Chapter Nine
Nash
" Y ou good, man?" Archer asks, leaning across the aisle to look at me.
"Fucking perfect," I grunt in response, staring up at the ceiling of the plane as we touch down in San Jose.
Coach won't even look at me. Emilia is back in DC by herself. Montaque is writing God only knows what. This is the ninth circle of hell. And there isn't a fucking thing I can do about it.
I'm mad as hell that Montaque ambushed us. I'm mad as hell that Coach found out the way he did. And I'm mad as hell I didn't put an end to all of this bullshit long ago. Emilia looked like her entire fucking world was crumbling this morning. And it felt a whole lot like mine was too.
She never should have been put in that position, and I'm pissed that she was. I should have talked to Coach weeks ago, told him that I'm crazy about his daughter. Instead, I've let her stress and worry and carry it until it came to this.
I think some part of her broke this morning.
And I'm not fucking there to put her back together again.
My arms ache for her. My goddamn heart hurts for her.
I need to talk to Coach, explain this shit. She may not have been able to say anything this morning, but he knows the truth. I know he knows. And it's going to break her heart into little pieces if he follows through on his threat and sends me to Pennsylvania.
"If you want to talk…"
"I don't," I growl, shooting a hard look at Archer.
He sighs, shaking his head. "Then I'll do you the favor of getting out of your face," he says, hauling himself to his feet before grabbing his bag and his gear. And then he pauses, glancing back over at me. "Coach is always the last off the plane. He does a walk-through before he deplanes."
I inhale a sharp breath, gratitude pulsing in my chest. "Fuck. Thanks."
He jerks his chin in a nod before disappearing up the aisle.
I stay in my seat, my foot tapping restlessly against the floor as my teammates take their sweet time getting their shit together and getting off the plane. They're loud as fuck, fraying my nerves.
But within a few minutes, they're off the plane, leaving me in silence.
Coach appears at the head of the aisle a few minutes later, scanning. His face drops into a scowl when it lands on me. "Off the plane, Whatley," he barks.
"Can't do it, Coach."
"Son of a bitch." He charges down the aisle toward my seat, looking like he's brewing for a fight. Christ, I hope it doesn't come down to that. "I said off the plane, Whatley."
"I'm in love with your daughter, sir."
Coach grunts, his jaw pulsing.
"I should have told you that weeks ago."
"Yeah, you should have, kid." He leans against the seat across the aisle, his arms crossed. "But you didn't. I expected that shit from Emilia. She's always been too afraid of what I thought, but you?" He narrows his eyes on me, disappointment rolling through them. "Didn't expect a member of my team to be lying to me, Whatley."
"And I didn't expect my coach to threaten to make an example of me," I say, holding his gaze levelly. "Keeping our relationship from you was fucked up. I won't deny that. But you don't really have a moral high ground here, sir."
"She's my daughter, Whatley," he grits out.
"And she's the reason I breathe ," I growl, gripping the arms of the chair. "You have no idea how I feel about her, and that's on me. But it's on you, too. She's spent her whole life worried she ruined your career. The last thing she wanted was to ruin mine too. And the first thing you did was give her a reason to fear that exact thing happening if we told you the truth. She's agonized over you finding out because she didn't want to be the reason I got booted from the team."
"Jesus Christ," Coach mutters.
"I should have put an end to that weeks ago," I mutter. "I'll own that. I thought I was doing right by her by giving her the choice, but I was fucking it all up the entire time. She needed me to step up, and I failed her." I hold his gaze, not mincing words. If he wants to boot me from the team, I can't stop him. But at least I'll go having defended her the way she deserves. The way I should have weeks ago. "But you failed her too. She doesn't need you giving her something to fear. She doesn't need you making choices for her. She needs you to trust her enough to make choices for herself. You raised her to be that woman, Lariat. And believe me, the woman you raised is fucking incredible."
"And you think you're a good choice for her, Whatley?" he asks. "You're on the road half the season. Is that really the life you want for her? For your kids? Leaving them behind?"
"It's the life she wants," I say quietly. "I don't know if that'll change when we have kids. But I know the choice should be hers because it's her life."
"And if it changes? If she decides that having you gone all the time is too much for her? What then?" he asks. "You break her heart when you decide that you're not willing to give it up for her and your kids?"
