For Pucking Keeps: A Hockey Romance (The Seattle Vipers Series Book 1)

27. Tor

TWENTY-SEVEN

Present Day

“Ilet her run from me knowing there’s a possibility that I will never get her back.”

Slamming the book closed, I toss it on the coffee table. Leaning forward, I prop my elbows on my knees and cradle my head in my hands. Feeling antsy, I lift my eyes to the book, studying the cover. I scan the bright illustration of the characters I’ve obsessed over for months until I stop at Jaz’s name. I grab the book again possessively, like it’s my last true link to her, my fingers poised to turn the next page. I reread the last line of the chapter I can’t move past. It’s as if my life and time stopped right there, frozen and stagnant. The minute I knew I’d lost the love of my life. The moment is seared into the very marrow of my bones. I told her to leave.

My heart still aches from the memory. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t turn the fucking page. I refuse to read on. I don’t want to read a fabricated, pretend portrayal of what happens to Evan and Raven. I don’t want to know how miscommunication and mistrust kept them apart for months. I definitely don’t want to read about drunken nights of pining for each other and sad tearful conversations of ‘what ifs’ leading the two of them to realize that they can’t live without the other. I don’t want to read Jaz’s false hopes for a happily ever after when all I want is the truth. Her truth. Our truth. The truth we should still be together. So, I haven’t read the ending of the book. I don’t care to. That ending is not our ending. I thought if I read the advance copy Parker received from Julia I would get closure. But reading this book over and over again, all it has done is reopen an already festering wound. I’m a man dying from a broken, unmendable heart, and I only have myself to blame.

I wasn’t strong enough baby. I wasn’t strong enough to fix us.

I made her leave.

I close the book again, my fingers still caught between the pages. I sit back on my couch, clutching it to my chest. Yeah, I had it bad. I didn’t recognize the man I was most days. I was a mess, and I’ve been this way for almost five long torturous months. I hear Devan and Bast talking around me, but I’m comfortable in my silence. My thoughts always shift back to that night and how it went so wrong so fast.

Glancing around, I blink, present finally, color bleeds back into my world as the sun shines through the windows, lighting up the penthouse, giving me a very picturesque view of the harbor and the mountains beyond. Jaz would love it here during the summer. She never got to see this view, not like this.

“Earth to Tor. Are you going to continue to stare at Jaz’s book or are you going to go get your girl back?” Devan snaps his fingers, pulling me from my thoughts. I do that a lot now, getting lost inside myself, lost in memories of Jaz and me. We never had enough time together, maybe if I had been around more, maybe. . .maybe. . .maybe.

The day Jaz left I thought she would go home. I followed not long after she left in a desperate attempt to bring her back with me. Like a lovesick fool I ran after her, ready to take back everything I said. My rationale restored, my anger receded, replaced with despair and regret as I recalled every cruel thing I said to her. But she wasn’t there. She never returned home that day or the next. No note, no text messages, no communication whatsoever. She vanished. She didn’t sell her house though and it gave me hope. After a few weeks, Lia received Jaz’s keys in the mail with instructions to air the place out from time to time. I clung to those instructions, hoping that Jaz just needed time, like me, she just needed space to think.

Christmas came and went, then the New Year. The days turned to weeks, the weeks, to months. So I played hockey on autopilot. We were killing it on the ice, kept winning, so Coach Lennox didn’t care if I retreated into myself. I came to the arena, went home, wash, rinse, repeat.

The press had a field day with Shaun’s reported speculations about Jaz’s book. It took Parker months of wading through the rumor mills to finally quiet things down about Jaz’s supposed betrayal. That didn’t stop them from pushing for answers. It got so bad I stopped doing post-game interviews. In short, it’s been hell.

“Nothing has changed, this book signing was planned and signed off by the team’s owner and PR team before Jaz and I separated. She’s obligated to be here. She knows where to find me,” I say in resignation.

“Everything has changed, Tor. You’re like a fucking zombie. The only time you come alive is on the ice. Now, honestly, I’m not complaining about that, but you can’t keep going like this. Jaz is here. Here. In Seattle for the first time since the day she left your penthouse. You’re scheduled to be there anyway. Are you going to let her leave without an explanation of any kind?” Bast asks from where he is sitting on the other side of the couch, green juice in hand as he flips through the channels on the television. Bast, Devan, and Ridley have been my constants these past few months. Honestly, I think they’ve all put me on man-sitting duty, taking turns to keep me occupied and distracted. Their company has been welcome. Ridley’s practically moved into one of the guest rooms, solidarity and all that shit. His words, not mine. But I’d rather not be alone. It’s like I don’t remember what my life was like before Jaz, everything feels empty now.

Sick of wallowing in my own self-pity, I stand, because Bast is right. If this is my only opportunity to make things right between us, then I have to do something. The logistics aren’t clear. I don’t know what I’m going to say, or even if she’ll want to speak to me, but I’ll figure it out when I get to the arena. “Let’s go. I have no clue what I’m going to do, but I’ll improvise.”

“Oh, thank God. I told Parker I was going to drag you out there if you kept stalling,” Ridley says, joining us from the kitchen as we all wait for the elevator to carry us down to the underground parking garage.

“Seriously Tor, your agent needs a fucking raise. I’m about ready to ditch my representation to sign with him. He’s had your back throughout all of this,” Bast says as the elevator opens and we all file inside.

“Parker is more friend than agent, but don’t tell him I told you, I’ll deny it.” I laugh, and all three of them stop and look at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Torrance Bailey, you laughed. God damn, he’s waking up boys. Fuck yeah.” Ridley pats my back so hard the sound bounces off the elevator walls.

