Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Lucien
Ten Days Later
“You good, man?” Carter asks me.
I push off the concrete wall in the tunnel outside our locker room, nodding and putting my phone back in my pocket. “Yeah, I was just talking to my sister. She’s worried about her follow-up scan next week.”
“I can’t imagine what that would feel like.”
I nod, still gutted over her crying in our conversation just now. Calla still lives in our hometown of Overland, Kansas, but we keep in close contact. She’s six months out from beating stage three breast cancer, and she has to get a scan next week to make sure she’s still clear.
“She doesn’t want to fall apart in front of Matt, but it’s okay with me.”
He frowns, a crease forming between his brows. “You sure? You look pretty weighed down right now.”
One of the equipment interns passes us, rolling a rack of gloves. We both nod at him in greeting.
“Yeah, it’s heavy. But the least I can do is listen.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done more than that.”
Not as much as I would have liked to do. I was seventeen, and Calla was twenty, when we lost our mom to breast cancer. Then that bitch of a disease came for my sister, and it stole almost everything from her.
I made sure she and my brother-in-law were taken care of financially, and I paid off their house to lift some of the burden, but that’s just money.
I stayed with them for a month of my offseason so I could be there for her last month of treatment, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Harder even than watching Mom wither and die, because I knew how wrecked Mom would be over Calla going through it.
I take a deep breath and roll my shoulders. “Gotta let it go for now and get into game mode.”
“Come on, let’s go eat.”
We just got back from a road trip yesterday, and we have a home game tonight. When we walk into our team dining room, the savory scent of grilled steak makes my stomach rumble.
Our team chef, Marco, has the usual pregame buffet set up. He’s standing behind a grill at the end of the buffet, where he prepares grilled steak and chicken to order, so it’s still steaming when he puts it on our plates.
“Hey Marco,” I say as I pick up a plate. “Looks great.”
“Steak medium rare,” he says, gesturing toward a sizzling steak on his grill. “And grilled chicken for you, Cap.”
Marco is all business during mealtime. He’s a tall, wiry guy who shaves his head completely bald. He rolls through assistants because he’s impatient and doesn’t tolerate mistakes.
“The soup is butternut squash and carrot with a bit of coconut cream,” he says.
“I’ll take a little.”
He ladles about a fourth of a cup into a bowl and passes it to me. I don’t like to eat much soup on game days because it weighs me down, but a little bit is okay.
I thank him and go to the salad bar while my steak finishes cooking, getting half a baked potato and making a salad. Puck drop is still four hours away, so it’s time to fuel up with carbs and a little protein.
Once I have my steak, I scan the small dining room for an open seat.
Talia and Melina are sitting together, smiling and talking. Those two have become tight since Talia started traveling with us. An invisible tug pulls me over to their table.
“You mind, ladies?” I ask.
Talia tips her chin, her hazel eyes meeting mine. I study them for just a second, trying to decipher something. Anything.
Our pregame stretching routine has become a ritual I look forward to. Since she started traveling with us, we haven’t lost a single game. She froze me out for a few days after I mentioned Kyle, but she’s since warmed back up.
I’m not sure how tonight will be for her, though, because we’re playing Vancouver—Kyle’s team.
“Sit down, Beaumont,” Melina says. “We’re talking about our periods.”
I put my tray down across from Talia’s and sit, my lips pulling up in a grin. “I’ve actually got major cramps today, they’re the worst.”
“You have no idea,” Talia says lightly.
“I always figured they were like shit cramps.”
Both women scoff.
“Yeah, no,” Melina says. “You can’t shit out your period and make the cramps go away.”
“How’s the ankle?” Talia asks.
I tweaked my right ankle a couple days ago and she’s been wrapping it. Sometimes her fingertips will trail over my bare skin for just a little bit while she’s doing it, and just that contact makes my dick twitch with awareness.
The more I’m around her, the more I want to be around her. She’s usually cryptic, careful with what she says and how she says it. But occasionally, I get glances at the fire that seems to always be simmering beneath the surface.
“Ankle’s good. You haven’t been watching Severance without me, have you?”
Her lips quirk. “Nope. But we need to watch the next one today, so work it into your busy schedule.”
“Hey, tomorrow’s an off day. We could always just binge the rest of it.”
Melina clears her throat—probably reminding me how dangerous it would be to spend time off with Turner’s daughter. I can’t help it, though.
“Maybe,” Talia says.
She’s nibbling on an omelet, and I wonder if she ate anything else before I got her. I don’t like her digs at herself over her weight and appearance.
“You want some steak?” I offer.
“No, thanks.”
“Hey, can I sit?” our backup goalie Preston Smith asks.
“Of course,” Melina says.
My gaze locks onto Talia’s again, and I think I see a note of playfulness there.
“Does anyone have time to stretch me before the game?” Preston asks Melina.
“Talia might be able to.”
A jab of aggravation hits me out of nowhere. Preston looks like a fucking male model. He’s been in fashion magazines, and a photo of him getting out of a pool wearing nothing but underwear went viral not long ago, with women thirsting over him.
“She’ll be busy stretching me,” I say, my tone authoritative.
There’s a moment of awkward silence before Talia says, “You can join us, though. It’s not like it’s a private thing.”
She’s looking at me as she says it. I play it cool, spending more time than I need to cutting my next bite of steak.