"No," I say quietly, not really surprised that's what he thinks of me. It's the choice most players make. It's why so many goddamn marriages end in divorce in professional sports. This life isn't easy, especially when kids are involved. But I'm a whole helluva lot more like him than I've ever been like them. I've been in his shoes once. I raised a sister while playing this sport. I know what it mean to put someone else ahead of this game because their needs came first. And if he thinks I wouldn't make the same choice for Emilia and our kids that I'd have made for Aspen in a heartbeat, he doesn't know a goddamn thing about me. Putting Emilia first isn't even a question. She's my world.
"If she ever changes her mind and decides this life is too much, I walk away, and I don't regret a single goddamn second of it."
Surprise flares in his hazel eyes, as if he didn't expect that answer.
I grab my bag, sliding out into the aisle. "You should be able to understand just how easy that decision will be to make if it ever comes down to it. You made the same choice for her once."
"Jesus," he mutters as I squeeze past him, striding down the aisle.
"Is it just me, or is everyone in this motherfucker staring at us?" Diego asks, his brows furrowed as he glances around the restaurant down from the hotel where we're having dinner.
I don't bother looking up to confirm, instead, staring at my phone the same damn way I have been all day. I've been calling Emilia since the plane landed this afternoon, but she isn't answering. She isn't reading my texts or responding to them, either.
I'm worried as fuck.
"It's not just you," Logan mutters from beside me. "They're all staring."
I glance up in time to see everyone at the table looking at me, as if waiting for an explanation as to why we're suddenly more popular in San Jose than we are back home. I don't particularly feel like giving them the details, though. They're all going to be pissed about it.
"Fuck," I mutter, shoving my phone in my pocket. "Montaque found out about me and Emilia. He ambushed us and Coach this morning."
"Damn," Joaquin whistles. "And you're still standing?"
I shoot him a dirty glare.
"I'm just saying… that's his daughter, man," Joaquin says, shrugging. "Figured he'd rip your balls off once he found out what the two of you have been doing."
"It's not even like that," I growl. "I'm marrying that girl."
"The writing has been on the wall on that since day one, motherfucker." Logan rolls his eyes as half the guys at the table nod their agreement. "Fuck Montaque though, straight up. What'd he print about you two?"
"Don't know. Haven't looked."
"Jesus Christ," Jordan mutters, dragging his phone out of his pocket. "You're in enemy territory, Whatley. You need to be prepared for whatever bullshit they're going to throw at you tomorrow. I can guarantee it'll be something about her meant to piss you off."
"I fucking hate coming here," Micah agrees. "It's always some bullshit."
"Blame Jordan," Diego says, and then shrugs when Jordan throws a dirty scowl at him. "I didn't mean it that way. I just mean, they hate us because you're on our team. Peters is their captain. It probably drives them up the fucking wall that people still remember their precious Captain getting the shit kicked out of him on national television by one of his own teammates."
"I wouldn't mind kicking the shit out of him on national television," Archer says, shocking everyone.
"What the fuck did he do to piss you off, Cap?"
Archer's gaze flickers toward Jordan and then away before he shrugs. "Maybe I just think he deserves it," he says quietly, leaning back in his chair.
Logan catches my gaze, one brow arches as if to ask if I knew that Archer knew what happened between Jordan and Jamison. I just shrug in response. Jordan adamantly refuses to share the details no matter how often the guys ask him about it, but I'm not really surprised he told Archer. Frankly, I'd be more surprised if he didn't. Archer knows everything. It's fucking wild how much of our shit he picks up on and files away.
"Fuck," Jordan mutters suddenly. "Uh, Whatley. You may want to look at the news, man."
"Why? What did the motherfucker publish?"
" He didn't." Jordan slides his phone across the table toward me, his face carefully blank. "I think she did."
What the fuck?
I snatch the phone up, flipping it around to read.
Emilia Lariat confirms she's dating Nash Whatley
Emilia Lariat, daughter to longtime Coach Aaron Lariat of the Washington Carvers, released a statement earlier today confirmed that she and Nash Whatley, the newest addition to the Washington Carvers' roster, are a couple.
