Chapter Thirty-One Beckett
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BECKETT
You’re welcome. Just saved your relationship
I T ’ S F RIDAY NIGHT, AND WE ’ RE ALL CRAMMED INTO THE VISITOR ’ S LOCKER room, wishing this were a home game. St. Anthony’s is a D1 school, but they don’t have the kind of booster backing that Briar does. Garrett Graham built us a brand-new hockey facility, for fuck’s sake. St. Anthony’s arena is a shanty town in comparison.
The only good thing about tonight is that our trusty camera crew has finally fucked off to parts unknown. Will’s father’s assistant informed Will last night that Capitol TV got all the footage and interviews they needed, which means we can go back to not having to worry about someone accidentally filming our penises when we’re changing.
Coach steps to the front of the locker room in preparation to bark out the ten or so words that typically comprise his “pep talks.” Shane and I have started making wagers on how many words he’ll use total. Today’s over-under is twelve. I’m the under, so I’m really hoping it’s a short one.
“Focus tonight. We’re on track to win our conference. Don’t fuck it up.”
Thirteen words.
Motherfucker.
Shane pokes me in the side. I’m wearing full padding, so I barely feel it. But I do feel the smugness rolling off him. Shane is such a dickhead winner.
As I walk on skate guards toward the door, Coach intercepts me. “Dunne, I want you to stay on Palecki’s ass tonight. He’s a nuisance.”
“You got it, Coach.”
I keep my promise. Anytime Nathan Palecki even breathes near the puck, I’m on him. The game ends up being a bigger ass-kicking than any of us anticipated. We figured we’d win by at least a goal or two, but we leave St. Anthony’s that evening riding the high of the ass-kicking of the century.
Final score, 6–1.
It isn’t until we’re settling in for the bus ride back to Briar that I’m forced to think my own thoughts. Before this moment, I had a ton of distractions to keep my brain busy. Now, there’s nothing stopping me from thinking about what happened this week with Charlie.
As in I shouldn’t have hooked up with her.
I should’ve comforted her.
Because that’s what she’d really been seeking that morning. Comfort. She’d wanted advice, emotional support, and instead of giving that to her, I made it about sex instead.
Sex is easier than feelings. The moment things get too heavy, I possess the uncanny power to lighten them using a bit of charm and a lot of tongue.
It’s been a long time, though, since I felt the temptation to connect with someone on a deeper level. When Charlie confessed to feeling overwhelmed and afraid about how to handle the situation with her brother, I did what I always do: I resorted to distraction.
I hear Ryder chuckle under his breath. We’re sitting together near the back of the bus while I pretend not to notice the dirty texts he’s sending his wife. And don’t get me started on how bizarre it is to say that. His wife. Who gets married in college?
“Hey,” I say, nudging his arm.
“Mmm?”
“Here’s a hypothetical for you.”
Forehead wrinkling, he clicks his screen off. “Okay.”
“You think Gigi is the love of your life, right?”
“No, I know she’s the love of my life.”
There’s no smugness there, just quiet certainty.
“All right, well, let’s suppose Gigi crushes your heart between her fingers and rips your soul from your body—”
“Wait, is she a demon?”
“No. She just hurts you. She destroys you and then leaves you.”
Ryder gives a dry laugh. “This scenario is grim, bro.”
“I know. But say that happened.” I poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue, shifting awkwardly in my seat. “Would you ever…you know…try again? With someone else?”
He responds with silence. Staring at me. It’s so unnerving that I have to look away, feigning deep interest in the seat ahead of me, where Will sits with Case. Shane is across the aisle next to Nick Lattimore, who’s been extra sulky tonight. Dude showed up earlier looking like someone kicked his puppy.
There’s a lot of chatter coming from the front rows, but for the most part, the bus is quiet.
Ryder’s gaze, which is usually shuttered, flickers with confusion, then concern. “Beck… is this a hypothetical, or are you asking me for advice here?”
“It’s…” I swallow, realizing I should’ve just kept my bloody mouth shut. “Just a hypothetical.”
He frowns. “Okay. Um. Yeah, I guess…no then. If Gigi left me, I don’t think I’d ever try again with someone else. She’s it for me.”
“Stop flaunting your perfect wife in everyone’s face,” grumbles Nick. The dark-haired winger twists around in his seat to scowl at Ryder. “Some people are barely holding on, man.”
I bite back a grin. Lattimore’s not the chatty type, so whatever’s eating at him tonight must be bad if he’s participating in a convo about women.
“Would you just tell us what happened already?” Shane growls. “You keep making these veiled little comments, and it’s starting to annoy the ever-living shit out of me. You clearly want to talk about it, asshole. So fucking talk about it. Asshole.”
Several snorts ring out.
Nick unleashes another scowl, this one aimed at me. “You want to know what happened? Ask Dunne. Because it’s all his fault.”
My jaw drops. “Me? What the hell did I do? Go away.”
“You’re the one who sent me that fan fiction,” he accuses.
I blink. “What?”
“Wait, what?” Will joins the conversation now, shifting around in his seat to eye me with suspicion. “What fan fiction?”
I’m armed and ready to deny, deny, deny, but Lattimore throws me under the bus again. “Beck sent Darcy a link for some dumbass story about Queen Elizabeth and Alexander the Great, and now I’m in the doghouse for it.”
