Daring the Defender (Wittmore U Hockey #3)

Chapter 6

6

R eid

Running into an ex right before a big game is not recommended. If I hadn’t forgotten my mouthguard in the locker room, it never would have happened. But I did, and now I’m stuck on the walkway leading to the parking lot where the rest of the team is waiting on the bus, awkwardly looking at the girl that recently dumped me for the first time since she dumped me.

Yeah, Darla dumped me over text.

“Hey,” I say, hooking my headphones over my neck.

“Hi.” Darla doesn’t look awkward. Or tense. She looks like a girl who's moved on with her life. Ouch. “Heading to a game?”

“Yeah. Eastman.” Apparently now I only speak in one word sentences. Jesus. “Everyone is on the bus. I had to go back to get something out of my locker.”

Her lips curve in a knowing smirk, a familiar smirk. Darla has always thought I was a forgetful, hot mess. Which maybe, but who gives a shit?

“I like your shoes,” she says, nodding down at the brown and white wingtips I found at a vintage shop downtown. “Very retro.”

I loathe the way my body reacts when I see her. It’s not even sexual. That would be acceptable, in my opinion. Nope, it’s my fucking heart still wanting to know why she tossed all of this away.

“Thanks.” I swallow and look around the back of the arena. “Kind of off of your regular path. Were you looking for me?”

I try to keep the hope out of my voice. Fucking hell. What’s wrong with me?

“I wanted to tell you I have a box of your things to drop off.”

Ah, the belonging exchange. What was that sound? Another nail in the coffin.

“Sure, well, obviously not right now, but just let me know when you have time. I’ll swing by and–”

“Or I’ll just leave it on your porch,” she says, cutting me off. “It’s nothing major. Just a few things that got mixed in with mine.”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “I’ll make sure to gather up anything of yours too.”

“I think I got everything already.” Of course. Darla is efficient. Organized. Which is why I refuse to believe this breakup was spontaneous. “Well, good luck today.”

“Thanks.” I’m ready to get away, that feeling in my heart has shifted from something happy, to something dark and painful. And before I can control myself I blurt, “So that’s it? After all this time, we’re just finished? No reasons why? No discussion?”

“Reid, I don’t think you want to get into this now–”

“Why? Because you thought it was okay to dump me over text? After all our plans? Everything we–no, you –had organized for the two of us?”

“This is why I texted you. I knew you would get emotional.”

I balk, jaw dropped, staring at her. A million responses come flooding back but no. “You know what?” I say, more to myself than her. “Thank you.”

She blinks, caught off guard for the first time in forever. “For what?”

“Showing me the real you. It saved me a lot of trouble.” I step to the side and pass her, pulling my headphones back over my ears. The beat of the song rushes out, and I take a few steady breaths before approaching the bus.

“Everything okay?” Coach Green, our team trainer asks, as I reach the steps.

“Everything’s perfect.” The words are as fake as my grin. “Just had to grab my mouthguard.”

“Atta’ boy,” he says, slapping me on my back. “You know my rule: Protecting yourself is the first step to a win.”

I climb into the bus and take a seat next to Kirby who’s focused on his phone. Long after the bus jolts forward, and starts down the road, Coach’s words linger. That’s what I did wrong with Darla. For the first time in my life I didn’t protect myself. I left my weaknesses exposed. Vulnerable.

I’ll never let that happen again.

One thing about hockey is that it’s great for letting go of some frustration.

The bad thing is that things can sometimes go too far.

“What was that, Kramer?” I shout. This guy has been up my ass all night, which was annoying enough, but then he started trash talking.

“I said you suck, Wilder. And that check was weak. Just like your mama over the buffet table.”

He’s full of shit, because my teeth rattled when I slammed him against the boards, but I’m not in the mood for it tonight. Not after seeing Darla earlier. And definitely not insulting my mother.

I toss my stick and lunge for him, but before my punch lands, I’m dragged backwards.

“Get off,” I argue, fighting against my teammate.

“Chill, bro,” Jefferson says, his massive arms tight around my upper body. There’s a reason he’s our enforcer. “He’s desperate as fuck and he’s not worth it.”

“But he–”

“He’s losing and he’s trying to get you to make a mistake.” He knocks my helmet. “There are 36 seconds left. Don’t let it happen.”

I take a deep breath, and steady myself. Jeff’s right. There are times I can let the frustration surrounding the game make me better. And other times, worse. I need to be the former. Ignoring Kramer’s stupid face, and the crowd’s jeers, I take my stick back from Kirby as he skates by, and I get in position for the puck drop.

Murphy wins it, knocking the biscuit back to Axel. Ax takes control, tracks Reese up the ice, and zings it toward him. From there, it’s a quick deke to the left and a backhanded shot: nothing but net. Kramer gets to skate off the ice with his tail between his legs and a big fat ‘L’ on the board.

“Great game, man,” Reese knocks his fist against mine on the way from the lockers to the showers. “That pass in the first period was a thing of beauty.”

“Yeah, they were tough.”

“Another one down,” Axel says, dropping his towel and reaching for his pants. “Which makes us one step closer to the finals.”

Reese gives him a grunt. After last season where we blew it in the championship, Reese doesn’t like to think too far ahead. Or at least he says that. I know for a fact he’s got his eye on the prize. And he should. The closer we get to the end of the season the more likely it is we’ll get a chance to play in the championship. Our team is on fire. Everyone is clicking.