"This isn't some big scandal, as much as some would like to try to twist it into one," read the statement sent to us by Alice Madison, publicist for team. "We're two private people living public lives who fell in love. Quite simply, Nash is the best man I've ever known. That's the story."
Whatley joined the Carvers this season after entering unrestricted free agency status last year. According to sources, Lariat was recently hired as the staff psychologist for the Carvers organization.
No word yet from Coach Lariat on his daughter's statement.
"What did she do?" I mutter, my heart in my throat. Jesus Christ. She just… I drop Jordan's phone, jerking to my feet. "I've gotta go."
"Where?" Logan asks, his brows furrowed.
I don't answer, already striding toward the front door.
Archer catches up to me halfway across the restaurant. "We have a game tomorrow, brother," he reminds me, following me out the door.
"I know. Fuck." I shove a hand through my hair, my mind racing. "I need to get to her. I need…"
"Go back to the hotel. I'll call Alice and figure out how to get her on a plane to you."
My fucking knees threaten to buckle. I grip his shoulder, squeezing. "Thank you."
"Go." He jerks his head, grinning at me.
He doesn't have to tell me twice. I spin on my heel, jogging down the sidewalk toward the hotel. She just told the entire world that we're together. No. She told the entire world that she's in love with me.
Jesus Christ.
For a girl convinced she'll ruin my career, she really does have brass balls.
I don't know if Lariat heard me today. At this point, I don't really care if he believes I'm the best choice for her or not. The only thing that matters to me—the only thing that's really mattered in all of this—is what she wants, what she needs, and what's best for her. For weeks, I told myself that letting her do this her way in her time was the best thing for her. I thought if I pushed just enough, teased her with the thought of us getting caught often enough, eventually she'd realize that she can't hide us or hide from us forever.
I went about that shit all wrong. What she needed was for me to tell Lariat the shit I told him today. He has failed her. He did make shit harder on her than it had to be. And she'll never have a chance to be the woman he raised if he can't back the fuck off and let her.
The man adores his daughter. There's no disputing that. But you can't smother the things you love, especially not when those things are women like Emilia. She needs to be every wild piece of herself. At some point, he has to cut the fucking cord and let her.
I've got her from here. I will always have her. Whether he sends me to Pennsylvania or trades me off the team or makes my life a living hell, it won't change the facts. And the facts are real fucking simple.
His daughter is mine. Every wild, beautiful piece of her belongs to me now.
And I intend to be a motherfucking beast when it comes to loving her.
I burst into the hotel lobby like the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I turn for the stairs, racing up to my room on the third floor. I need to get her on the phone. I need to hear her voice. Hell, I need to see that beautiful face. I've got shit to say—important shit.
My lungs burn with exertion by the time I make it to my floor, but I don't even slow as I charge toward my room, determined to get to her one fucking way or another to say what I should have said this morning. Hell, what I should have said day ago.
As much as she's mine, I'm hers too. Heart and fucking soul.
I stumble to a stop a few doors down from my room, staring in shock at the gorgeous little goddess curled up in front of my door with her head on her knees, staring at the carpet.
"Emilia?"
"Nash!" She leaps to her feet, her gold eyes full of anxiety as she spins to face me. She's been crying. Probably all fucking day judging by the shadows around her eyes.
I stride toward her, pulled like a magnet. "What are you doing here?"
"I…" She breaks off, glancing around. "Can we talk in your room?"
I shove the keycard in the door, holding it open for her to go in ahead of me. She looks around, her brows furrowed.
"This is way less fancy than I expected."
"You thought they rented us penthouses?"
"Maybe." She shrugs. "Isn't that where stars usually sleep?"
"A bed is a bed after a game, Emilia."
She bites her lip, looking up at me. "I broke into your house today. I mean, I used the key you gave me, but it was probably breaking and entering anyway since you hate me."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I love you," she blurts, wringing her hands together. "I should have said it this morning. Actually, I should have said it days ago, but I'm dumb and I didn't. If you never want to see me again after this, I'll understand." Her bottom lip quivers as if the thought alone is going to break her wide open. "But I just wanted you to know that I'm not ashamed of you. I've never been ashamed of you or what we are. I just didn't want him to send you to another team when you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And now, I've messed it up anyway."
