Chapter Six
Nash
" W here the fuck is Logan?" Jordan asks, looking up from his gym bag with a furrow between his brows.
I shrug in response, rummaging through my bag for a protein bar. I'm fucking exhausted already and practice hasn't even started. I blame Emilia. Her little ass keeps me up late every night lately. If she's in my bed, I'm inside her.
If we aren't careful, she's going to end up pregnant. Shit. I hope she ends up pregnant. There won't be any hiding me if she does.
"In a meeting," Archer says, dropping his shit on the bench beside me with a grunt. "Charles Montaque is causing problems."
"Over what this time?" Diego asks, glancing up from his phone.
I watch through slit lids as Archer shrugs, carefully avoiding the question. I'm guessing he knows though. The man knows every goddamn thing we do. He just also happens to know how to keep his mouth shut.
"Probably the chick he took home after the Manitoba game," River says from the opposite side of the room. "She looked like trouble."
"They all look like trouble to you, man. It happens when you're an asshole who can't remember their names before they even leave your bed," Micah mutters, no real heat behind the insult. It's true, though. River can't remember their names before they leave his bed.
He's a hell of a player, but he's not the kind of guy I'd spend time around if we weren't teammates. To him, every hole is a goal. It's…honestly kind of fucked up.
"Aww. Is someone cranky because they're not getting laid anymore?" he asks Micah, flipping him off.
Micah grunts in disgust, shaking his head. "You would think marriage means the end of a sex life, motherfucker. Having someone to go home to at the end of the day is fucking great. And my sex life is better than ever." He shoots River a dark glare. "It's also none of your goddamn business."
River holds his hands up, chuckling. He knows better than to press Micah about his wife. The man does not play about her.
"It could be about her," Diego says. "He's been all bent out of shape since she dipped out on him while he was sleeping."
"Some puck bunny dipped out on him?" Joaquin cracks up. "How the fuck did we not know this?"
"I swear to Christ, the way some of these guys talk about women," I mutter, shaking my head. "They're going to die alone."
Archer grunts his agreement.
"It's what they deserve," Jordan says quietly.
He isn't wrong.
I glance at Archer. "Is Montaque going to be a problem for Logan?"
"Maybe," he murmurs.
"Damn." I don't press for more. It's not like I need to do it anyway. Whatever is going on has nothing to do with a girl…and everything to do with his sister. Half of these idiots may think he's just like they are, fucking anyone willing, but they haven't paid nearly enough attention. They see what he wants them to see and never look beyond it. He's smart as hell, and he uses it to his advantage to protect what matters.
Maybe I need to take a few lessons from him if Montaque is sniffing around for a story. I don't want it to be Emilia in his crosshairs.
And as much as I hate to admit it, she was right last week. I acted rash and put a target on her back. I wanted her in my jersey and nothing else mattered. That shit could have sent everything up in smoke. That's the last thing I want. She isn't fodder for some fucking article for a prick like Montaque.
She's…Christ, at this point, she's quickly becoming the center of my world. In the week since I made her come all over me in the penalty box, things between us have only gotten better. She's at my place damn near every night. Or I've got her bent over every flat surface with a modicum of privacy in the arena.
But she's still determined to hide us. Which means I'm more determined than ever to change her mind. She isn't a secret or something I'm ashamed about. I don't want someone like Montaque learning about her and turning us into some fucking story. That isn't what we are.
The simple fact is, I'm fucking wild about her. I'd have my ring on her finger tomorrow if I thought she'd let me. I don't give a shit if it's fast. My instincts have never been wrong, and they've been screaming since day one that she's it for me.
I just need to get her on the same page.
I'm fucking trying.
But Emilia is full of fire and flame and fierce independence. She's bold and wild and hysterically funny. Intelligent and so goddamn sweet it's unreal. And underneath that, she's nervous as hell. I don't think she's ever had anything to lose before now. It's always been her and her dad against the world. And she does not want to disappoint the man she's hero worshipped her entire life.
More than that, she doesn't want me to disappoint him. And she's convinced that this will seriously fuck up the team's dynamics. I'm working on proving otherwise, but it's taking baby steps. I push as far as I can without pushing her right out of my life.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message.
I pull it out of my pocket, biting back a groan as soon as I pull up her message and see her gorgeous face filling the screen.
Future Wife: Did you know there's an entire closet of nacho cheese back here?
Me: Yes. It's called a supply closet. Why are you raiding it for cheese?
Future Wife: First of all, you suck for failing to disclose the existence of the cheese closet, Whatley. Second of all, who says I'm raiding it? Maybe I'm waiting for a certain hockey player to come fuck, I mean FIND me…
"Fuck," I groan, my dick immediately raging to life.
Me: You better be wet when I get there, princess.
Future Wife: Worry about yourself, Whatley. I've got myself well in hand. As a matter of fact…
Another picture comes through, and I damn near drop the phone. She's got her skirt hiked up around her waist so every inch of her thick thighs is on display. Her hand is in her panties, touching my pussy.
