just to lie beside him.

  “What?”

  With a shy grin, he looked down at the ice, moving the tip of his stick around. “I think you’re very talented.”

  A smile broke on my face. “Thank you. But so are you.”

  He scoffed. “I think you are better.”

  I am. But I don’t have the passion for the ice. I don’t want to be on the ice making plays; I want to be making them from behind the bench. To be honest, skates hurt my feet, and that’s why I don’t like playing. My dad reminds me daily that I’m a wuss.

  “That’s sweet.”

  He smiled. “And very pretty.”

  Yup, I fell because he called me pretty. I don’t get called that much. I don’t think I’m ugly, because I’m not. I look like my mom. She’s absolutely stunning, and with my dad’s genes mixed in there, I’m not so bad to look at. But then there’s Shelli. Everyone—and I mean everyone—is in love with my sister. She is built like my mom, curvy in all the right places and has my dad’s bright-blue eyes. She has long, luscious hair, and she carries herself like a million bucks. She kicks ass and takes names. She doesn’t settle for anything but perfection, and she sings like a damn angel. Anything Shelli wants to do, she does. And basically, everyone is convinced she farts glitter and shits rainbows.

  It’s sorta annoying.

  Meanwhile, there is me. Unlike Shelli, I’m not built like my mom. I’m actually quite tall like my dad—but with my mom’s weight issues. I wouldn’t call them curves, more like speed bumps. I have a wide ass, a little bit of a gut—I don’t say no to donuts—and huge shoulders. I’m just thick. I’ve played hockey since I was two, so it’s easy to say I have a lot of muscle on me.

  My hair does not do that pretty, smooth, wavy thing that Shelli’s does—no, it’s a kinky wave. My wave isn’t even all in one direction—nope, it’s in every direction known to man. If I don’t wake up and straighten this hot mess, I might as well accept I’m going to spend the day looking like I li
ve on the street.

  My sister is always dressed to the nines and could probably lead a makeup tutorial. She wakes up like that—flawless. If I have to wear anything other than sweats and I have to actually put on makeup, I’m not going. I will say, though, my eyes are one hell of an awesome mix of my parents. Sometimes they look green, but for the most part, they’re blue.

  Growing up, since Shelli and I are only ten months apart, my mom always dressed us the same. As if we were twins, but we weren’t. Shelli was putting herself out there, beautiful, and at the drop of a hat, always singing for someone. I was mostly in the corner, playing with a sock puck I’d made. I was the epitome of a tomboy—or hell, I still might be one. I got mixed in with my three younger brothers, and since Shelli doesn’t know how to do anything but shine, I felt like my parents forgot I existed.

  Don’t get me wrong. My mom and dad love me; I know they do, but Shelli has always taken up a lot of their time and effort. Since Shelli is newly engaged—and to the golden boy, Aiden Brooks—I assumed I could get out of Nashville without anyone noticing. Alas, my family chose the moment I skipped town to pay attention to me.

  I bite the inside of my cheek as I make my way out of the airport. I didn’t tell Maxim I was coming, only that I was sending a surprise. When my dad sent him away three weeks ago, my heart broke into pieces. I couldn’t believe it. Maxim was happy with us, and no matter how much my dad denies what he did, claiming instead that the farm team in Colorado wanted Maxim, I know it’s not true. Dad didn’t want Maxim in the house anymore because he knew we were getting closer. We were falling in love. Maxim even had stopped talking to Stella Brooks and seemed to be focusing only on me. We were so close to taking it to the next level, but then he was “traded.”

  Bunch of bullshit, in my opinion.

  The whole ride to Maxim’s apartment has me in knots. I’m beyond nervous, and a part of me wants to run back home. I have known this guy for years, almost three, and I have never gotten the balls to tell him how I feel. I just never felt like he was interested until recently, and by the time I thought I’d worked up the courage to tell him, he was sent away. I know there’s a chance of rejection, but I know if I don’t tell him how I feel, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I have to tell him. And if he says he loves me too, I’m not leaving. I don’t have a plan, but I’m sure I can get a job at the college or something once I convince my mom to send me a recommendation. Or hell, Uncle Jakob would have to write me one since he ratted me out.

  When my Uber stops in front of Maxim’s townhouse, I feel butterflies beneath my skin. Maxim had sent me a picture of his new place when he moved in. We talk every day, on the phone and through text, and he seems excited for his new adventure. He loves playing for the farm team; it’s one more step toward the NHL.

  He’s good but not great, and while I love him and support him, I don’t think he’ll make it. I’ve grown up around the sport; I know when someone can make it. They have this “It” factor, this passion that won’t let them quit. And unfortunately, Maxim doesn’t have that. He wants the NHL handed to him. He doesn’t want to work for it. And while that irritates me, I think when we’re together, I help his work ethic. I make him better, and I want to continue doing that. I just hope he loves me and wants to include me.

  I get out of the car and throw my backpack over my shoulder. I usually don’t wear jeans, but today I did and with a T-shirt. An Assassins T with my dad’s number on the back. My auburn hair is down in curls, the way Maxim likes it. I hate curling my hair, but for him, I will. As I head up the driveway to the door, I feel my heart pounding in my chest. I am so excited to see him, but I’m terrified at the same time.