I rub the towel over my hair, then change back into my suit.

“You look like a 1930s gangster in that suit,” Emerson says.

I flip up the collar of my white shirt and lay it over the suit. “Thank you.”

“You’re so weird,” Murphy adds. He’s in a standard gray suit that’s nice enough, but I’m pretty sure his mom bought it for him after he learned about Coach Bryant’s before and after game dress code. He looks nice. My goal is to look remarkable.

I’ve always been into clothes. I think it goes back to moving from house to house and having to leave my belongings behind more times than I like to remember. Once things stabilized, I started being more specific in my choices. Clothing isn’t just something I wear. It’s a collection.

“I think you look good,” Axel says. “Not many people could pull off a brown suit.”

My roommate is covered in tattoos and piercings. His white blonde hair that he bleaches twice a month always looks like he just got out of a fight with an actual badger. Of course he favors individualism.

“You guys hurry up. I want to get back before it’s too late.” Reese throws his bag over his shoulder and walks out of the locker room, but then pops his head back in a second later. “Hey, Reid, you’ve got a visitor.”

It’s idiotic that my first thought is about Darla, but that evaporates as soon as I think it. I tie my shoe, grab my things, and head out the door. My ‘visitor’ is my dad and younger sister, Veronica.

“Hey,” I say, walking over. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“We didn’t either,” Dad grins, “but Ronnie and I decided to hop in the car and surprise you.”

Ronnie is fourteen and the youngest of the Wilder kids. She’s wearing a Wittmore Hockey jersey, my jersey, the number eight on the sleeve. I lean in and give her a quick hug. “You didn’t have to make the drive.”

“Nonsense, you know we love watching you play.” Dad beams at me. “And you had a great game.”

“Eh, just doing what they pay me for.”

Dad shakes his head, and I know he thinks I downplay my skills. I know I’m a good player. I’m a kickass beast on the ice, but when it comes to Darryl Wilder I never feel like I measure up. How can I?

“I thought you were going to get in a fight with number seventeen,” Ronnie says. “You dropped your stick, but freaking Jefferson had to pull you back.”

“Yeah, good thing or I would’ve ended up in the bin. That was just blowing off a little steam.” I laugh at her frown. “Sorry to disappoint your thirst for blood.”

“I know you’ve got to get on the bus,” Dad says, “but I wanted to make sure we saw you. Everything going okay?”

“Everything’s good.” I give him a quick run through of my classes and what we’re expecting with the next few games. I keep any mention of Darla or my subsequent slide into Wittmore party boy out of it. My family loved her and everyone was disappointed when we broke up. Like me, they thought she was end game material. “Oh,” I say, trying to think of something PG, “we’ve got a houseguest at the Manor. Axel’s sister.”

“Hey!” Ronnie sets her hands on her hips. “How come his sister gets to come for a visit and I don’t?”

“Because she’s over eighteen and doesn’t need full-time supervision.” I bop her on the nose, simply because I know she hates it. Sure enough, she scowls. “It’s just for a few weeks. She’s going through something back home and needed a place to crash.”

“Oh, well, I hope she finds some peace, although I think it would be hard in a house full of hockey players.” Dad gives me a look. “Treat her like you would your sister.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “We already got the big brother speech from Axel.”

“Ah, I knew, despite all the tattoos, that kid was smart.”

A smart ass, but sure.

“Any word from New York?”

“Everything seems to be on track. If we clinch the season and the playoffs, I can’t see any reason for the contract not to go through.”

I’d signed last spring to secure a spot with the NHL after graduation. Unlike Reese, I didn’t feel confident enough to go as a free agent into my senior year. Axel thought he was going back home to work for his father, but there’s no doubt the recruiters are in the stands keeping an eye on him. He’s not just good–he’s the best. Me? I’m good. Steady. A bruiser. But nothing came easy in my life and I wasn’t willing to play the odds.

“Great,” he reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m really proud of you, son, you’ve come such a long way.”

And then there’s that. My dad is proud. Happy for me, and if I can give that back to him, I’ll do whatever it takes.

“Yo, Reid!” A voice echoes down the hallway. “Bus is ready!”

“Is that Jefferson?” Ronnie asks, perking up. She and the rest of the family have met all of my roommates and I’m pretty sure my sister has a crush on Jeff. This is confirmed by the pink glow in her cheeks. “I’m going to go say hi.”

She takes off before either of us can respond, leaving me and Dad to walk toward the bus behind her.

“Out of all the guys on the team she likes Jefferson?” I whistle, thinking of my roommates exploits. We’ve all had fun during our time at Wittmore, but I doubt Jeff has spent the night alone more than a dozen times over the past four years. “You better keep an eye on her.”

“You don’t have as many kids as we do without having a wild card,” he says, glancing over at me. “You look tired. Sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just that busy time of the year.” I give him my best reassuring grin. “And away games are tough, but I’m glad you guys came. I appreciate it.”

I give him a hug, and drag Ronnie away from Jeff. We get on the bus, everyone pumped from the win, but also tired from the hard work.

Just as the doors close and the driver takes off, Jeff leans over the back of the seat with his phone in his hand. “Party at Gamma Phi tonight. You in?”

I need something to release this feeling in my chest. The pain of losing Darla, of disappointing my family. A hook up may be just the right thing.

“I’m in.”