“Geez, Rid, don’t kill him before we can get him to the arena. We need him, we have a cup to win,” Devan says, swaying his hips to a tune only he can hear. Bast shakes his head with a snort of laughter.

Next week starts the first round of playoff games that will potentially lead us to the cup final. This is where my professional hockey career has led me. My hard work and determination, my sheer will to lead my team to greatness. I achieved what I set out for myself and my teammates this season. I had confidence in the way we were playing on the ice, despite my “zombie-like state” as Bast stated. I thought I would feel better, that no matter what happened between Jaz and me, I wouldn’t lose this. But it all feels hollow. I don’t want to feel incomplete anymore. I don’t even care why she left. I need the piece of myself that she took with her. I need her. The truth about my family and mother doesn’t matter, the world knows now. In fact, it only garnered me further support of my fans. so maybe Jaz did me a favor. I’m by no means absolving her of what she did, but I will admit, it all feels trivial now.

It doesn’t take us long to get to the arena. I pull my SUV into the parking lot with Ridley riding shotgun. Bast parks beside me and Devan jumps out, whistling at the sight greeting us. Long lines of fans wait along the pavement, wrapping around the main arena building.

Ridley chuckles nervously. “Don’t laugh, but I almost panicked thinking we were late for our own game.”

“You and me both,” I say, pausing with my hands on my hips. Removing my sunglasses I take in the crowd. Some of them are sporting Vipers jerseys with my number on the back as well as Ridley, Bast, Devan, Gossman, and the newbie Maxwell’s all accounted for amongst them. But the majority of women in line were pulling little trolleys full of books or carrying stacks in their arms, talking animatedly to one another. The majority of the people in line, I observe moving closer, but not close enough to be mobbed, have an all too familiar book clutched to their chests. I recognize the brightly colored book cover even from afar. I’m carrying the same book underneath my arm protectively. Jaz’s book.

“Well, damn. If I’d known I would have brought my books,” Devan says with dreamy sigh that would rival any overly excited fan. “They are all here for Jaz. This is big, Bailey. Like big, big.”

Bast cuts across the parking lot toward the players entrance, and we follow, jogging to go unnoticed. It doesn’t stop me from pulling out my phone and taking a picture. A feeling of pride rushes up inside of me. It didn’t matter how she got here. What matters is that she did it. For Pucking Keeps is climbing the bestseller charts. At the end of the day, the part I played in the writing of the story was insignificant. Jaz weaved the words into a beautiful piece of prose. It was all hers.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Parker opens the door for the four of us. I smile at him to his utter shock. His wide-eyed stare switches from relief to surprise. “Is he drunk? Why is he smiling? Ridley, Devan, did you drug him? Is that why he’s sporting a goofy grin?”

Bast throws his head back, his booming laughter carries down the long hallway. “We thought about it. We actually considered it when he wasn’t making a move to leave.” He doubles over, wiping tears from his eyes until he sees my smile fade. “Hey, we didn’t though.” He shrugs.

“Drugs, I know that had to be your idea, Ridley.” I shoot him a disapproving scowl, then turn my attention to Parker. “You wound me, Parker. I will always show up for you,” I say as I make my way down the hall with Ridley and Devan beside me. Bast and Parker following behind.

Parker scoffs, “Oh please, you didn’t show up for me, Tor. We all know who you’re here for. She’s on the ice. The PR team thought it would give the readers and hockey fans the full experience. They set Jaz’s table up in the middle of the rink.”

“Where do they want me? The guys are here too, we may as well all sign stuff since we’re here.” I gesture to Ridley and Devan, then to Bast over my shoulder. They all grumble in agreement. Bast in particular doesn’t like to be swarmed, too many fans can be a bit much for him at times. “I’ll even hold your hand, Sebastian,” I tease.

“I’ll be fine, Bailey. I guess I deserve this after the drugging you comment,” he says. We all stop as we reach the entrance to the ice.

I don’t realize I’m moving until Ridley places his hand on my arm to stop me. I know it will be frowned upon if I skip the long line of waiting fans to get to her. Torrance Bailey or not, I know not to get in the way of an eager, enthusiastic fan. But there she is. Alexis Rhodes. A long table sits in the middle of the ice, carpet underneath it and the line of fans, protecting the icy surface below. Stacks of books line one table, with women wearing logo t-shirts moving back and forth passing books to her to sign, then the books are bagged and passed off to readers.

Julia stands a few feet away, talking to our team communications manager as they take in the crowds of people. The PR Team are scurrying around, ushering people to the tables and guiding them off the ice. It’s a well-organized machine. I don’t even think we’re needed. They aren’t here for us, and I am more than okay to be an afterthought in this circumstance.

“Honestly, Parker, are we even needed?” I ask hopefully. “I think I’m going to stand in line and have my book signed. What about you, Devan? You don’t have this one yet, care to be my line buddy?”

Devan whoops in excitement. “I thought you’d never ask! Let’s go!” He pumps his fist in the air and takes the lead, but I don’t follow right away.

“Parker, can I borrow a pen?” I ask as a plan takes shape in my mind.

He pulls a pen from his pocket, giving me a knowing smile. “I don’t know what you’re about to do, but you better make it good, Bailey.”

I walk away confidently to the sound of Ridley and Bast clapping behind me. I have a plan, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I am leaving here today with my Supernova. It’s time I remind her who she belongs too, now and forever.