Fucking hell. She's in the supply closet, playing with my pussy.
Me: Hell no. Do not touch it, Emilia. I will spank it.
Future Wife: That, oddly, did not make me want to touch it less. Must unpack this later…you know, when I'm not otherwise occupied.
I jerk to my feet, shoving my phone in my pocket.
"I'll be back," I growl to Archer. "Got something to take care of."
"Mmhmm," he says.
"I just bet you do, motherfucker," Jordan says, shaking his head. "Tell her we said hi."
"Fuck no. I'm not telling her shit for any of you."
Archer and Jordan laugh as I storm toward the door.
"Where the fuck is he going?" Joaquin asks. "I thought we had practice."
"He has a meeting," Archer lies.
Most of the team knows about Emilia, but they're keeping what they know to themselves. Frankly, I don't think they want to be caught in the middle when Coach finds out. I appreciate the hell out of them for being cool about it, though.
"Goddamn. Does everyone have meetings today?"
I barge through the door into the hall, breathing hard. My shoes slap against the cement as I practically jog down the motherfucker toward the concession supply closet three hallways over, eager to get my hands on Emilia.
I round the corner to the last hall at a fast clip and run right into Coach.
"Goddamn, son," he growls, rearing back with a dark scowl on his face. Lines carve little grooves around his mouth as he stares at me, his hazel eyes too much like his daughter's. "You being chased or something?"
"No. Just in a hurry."
"You should be. You're supposed gearing up for practice, not running around the damn halls like you don't have any sense. Where the fuck are you going?"
"Supply closet. I need to grab something." I stretch the truth as far as I can without outright lying to him. I actually respect the man. He's a hell of a coach and a good man. Sneaking around behind his back doesn't sit well with me. But I'm not going to stop doing it, either.
I want the truth out there so fucking bad I'm ready to explode.
"You can't get it from the closet in the locker room?"
"Nope. We're fresh out of what I need in there." If hell exists, I'm definitely headed there. But at this point, I've accepted it. It is what the fuck it is.
He jerks his head down the hall. "Hurry it up then. We've got shit to do today if you guys are going to be ready to get on that plane tomorrow." He steps forward to go around me and then pauses, frowning. "You good, son? You've been off lately."
"My scoring average is up every game."
"I'm not talking about hockey. I'm talking about you." He pins me with a hard, assessing look. "You seem like you've got shit on your mind."
"Yeah, maybe." I scrub a hand down my face. "I'm good, though, Coach. Just trying to sort out some shit."
"Anything I need to know about?"
"Can I get back to you on that?"
"Don't piss me off, kid. Either you're dealing with shit I need to know about, or you aren't."
"It's not at that level yet." Jesus Christ. I'm spanking Emilia's perfect ass when I get my hands on her.
Coach grunts. "Go talk to the therapy staff after practice, Nash. That's an order. I need your head on straight. You're one of the few on this team who has his shit together. Try to keep it that way, will you?"
"Will do," I mutter.
He shakes his head and takes off down the hall, muttering to himself.
I wait until his steps recede and then haul ass toward the closet, practically ripping the door off the hinges.
My heart rolls over in my chest when Emilia smiles up at me from her perch on a stack of nacho cheese boxes, looking like a curvy goddess with her legs crossed so her skirt rides halfway up her thighs and her dimples on full display. She's got her dark hair up in a bun, little pieces hanging free around her face. She looks downright edible.
"Well, well, well," she says, leaning back to look me up and down. "If it isn't my savior in skates."
"Your savior isn't in today, princess. He sent the sexually liberated hockey player you're going to fuck," I growl, slamming the door closed behind me.
A delighted laugh burbles from her lips as I yank her up into my arms, my lips coming down on hers in a hard kiss.
"It took you long enough to get here," she says ten minutes later, carefully adjusting her skirt as I slip her panties into my pocket. She'll get those back a quarter to never.
"Blame your dad." I quirk a brow at her, leaning back against the door. "I ran into him in the hallway."
Her eyes go wide.
"He wanted to know where I was going." I crook her chin up. "Do you know how hard it is to stretch the truth without breaking it just so you don't outright lie to a man you actually respect, baby girl?"
Guilt flickers through her expression. "Nash, I–"
"But I keep doing it because I'm fucking crazy about you," I continue, holding her gaze. "You drive me insane, Emilia Lariat."
"You drive me crazy too," she whispers.
I brush my lips across hers in a soft pass.
"I'm sorry," she whispers miserably.
"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you confident enough in what's between us to feel like you can tell him," I murmur. "If I haven't made you feel that way yet, that's on me."
"Nash, that's not what this is about."
"No?" I quirk a brow. "So you aren't scared you're going to lose me?"
She bites her lip, not answering…which is answer enough. That fear still exists for her. She still thinks there's a way this ends with me breaking her heart.
"That's what I thought, princess." I lean forward, brushing my lips across hers. "I gotta get to practice. Come to the house tonight."
