Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
JESSIE
“ C allaghan, shower and then my office.”
As I walk off the ice with Jensen, the hairs on my neck bristle in response to Coach Burrows’s tone.
“There’s his I’m pissed off, you played like shit tonight voice and then his this has nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with ripping you a new asshole voice.” Jensen slides his eyes over to Burrows as our coach walks into his office and slams the door behind him.
“No kidding,” I reply, pulling off my helmet. “I played all right tonight.” If sinking two goals and an assist amount to anything.
Jensen pushes through the locker room door with me on his heels. “Exactly. You secured us the win, so I’m saying, prepare for pain.”
As we remove our pads, the boys start heading for the showers, leaving us alone on the benches.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s got nothing to do with Mia. I haven’t heard from her since she turned up in Whistler.”
I think back to that moment only a couple of weeks ago. A whole group of us—Zach, Luna, and Aster, their baby boy; Jon and Felicity; Kate and Jensen and their twins—had all rented this house, which turned out to be more of a mansion near Creekside Village. I tagged along with Jon’s brother, Adam, since my options were going home for the holidays or spending them alone.
It worked out to be one of the best Christmases I’d ever had, but the day before we were due to leave, Mia showed up at a café, where we’d all stopped by on a walk to get hot chocolate. The whole time, I’d been receiving messages from an unknown number, saying they were in town and asking if we could meet up. Turned out, it was Mia, and she wasn’t just in town; she was sitting opposite me in the one open café in the village.
She only wanted to talk, but I panicked. I hadn’t been prepared to see her. Because every time I did, I was reminded of the way I’d hurt her and the piece of shit I was for doing it. But despite all I’d done to her, the temptation to haul Mia straight into my arms the second I saw her was so strong that the only way I could stop myself from touching her was to run. So, that was what I did. I got up, said I wasn’t feeling well, and hightailed it out of there, never replying to her messages, even though it about killed me to ignore them.
Jensen shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m not a chick, but if I were, I’d be humiliated. She came all the way from Dallas to see you, and you charged out of there and then blocked her number. Love you, man, but that was a dick move.”
My cortisol levels that sit just below bearable each day surge through my body. My heart thumps wildly, and my hands shake as I remove the last of my gear and grab my wash bag.
I’m tempted to walk off and not respond to my closest friend, but I don’t. “I know you went through shit with Kate, trying to get her not only on your side, but to also be with you. But this isn’t some meant for each other fairy-tale situation, you know. I’m not like all your friends either, finding their happily ever after. Zach and Luna finally getting together after years of friendship and now pregnant with their second child. Jon and Felicity literally bumping into each other like fated mates. It doesn’t work like that for people like me.”
He quirks a brow, clearly doubtful.
On a deep breath, I scan the locker room again, only to find us completely alone. “Mia Jenkins might as well be some mythical creature because I have zero chance of ever seeing her again, let alone dating her.”
“You fucking won’t with a defeated attitude like that.” Jensen grabs his shampoo bottle from the bench and fixes a towel around his waist.
“She’s the daughter of a multimillionaire GM, one of the biggest names in the sport. She’s destined to take over the Destroyers when he retires. She’s from a good family, and she has the world at her fucking feet. I earn millions a year but seem to have very little to show for it since my parents piss it away faster than I can send it. I’m from one of the worst neighborhoods in Dallas, and my agent spends more time keeping my dad’s behavior out of the press than he does promoting my hockey career. I am the last guy Graham Jenkins wants for his daughter.”
Jensen runs a rough hand through his floppy, dark hair, his eyes softening as he looks at me. “You are a good guy, Jessie; your background and past don’t make you any less worthy of Mia.” His brows pinch together, and I know what’s coming—something he’s said to me a thousand times before. “I’m here for you. You can talk to me, trust me, and confide in me. I’m on your side, man. You know that, right?”
I nod weakly, averting my eyes from his face as I once again push away the help I know I should take. “I know. But I’m doing okay.”
Frustration flashes in his eyes as I look at him, and he props his hand on his hip. “She’s twenty-two now, right?”
I shrug. “Yeah, and?”
“And he caught you basically having sex on her bed on her nineteenth birthday, yeah?”
“Yes,” I drawl, wincing at the memory—especially the look on Graham’s face that summer afternoon. “But we weren’t having sex, more making out.”
“Whatever.” He dismisses that detail. “So, you’re telling me she’s still being ruled by her daddy, even in her twenties?”
I nod and cross my arms over my chest. He’d better not criticize her. “It’s more than that.”
Noise filters from the showers, and Jensen looks over at the location of the voices and then back at me. “Yeah, you told me. You don’t want to expose her to your world.”
An icy sensation creeps up my spine. “I wouldn’t expose the Devil himself to my world.”
“Sit.” Coach Burrows points to the black leather seats facing his desk.
I flop down and wait for him to finish typing on his computer.
“How much did you have last night?” He’s still looking at his screen when he delivers the question.
The blood physically drains from my face. “How much of what, Coach?”
Smashing the last key on his keyboard, he finally looks at me, but I wish he hadn’t.