  He’s the first guy I have ever loved, and I’m about to throw my whole self out there. Something I don’t do. I don’t have to. I keep to myself, do what I gotta do to get by, and stay moving. Unlike my siblings, I don’t have huge dreams. I’m just going with the flow.

  I rap my knuckles against the door and rock back on my heels as I look around. It’s a nice neighborhood, just as he described.

  It isn’t Nashville, but I could live here.

  When I hear the door handle jiggle, my lips curve up and my heart almost stops. Here we go.

  But instead of Maxim answering the door, it’s Stella Brooks.

  My heart drops to my gut, through my colon, and out my ass.

  Stella Brooks should be a model. She is absolutely stunning, with one hell of a body. Her metabolism is real good, and that frustrates me. Her hair is long, dark, and lustrous. Her makeup is always applied flawlessly, her hair styled to the same level, and even her lounge outfit is chic. My shirt never matches my PJ bottoms. Hell, neither do my socks.

  Stella annoys me greatly, which is sad since I have known her for as long as I can remember. Our parents are best friends, and my sister is engaged to her older brother. I do love her. But mostly, I’m jealous that she’s everything I’m not.

  I have a feeling this is about to be a shitshow.

  Stella pulls in her brows, and my jaw is on the ground. She recovers well and grins as she gushes, “Posey! What are you doing here?”

  I clear my throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  We stand there, staring at each other. Almost in a standoff. Both our parents would shit pucks if they knew we were here. She bites her lip and blurts out, “Please don’t tell my parents. I’m supposed to be on a school tour with some girlfriends. But instead, I came to see Maxim.”

  I should call her parents right now.

  I force myself to swallow, and I feel the emotion taking over. “Funny, I came to see Maxim too.”

  She eyes me, but before she can say anything, Maxim is beside her in all his beautiful glory, wet from a shower. “Posey!” he exclaims before moving around Stella to wrap me in a tight hug. “I did not expect you!”

  I hug him tightly, pressing my face into his neck, fighting back the tears. The scent of soap is fresh on his body and in his hair, making me a bit dizzy. “Surprise.”

  “Yes, so much so,” he says, pulling back and looking down at me. “I wish you had called. I would have told you Stella was here.”

  I can’t look at her, but I feel her staring at me. He doesn’t have to say it for me to know I’m not welcome. This is what I get for being spontaneous. “Oh, it’s okay. I was just passing through.”

  “Where are you staying? Can we have dinner tonight?”

  Well, I wanted to stay here, but I can tell that’s out of the question. Run, Posey, run. Instead, I say, “Actually, I’m leaving in a bit. I had a meeting and wanted to surprise you before I flew out.”

  He just stares at me with a grin on his face. I wait for him to invite me in, but it’s Stella who asks, “Do you want to come in?”

  I will not cry.

  If she feels comfortable inviting someone into his place, then this isn’t new. I knew they were fooling around for a minute there, but I thought it had ended. Guess I was very wrong. “Thanks, I’m good. I just have to talk to Maxim real fast.”

  I don’t know what I am doing. I almost feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. What am I thinking? That I’ll tell him I love him, and he’ll leave Ms. Perfect?

  Maxim perks his brow as he runs his hand along his forehead, catching some of the water drops left from his shower. “Alone?”

  I shrug. “Yeah.”

  He looks at Stella and sends her a soft smile. “Go on, baby. I’ll be in soon.”

  “Oh, okay. Are you going to come in after you chat, Posey?”

  I shake my head. “My car should be here in a few,” I lie, and surprisingly well. “But it was great to see you.”

  “You too,” she says, but she doesn’t move. “Please don’t tell my parents.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. “I won’t.”

  I might tell Shelli, though.

  But, really, I know this isn’t Stella’s fault. She doesn’t know how I feel. Not too many people do since I have a hard time admitti
ng it. Stella is just living her life, being confident, and making sure the guy she likes, likes her. I should channel my inner Stella.

  With a grin, Stella says, “Thanks.” She then heads inside, shutting the door behind her.

  Maxim reaches out, taking my hand in his. Jolts of heat run up my arm, leaving me breathless. “So glad to see you. I wish I had time to spend with you.”

  I bite my cheek. “Yeah, I didn’t know you’d have company.”

  “It was spur of the moment. She wanted to come, and I missed her.”

  I force a swallow. “Are you two together?”

  He shakes his head. “No, we’re just hanging out. You know how it is.”

  Actually, I don’t. Some would have said we were just hanging out, but maybe I’m the only one who thought so. “Oh. I thought you had stopped talking.”

  Maxim grins. “We did for a bit, but I like her a lot. She is just young and in Nashville. She can’t move here.”

  I almost scream that I could, but I can’t say that without explaining the real reason I’m here.

  He squeezes my hand before pinching my chin with his other. “What did you need to speak to me about?”

  I look up, getting trapped in his brown gaze. I want to be like Stella. Or hell, Shelli. To go after the man I want. But the words are stuck in my throat. I gaze into his eyes, and I swear I see desire and feelings swirling deep inside them. My heart is beating so fucking fast that my vision is a little hazy, but I say, “I love you.”