“First of all—” I start.
“No,” Will interrupts, rolling his eyes. “ First of all , were you on my laptop?”
I shrug. “There’s a possibility I might’ve been.”
“And you read the story I’m editing for my old lab partner?”
Another shrug.
“And you sent it to Darcy?”
This time, I defend myself. “Hey, she requested the link. I didn’t offer it.” I glare at Nick. “And that was the end of my involvement in it, mate. So don’t blame me for being in the doghouse.”
“What does Lourdes’s fanfic have to do with your girlfriend being pissed at you?” Will asks our teammate.
Nick sets his jaw. “It doesn’t matter. It just does, okay?”
“What did you do?” Shane pushes, unable to contain his amusement. He’s openly grinning.
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, what’d you do?”
“She’s trying to get you to read it, and you don’t want to?” Case guesses from his seat.
“I said it doesn’t matter,” Nick replies through clenched teeth.
“Fine, don’t tell us. I have Darcy’s number,” Shane says. “I’ll ask her myself.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Fine. Solve the mystery for us then.”
Nick curses under his breath. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. She just, uh, you know…” He shrugs. “Caught me.”
I furrow my brow. “Caught you doing what—” I give a sharp intake of breath. “Mate. No. Don’t say it.”
His look of sheer misery is all the confirmation I need.
I double over. “Jesus,” I wheeze between waves of uncontrollable laughter. “Which chapter?”
“What am I missing here?” Shane asks.
It’s hard to speak through the stitch in my side. I’m panting from the exertion. “She caught him wanking it to historical fan fiction.”
There’s a beat of silence before everyone in our vicinity joins me in the land of shuddering, side-splitting laughter.
“What chapter?” Will echoes my question as the only other person on this bus who’s read Lourdes’s masterpiece.
Nick looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. He drops his face in his hands. “Fuck off.”
“Hey, judgment-free zone here,” I assure him, my lips twitching from the restraint of not doubling over again.
He lifts his head. His face is that of a man defeated. “Chapter twelve.”
I nod. “The deflowering. Nice.”
Shane sounds perplexed as he says, “Wait, your girl’s actually pissed about this? Are you not allowed to jerk off?”
“What? No, of course I am. She’s angry because I lost track of time and was an hour late for her birthday dinner. Now she thinks I ‘don’t value her time or the fact that she was born’—that’s an exact quote.”
This time, everyone manages not to bust out in hysterics.
“Oh,” Shane says, his tone tactful. “Well…I see her point.”
“Hey, what’s all the commotion back here?” demands our new assistant coach.
Mike Hollis strides over from the front of the bus. He stops in the middle of the aisle, clapping a hand on the top of the seat in front of Will’s. His gaze sweeps over the group.
“Is there a problem? Who’s beefing who?”
Shane shakes his head at the man. “No beef,” he assures him. “Just giving Lattimore some girl advice.”
Nick glares at Shane as if to say why would you ever open your mouth.
Hollis nods in understanding. “Got it. All right, lay it on me. I’m bursting with wisdom.”
I snicker under my breath.
“No, you know what? It doesn’t even matter.” Hollis leans his hip against the seat and fixes Nick with a grave look. “I have one question for you, Nicholas.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“One question. This girl—is she wife material? You wanna marry her one day?”
I blink, not expecting that.
I don’t think Nick was either because he falters. Then he nods. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Think or know?”
“Know,” he says sheepishly.
“Then there’s only one solution to your problem. You call her up, and you say, You’re right . That’s it. You’re welcome. Just saved your relationship.”
Shane nods his agreement. “I mean, he’s not wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” Coach Hollis says. “Why do you think I’ve been married for, like, a thousand years now? I know how to game the system. Oh, and I love my wife. That’s probably part of it too.”
“How’d you guys meet?” Colson calls out from his seat.
Hollis brightens. “Oh, it’s a great story. My daughters say it’s the most romantic story they’ve ever heard. Settle in, boys.”
Ryder and I exchange a look. We haven’t known this man long, but any love story told by Mike Hollis is bound to feature more than a few what-the-fuck twists.
“So, some people might say Rupi was stalking me,” he starts.
I rest my case.
CHARLIE:
Can I come over tonight?
The message pops up in our group chat as Will and I are leaving the Graham Center after the team bus dropped us off. Will reads it and shakes his head at me.
“What?” I say.
“You ate her out in a closet,” he chides.
“So?”
“So I don’t want her to feel pressured into hanging out again.”
“What does me going down on her in a closet have to do with that? We both know Charlie’s not the type to be pressured into anything. But just say no if you’re worried.”
He won’t say no. Because he’s as drawn to her as I am. Charlie is a beautiful mystery. Everything about her makes me want to dig as deep as I can. To crawl inside her. Make her smile. Hear her laugh.
I haven’t felt that urge since high school.
I push the thought aside. Fuck’s sake. I’m not looking to fall in love with Charlotte Kingston. I want to sleep with her again. Maybe get to know her some more. Nothing beyond that.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s the message Will just sent to Charlie.
LARSEN:
We’ll be home in about 30. Coming from the arena.
CHARLIE:
Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.