“You cool with that?” Preston asks me.
“Yeah, whatever.”
I’m caught off guard by my reaction to Talia telling him it was okay. I’ve been in a groove since our first stretching session together. She’s my lucky charm, and I don’t want to share her.
It’s not like I can say that, though. I have to pretend I don’t care.
“Trunk twists,” Talia says, avoiding my eyes. “Control your movements and get full range of motion.”
The closer we get to puck drop, the more she’s shut down. Preston is oblivious, standing a few feet away from me and following along with our stretching routine.
She doesn’t even quirk a smile over Isaac’s fart yoga today. That’s unlike her.
It’s because of Macintire. She probably hasn’t had to look at his ugly fucking face since they broke up, and she knows he’ll be out on the ice tonight.
Usually we have light conversation while we stretch, but not tonight. She’s all business.
“Hey, Talia, I gave Suki your number,” Carter says as he walks past us. “Prepare yourself, she wants you to go out with her and Mara and Lainey. You get those three together and it’s a lot.”
There’s affection in his tone. Carter’s wife is the counterbalance to his gruffness. And he’s actually not that gruff once you get to know him. He’s just not a smiler.
“You need to meet their pig,” I say.
Talia arches her brows in question. “Their what now?”
“They have a pet pig. Darling.”
Her lips shift into an almost smile. “Darling?”
“One of their girls named him.”
“I love that. Is he one of those micro pigs?”
Carter’s note of laughter from an exercise bike along the wall is unamused. “If three hundred and fifty-two pounds is micro, then yeah.”
Talia’s eyes shift to mine, alight now. “For real?”
“It’s Leo’s fault,” Carter grouses. “He had one job.”
“Leo thought it was a micro pig, but it wasn’t,” I explain. “It was a gift to the girls and by the time they realized he was growing into a full-size hog, they all loved him too much to give him up.”
“I didn’t!” Carter calls out as he pedals.
“Bullshit,” I mutter. “He loves Darling.”
Her light mood quickly vanishes, and she cuts the stretching routine short, making an excuse about needing to help Melina with something.
I finish stretching with a foam roller on my own, Metallica playing over the locker room speakers. This is when lots of us want to be left alone, so we can get in the right mental zone.
I’m a visualizer, but tonight, instead of visualizing myself getting to the puck first and upsetting Vancouver’s offense, I’m picturing myself beating Macintire’s ass.
I’m holding the collar of his sweater, standing while he’s on his knees, and I hit him over and over.
My hands don’t even hurt. All I can see is his tortured expression as I break his face open.
I try to shake it off because I need to have a clear, focused mindset going into this game. I need to be in control.
On-ice warm-ups will start soon. I should sit somewhere alone and do some breathing exercises to calm myself, but fuck that. I’m going to find Talia.
She’s not in the locker room, and when I check Coach’s office, she’s not there either. I’m starting to wonder if she left when I glance into the equipment room.
She’s standing in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself and her head down. When she hears me come in, she looks up, her eyes wide, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She sniffs and stands up straight. “Hey, I just came in to grab something for Melina.”
“Yeah? What?”
She looks side to side. “Well ... she needed more tape. I don’t see any in here.”
I close the door to the room and walk over to her, my skate blades tapping on the concrete floor. “You don’t have to pretend. Macintire’s a worthless piece of shit. He’s not worth a single tear from you.”
Her eyes flood again.
“I know. I mean, I know I should know. I want to be able to watch this game like a badass bitch who doesn’t give a single fuck about him, but ...”
“It’s hard.”
She nods. “I said I’d go to their stupid fucking wedding next month, but like ... how?” Her voice breaks with emotion. “I’ll just cry and hide in the corner the whole time.”
I drop my brows. “Fuck them and their wedding. Why would you put yourself through that?”
She shrugs. “If I skip it, it seems like I’m not over it, and if I don’t skip it ...” She laughs as a tear trails down her cheek. “I prove I’m not over it, I guess?”
I can’t miss pregame warm-ups. But I also can’t leave this conversation.
Gloves tucked under one arm, I reach out with my free one and brush my thumb over the tear. Her eyes widen as she holds my gaze.
“Just get through tonight. You’re a beautiful, strong woman and he’s a piece of shit. If it’s hard to be in the same building as him, grab an Uber and go home. Get some ice cream. Buy yourself something you really want.”
Her shoulders drop with a deep exhale. “Yeah, that’s ... not a bad idea. I want to be able to sit in the stands and look like I don’t care, but ...”
“You’re not a soulless sack of shit like him, and you do care. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
A corner of her lips quirks into a smile. “Are you just really good at pep talks?”
“I’m not bad, but I also know Macintire. We used to play on the same team. I fucking hate him.”
“Why?”
I shift on my feet, nervous the locker room is empty out there. “Long story, and I have to hit the ice. Text me if you want to watch Severance later.”
“You want to come over to my dad’s?”
I balk. “He’d love that. I meant we can watch them at the same time. Me at my house and you at yours.”
“Oh.”
Was that flicker on her face disappointment?
She nods. “Yeah, that sounds good, actually. I don’t think I have your number, though.”
“I’ll get yours from Melina.”
“Beaumont?”
The yell in the locker room means I’m missing warm-ups. I head for the door, looking over my shoulder at Talia.
“Catch the game if you can. I think you’ll enjoy it.”