"Okay," she whispers, regret heavy in her voice. And I fucking hate that for her. I don't want her feeling guilty. I don't want her to regret a damn thing. I just want to know why the fuck she's so worried about him finding out about us so I can fix it. Until I do that, we're stuck in this limbo. And as much as I enjoy stolen moments and fucking her anytime, anyplace, she deserves a whole helluva lot more.
"Did your dad ever play hockey?" she asks later that night as we're sprawled across my bed, our legs tangled together and the sweat still drying on our skin.
My fingers pause against the softness of her stomach before I clear my throat. "He did. He played all the way through college, but he says he wasn't cut out for a professional league, so he gave it up when he graduated."
"I'm glad you guys shared that," she whispers.
"We did. He's the one who taught me to skate. He was at every game he could get to right up until…" I swallow a wave of pain. "They were on the way to my last game when they were killed by the drunk driver who hit them. Aspen barely survived the accident."
"Nash," she whispers, craning her head back to look up at me.
"You want to know the truth about why I skipped the draft?"
She nods quietly.
"I couldn't step out onto the ice without feeling like the accident was my fault," I admit. "They were on the road because they were coming to support me. It took a whole metric fuckton of healing to get back into a headspace where I felt mentally ready to play again."
"I'm so sorry, Nash," she whispers, wrapping her arms around me. "I wish you hadn't lost them. But the accident wasn't your fault. They were on the road that day to support you because you mattered to them. They died on their way to one of the people they loved most in the world, and I imagine they're probably at peace with that. They loved you enough to be there, and that's a piece of them you get to carry with you forever."
"Yeah," I murmur, brushing my lips across her crown. "Took me a while to get to a place where I could see it from that perspective, but I finally got there."
She places a sweet little kiss to the tattoo over my heart, resting her head against me again. For a long moment, she doesn't say anything, and then she sighs. "I barely know my mom. My dad was wild about her, but she wasn't as wild about having a kid. He chose me over her by refusing to put me up for adoption. So as soon as she gave birth, she signed over her rights and walked."
"Jesus."
"I see her a few times a year when she isn't busy, but she's never really been a mom, you know? I guess it's hard to look at her as one when she's always been honest about the fact that she never wanted me."
"That's fucked up, Emilia," I growl, my heart clenching for her. How the fuck do you know this woman and not want her? It defies explanation.
"Maybe, but I have one parent who changed his whole life to keep me. It's always been us against the world."
"Is that why you're so afraid to tell him about us? You don't want to disappoint him?"
She tenses slightly and then sighs. "No, that's not it. I don't think anything I do could ever really disappoint him. He's always been my biggest cheerleader. But…he threatened to send you down to the minor league team if anything happened between us, Nash."
"What?" I blink, shock rippling through me. "When?"
"The day we met," she mutters. "He told me that he'd send you down to make an example out of you if anything happened between us. And he was dead serious. He's never wanted me to date a hockey player. Growing up, he kept me away from the arena just so I wasn't exposed to that whole world. Honestly, I don't think he wanted me to follow in his footsteps or make his mistakes."
"Baby girl, you aren't one of his mistakes."
"I think my mom was," she whispers. "He never really got over her, you know? I think it skewed his perception of relationships and the role his career played in theirs. Hockey and heartache are invariably tied for him. He doesn't want the same for me."
I process this for a moment before flipping her over beneath me. "What do you want, Emilia?"
"This. You," she whispers, her eyes watery. "I…you feel like part of me, Nash. I'm not ready to give that up. I'm just freaking terrified that he'll learn the truth and follow through. And then I'm the girl who ruined your career, just like my mom getting pregnant ruined his."
"Emilia, princess." I rest my forehead against hers. "Your mom getting pregnant didn't ruin his career. He chose to give up something that he enjoyed to keep the child he loved. That isn't a sacrifice. That's fatherhood."
"Rationally I know that, I just…" She expels a sharp breath, searching for words. But she doesn't need them. I get it. I get her. She's carried this weight for a long goddamn time, feeling like her father sacrificed his career to be her father. She doesn't want to be the reason something happens to jeopardize mine the same way. But her father didn't give up anything he wasn't willing to lose for her. I know that for a fact because I feel the same fucking way.
Telling her that isn't what she needs to hear right now, though. What she really needs is reassurance that her father doesn't regret his decision. That's what this is really about. And that's not something I can give her. She needs him for that.
"Have you ever asked him if he regrets it?" I ask, rubbing my thumb across her bottom lip.
She quickly shakes her head.
"Maybe you should."
She stares up at me silently, anxiety lurking deep in her eyes.
"Ask him, Emilia. And let yourself believe him when he tells you that you're the best decision he ever made, because I can guarantee you, when he says it, he's going to mean it."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you." I dip my head to kiss her. "Because I feel the same fucking way." I swallow her gasp, pouring everything into her, willing her to hear it and believe it.
Christ, I need her to believe it.