"Two things," I growl, stalking toward her. "First, stop calling yourself names. It pisses me off. Second, I'm so goddamn in love with you it's driving me crazy. Third–"
"You said two things."
I shoot her a warning glare. "Third, you didn't mess anything up. I knew you weren't going to answer him with Montaque standing there." I stop in front of her, tipping her head back until she's looking at me. "I didn't expect you to answer him with Montaque waiting to use every word of it to tear the team apart."
"You looked so disappointed."
"I was disappointed in myself, princess. I was mad as hell that you were in that position to begin with. It never should have happened." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. "I felt like a fucking asshole watching you cry and knowing anything I did was likely to be the exact wrong thing with that motherfucker standing there, waiting to tell the whole world our business."
Her chin wobbles, tears welling in her eyes. "I thought you hated me, Nash."
I drag her into my arms, my heart pulsing. "Then I'm not doing my job right, baby girl," I groan, pressing my forehead to hers. "I've been telling you that I'm crazy about you for weeks."
"I didn't know you loved me," she whisper-hisses, making me smile.
"You did," I murmur. "You were just afraid to let yourself believe it."
"Maybe you should be the therapist, and I should play hockey."
"Nah, you know people, Emilia. I know you . There's a difference. Besides, the world isn't ready for you with a stick. You're savage enough without one."
"I'm not savage with your stick, Whatley."
"Liar." I boost her up into my arms, pressing her back against the wall. "You're a ruthless little savage when you're on my stick, and you know it."
"Put me on it now. We'll see who's right," she whispers, arching toward my mouth.
I take her invitation, my lips slanting down over hers. She whimpers, her hands flying to my hair to hold me to her. And this shit right here? Her curvy body in my arms, pulling my hair and grinding all over me while I kiss the air from her lungs? This is home. This is worth fighting for. This is worth keeping at any cost.
"Nash, please," she groans, tugging at my hair. "Please."
"What do you want, princess? Tell me."
"You inside me."
I spin, dropping on her the bed before following her down. We kiss and touch and roll and moan, leaving clothes strewn all over the room. By the time I kiss my way down her gorgeous body, lavishing attention on every soft inch, she's already a panting mess beneath me, chanting my name.
She only chants it louder when I throw her legs over my shoulders and set to work, feasting on her. I devour her like the perfect little treat she is, thrusting my tongue in her hole to fuck her with it until she's right on the edge, and then I back off to run circles around her clit. I do it over and over, keeping her right there until she's pleading for mercy.
As soon as the plea leaves her lips, I'm inside her, thrusting deep.
She throws her head back, coming all over me.
I fuck her through it, snarling at how damn tight she is. At how beautiful she looks. At how fucking perfect she is.
"Emilia," I breathe, tipping her chin up until her eyes lock with mine. "I love you, princess."
A wave of intense emotion rolls through her eyes, stealing my breath. "Nash," she whispers, reaching for me.
I fall forward, catching myself on my elbows…and get lost in her.
My hands never leave her body. My lips never leave her skin. And when she falls this time, she takes me with her, groaning her name as her cries of pleasure ring out around us.
It's perfection. Best night of my life.
Until she's curled up against my afterward and someone pounds on the door.
"Whatley! Open the damn door," Lariat growls from the other side.
"Fuck," I groan, glaring up at the ceiling.
"I know my daughter is in there with you."
"Of course he catches us now," Emilia mutters. "All the times we fucked all over the arena with people everywhere, and nothing. But as soon as I sneak into your hotel room in a different state, suddenly we're busted."
"Are you complaining that he didn't catch us sooner?"
"No." She rolls from the bed, grabbing her clothes. "I'm just saying…his timing sucks sweaty hockey balls."
I chuckle, grabbing my pants to yank them up my legs. "Why don't you get dressed in the bathroom? I'll keep him occupied."
"Uh, no way. We're doing this together."
"Whatley!" Coach pounds on the door again. "Don't make me take it off the hinges, son."
"Hold your freaking horses!" Emilia yells back at him, quickly shimmying into her pants and then throwing her shirt on over her head. She spots her panties and bra on the floor by the window and kicks them under a chair, shrugging. "How do I look?"