Fucking hell, this isn’t good.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Callaghan. How much booze did you drink?”
I don’t reply; instead, I scratch the back of my neck.
“Vodka? That’s what it usually is, right? Cheap, clear, you can disguise it easily.” He leans back in his chair and shakes his head at me. “I’m tempted to go check your drink bottle right now.”
Silence passes between us as I fight to delay my inevitable admission.
“I lost control last night,” I eventually answer. “I’d thought I was doing all right, but last night … I wasn’t good.”
“Were you still pissed when you went on the ice? I couldn’t smell booze on your breath, but you looked spaced out in the pregame brief. I’d seen that look on you before. You knew you weren’t in the right state to play. You might do a good job of hiding things from your teammates, but I’ve known you since you were a kid, Callaghan. You can’t fool me.”
“No. I mean, not really. Just feeling the aftereffects.”
He huffs out a disbelieving breath. “Jesus Christ, kid. Half-cocked and still the best player out there. Imagine how good you could be if you just got your shit together.”
I don’t say anything because, honestly, what is there to say? He’s right. I know he is.
He sets his elbows on the desk and leans forward, a serious expression painting his face. “You’re damn lucky you still have a career at this point. I thought you’d learned your lesson when I managed to convince the GM that you shouldn’t be traded, that I could get the very best out of you—or at least get you to practice and games on time and not be inebriated. Your career is dangling by a thread, yet you still push the boundaries of my patience. What the fuck is going on?”
To my right, I see the picture of the team when we last won the Stanley Cup. It was Jon Morgan’s—our former center and captain—last professional game before he retired. The season after that, I let the team down. My drinking increased, and much like when I had been at college and then on the Destroyers, I caused more harm than good, making bad decisions in games and mentally checking out in practices.
And I’m doing that again now. We might have won the game today, but I know I’m putting myself and others at risk out there. Hockey is my only constant, and I need it. The days when I was a boy, visiting the local rink with my papa to play for fun and hit the ice for the thrill of it, might be long gone, but the pressure to keep turning up and earning for my family is only increasing.
“Look at me.” Coach tears my attention away from the black frame hanging on his wall.
“I told you”—I roll my tongue across the roof of my mouth, the sensation grounding me—“I lost control last night. There’s some shit going on back home, and it got to me. It won’t happen again.”
“I want you to start back up with the team psych. She tells me you failed to turn up at your last three appointments. Having sessions with Ashley was a stipulation for you to stay with the Scorpions. That and”—he pauses and clears his throat—“not seeing her anymore.”
The sessions with Ashley I can do, even if they achieve fuck all. Staying away from Mia? Now, that’s much harder.
“I haven’t seen her since last summer,” I lie. No one needs to know she turned up in Whistler.
Coach purses his lips together. “You know my friendship with Graham Jenkins goes way back to our NHL days, and you know I did my best to convince him personal and business matters shouldn’t mix, but last season, he refused to complete a trade with us because he’d found out you were sneaking around with his daughter again.”
“We weren’t doing anything,” I reply.
Burrows’s face turns a shade redder with frustration. “Son, you are a good-looking, high-earning athlete and probably the most gifted winger this game has ever seen. You can have your pick of women, but you still met up with her years later. You need to let it go. I know Jenkins, and he will never give you his blessing.”
I push down the urge to tell him no one owns a person, let alone their own daughter, but I know my reply would fall on deaf ears. Instead, I run a hand through my hair and wait to see if he’s finished.
More silence descends on the room as we stare at each other for a few beats.
“I have let her go,” I say, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her since you and the GM hauled me into the boardroom and told me the score. So, you don’t need to worry about doing business with Graham Jenkins anymore. He got what he wanted, and you’ll get what you want too. I’ll check in with Ashley tomorrow.”
He nods in acknowledgment and points at his computer screen. “No need. I just fired an email to her. You’ll start sessions again tomorrow at nine a.m.”
I stand from the chair.
“Jessie.” Coach catches me as I turn toward the door.
“Yep?”
“Stay off the booze and stay away from her—got it?”
I nod in appreciation, but I’m confused by his sudden attention on Mia. Does he know about Whistler?
“Why are you so concerned about her now?”
A surprised smile breaks across his face as he leans back in his chair again. “You really haven’t spoken to her, have you?”
“I wasn’t lying, Coach.”
Seen her? Yes. Spoken to her? No.
His smile morphs into discomfort as he shifts in his chair. “I’m not sure if I should tell you this. I assumed you knew, and that’s why you’ve been even more twisted up and absent.”
“Know what?” I bite out.
What the fuck has happened?
“She’s, um … she’s in town. She left her position at the Destroyers and enrolled at Washington University.”
I nearly fall through the fucking floor.
Instead, I force myself to stand and stare right through him. “Here?”
He nods. “Yep. She’s been here for the past few months.”
I fight with every ounce of willpower not to smile. The truth is, this is both the best and worst news I could have gotten. Two thousand miles apart is easier to manage, but in the same city …
How the fuck am I supposed to stay away from the only woman I’ve ever wanted—who, years later, I still want more than anything else in the world?