"Freshly fucked."
"RIP to your career," she sighs, patting down her hair as if that's going to do anything to fix the mess I made of it.
"You let me worry about my career from now on," I murmur, pulling her into my arms to kiss the anxiety from her eyes. "All you need to worry about is you."
"I love you." She melts against me.
"I love you too." I brush my lips across her forehead and then stride across the room to let her dad in.
He charges in, red faced and puffing, his eyes narrowed on his daughter. Of-fucking-course he clocks the state of the bed, his face turning apoplectic as he turns to look at me.
Emilia quickly jumps in front of him. "You can't kill him," she says. "I'm going to marry him."
"You asked her to marry you without discussing it with me first?" Coach growls, looking at me like he wants to murder me.
"No," Emilia interjects before I have a chance to say anything. "He hasn't asked me. I'm asking him."
"Oh, hell no," Coach and I growl at the same time.
Her face falls, disappointment rolling through her eyes. Shit. Does she think I don't want to marry her?
Fuck that. I've had the ring in my pocket for weeks already.
I cup her cheek, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look at me. "We will be getting married," I murmur. "But I'll be the one asking you, not the other way around." I glance from her to her dad. "And I won't be asking for your permission because it's Emilia's choice to make, sir. But I am asking for your blessing."
I'm not entirely convinced he'll give it to me. Actually, I'm half certain he's going to tell me to go fuck myself and keep my hands off his daughter…but I ask anyway. For her sake and for his, because, despite everything, he adores his daughter. And he's always been her hero.
He glances from me to her and then sighs heavily. "You were wrong about something, kid."
"What?"
"What you want should be the only goddamn thing on the board," he says. "It's the only part of the equation that matters." He jerks his chin in my direction. "As much as I hate to admit it, you found one who gets that. It'll never be about me or my name to him. It'll always be about you and yours."
"Dad," she whispers.
"You have my blessing, Whatley." He glances over at me, emotion in his eyes. "But if you ever hurt her, hell will not compare to the level of agony I'll put you through. You put her first, even if it means you walk away." He glowers. "And you keep her damn name out of the press."
Emilia squirms from foot to foot like a little girl who just got busted breaking the rules. "Um, about that…" She peeks up at him, grinning. "Too late?"
He shoots her a glare cold enough to freeze hell. "Oh, believe me, kid. I'm aware. My phone hasn't stopped ringing all fucking day."
"Whoops," she whispers.
Lariat actually cracks a smile. "You're going to think whoops," he mutters, shaking his head before he looks at me. "Good luck with this one. You're going to need it."
"I think I can handle her."
It's goddamn eerie just how alike they are when they throw their heads back and laugh at the same time. And that laugh tells me in no uncertain terms that they can't wait to see me try to keep up with her.
Christ, I can't wait either.
"Don't you dare take that jersey off, Nash Whatley!" Emilia shouts, jumping up from her seat behind our box as soon as I skate over to the boards. "I'm wearing mine!"
I laugh quietly, crooking a finger for her to come to me.
She stomps my way, looking too damn beautiful with my name across her chest and my ring on her finger. I put it there as soon as her father left last night. I hope I planted my kid in her belly too. God knows, I've been trying for weeks.
"What kind of trouble are you here to cause now?" she asks, eyeing me suspiciously as she steps up against the boards.
"No trouble," I lie. "I just came to tell you that I love you."
Her expression softens. "I love you too."
"I also wanted to remind you that you owe me five minutes in the box after the game."
She squeaks, whipping her head around. "We're in San Jose, Nash."
"So?" I arch a brow at her. "I mean…unless you're afraid?"
Her shoulders go back, her eyes narrowing on me. "Meet me after the game, Whatley. We'll see who's afraid."
Fuck, I want to kiss her right now. And for once, there's nothing stopping me.
I motion her toward the door off to the side and wait for her to reach it. As soon as she does, I hook my fingers in her jersey, tugging her forward.
She crashes into me, her tits up against my chest.
I swoop, claiming her lips in a hard kiss as everyone around us whoops and catcalls, cheering like we're putting on a show for them. I don't give a fuck about them, though. The only thing that matters to me is right here in my arms, whimpering in a way that sets my blood on fire.