Chapter 13
thirteen
ASHER
After another unsatisfying team practice, I sat brooding on my couch, staring at the cloudy afternoon outside my windows.
I couldn’t get Caden Kelly out of my head.
My inconvenient attraction had been something I’d been fighting for weeks. I’d almost managed to convince myself that it would fade if I ignored it long enough.
Just because he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on didn’t mean I couldn’t control myself.
Then the afternoon in my office happened.
God, now I was fucked.
The spark in my gut had spread like goddamn wildfire, burning up a little more of my resolve to keep my hands, and mouth, off him.
The scene repeated itself in my mind endlessly: Cade’s cheek pressed against my bicep as he slept through the tape we were supposed to be watching, the hint of some herbal shampoo that reached my nose as it wafted up from his copper curls, the way the lines of stress on his face softened with his features relaxed in sleep.
It all added up to a tsunami of desire I was holding back by sheer grit at this point.
He hadn’t revealed even a hint of his sexuality in my presence. The glaring ethical concerns aside, I had no business hanging on to these feelings when I had no hope of him reciprocating them.
If not for his dedication to avoiding me over the past fourteen days, I doubt I would have been able to resist the temptation of spending more time with him outside of the team.
Something about Cade demanded that I take care of him. I wanted to see more of the shy, easy smiles he offered me when I validated his insights on a particular idea.
Even if Cade was into men, and moreover, into me, I couldn’t call myself a catch at the moment. Technically, I was working for the Hammerheads this season, but the bulk of my “consulting” fee had already been promised to the two nearest children’s hospitals in the Greater Toronto Area.
But otherwise, I was too close to being the guy “who could have taken the team to the Cup twice in his career before he got injured.”
I was a man with an uncertain future.
Sure, I enjoyed coaching the Hammerheads more than I’d anticipated, but could I see myself doing it long term? Would there even be a spot for me on Zane’s staff next year if I asked him to let me stay on with the team?
Each day brought more uncertainty into my life.
Despite a lucky break a few years into my career, that shiny ten-million-dollar contract felt as though it was a coin toss away from disappearing every time I spent another month on the long-term injured reserve.
No one could guarantee that I’d be on the ice again next season with the Titans.
Not “the best” orthopedic surgeon in Toronto, the team doctor, or even the physiotherapist I drove downtown for twice a week, could tell me why my shoulder wasn’t responding to doing every-damn-thing right when it came to rehabbing.
If I heard “we just need to wait and see” in a pitying, placating tone from another person, I was going to lose it for sure.
Thank god I’d taken my agent’s advice and let her argue for a much higher signing bonus. At least I didn’t have to worry about money for several years.
Frankly, my biggest selling point might have been my cat.
And besides, if, by some miracle, I was able to get back to playing next season, what could I offer Cade? Eighty games a year with more than half being out of town, plus travel on either side? That wasn’t even taking the postseason into account.
And God, the media. My agent had been militant about my privacy since I’d been drafted.
At sixteen, when all I could think about was being drafted, I didn’t understand just how much feeding the media monster demanded of anyone in the spotlight.
I was lucky enough to have a support system around me and enough common sense in my yet-underdeveloped prefrontal cortex not to do anything too stupid as social media invaded every aspect of society.
But even in the months since it was leaked that Mira and I had broken up, there had been an uptick in more invasive posts about my personal life.
I couldn’t imagine anyone as reserved as Cade wanting to step into a potential relationship where every interaction had the possibility of becoming a media firestorm.
Especially not a man in his early twenties on the cusp of stardom of his own.
Cade was a phenomenal center. His technical skills were almost machine-like in their perfection.
If he could just get into a confident mindset and stay in the zone, the Titans would have to fight to get him onto a two-way contract.
He’d have all the options in the world once everyone could see what I saw every time he stepped on the ice.
Why would Cade jump at the chance to hop into your bed for a hot night?
Except. . . him falling asleep against my arm was about the least sexual thing that could have happened, and yet it made me realize that one night would never be enough.
Restlessness took over my muscles. There was a small risk I’d run into my current obsession in the stairwell or lobby of the building, but with the way Cade had been avoiding me lately, I seriously doubted I’d see him.
Hell, if I hadn’t laid eyes on him multiple times a week at practice, I’d have sworn he’d quit the team. He was last in and first out of the locker room, sticking around only for a moment to hear any last-minute directions from Zane.
I didn’t have Cade’s number, so I had no way to subtly check on him other than trying to read his expression through his helmet visor and mouthguard during practices and games. Zane’s assistant took care of all team communication.
The rest of the time, his face resembled a statue, locked into a kind of neutral expression that could only be something he forced onto his gorgeous features.
Unable to sit and stew in my apartment another minute, I practically leapt off the couch, scooped up my keys and my favorite ratty, blue university baseball cap, and slapped the hat over my messy waves before my phone vibrated, pulling me from my Cade-induced rabbit hole.
Amie: The Titans GM just called me for an update on your shoulder. What do you want me to tell him?
“Fuck, I don’t know. Tell him I’m in fucking injury purgatory with no idea when I’m going to be let out again,” I muttered to my phone screen.
Of course, Amie, my agent since I was eighteen years old, did not deserve to shoulder any of my ongoing frustration about my recovery. Instead, I sucked in a deep breath to try to calm my anger over the whole situation before tapping out my reply as I walked to the building’s elevator.
Asher: I have an appointment with the ortho surgeon next week. Can you hold him off with a non-answer until then?
There was no follow-up appointment next week. I’d have to sweet-talk something last-minute with the head receptionist at Dr. Janson’s office. It was a good thing he was a hockey fan.
What the fuck did I want to do if my shoulder never got better?
Even allowing the thought to enter my mind felt like admitting I was giving up on returning to the Titans. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’d be a model rehab patient, following my doctors and physiotherapists’ instructions to the letter.
Amie: Fine. I’ll do my best.
Finding the elevator blissfully empty, I pressed the ground level button before leaning back against the mirrored wall behind me.
Closing my eyes, I could imagine Amie shaking her head at me, having to take a bullshit answer back to the organization. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I’d have an answer for her next week either, but I was clearly not in the state of mind to think seriously about my future.
At least I’d postponed that problem for another day.
Thankfully, no one got on as the elevator chugged its way past the other floors.
Zane had been right about one thing when he asked me to sign on to help with coaching the Hammerheads this season. I hadn’t had much time to dwell on my injured shoulder with the constant demands of working with the offensive lines, rehab and working out.
Lakeside was a laidback city to spend the season in. The team was, as far as I could tell in the weeks I’d gotten to know most of the players, made up of guys I respected.
Zane had been working overtime since he joined the Hammerheads’ organization to stamp out any of hint of toxic hockey culture within the team.
It was clear that he was more concerned with leading a team of respectful players than a team solely focused on winning and having asses in seats to make money.
Despite my initial feelings of being ill-equipped to take on the role of an offensive line coach, I’d found my groove and felt a deep satisfaction at watching my lines improve week after week.
Zane’s dreams of the Calder Cup didn’t seem so out of reach anymore.
Don’t forget your favorite player. Can you imagine your shoulder magically healed overnight? Are you ready to leave Cade behind and return to eighty-plus games and b being on the road for half your time?
Fuck, no. I couldn’t imagine being forced to leave Cade in Lakeside and pretend we’d never met.
He might be struggling now, but his hockey IQ was through the roof when he forgot to be so worried about fucking up the play and just followed his instincts.
Once he started playing more consistently, any NHL team would be stupid not to snap him up.
Do you really want to face Cade on the opposite side of the faceoff circle?
God, I’d be so distracted by his perfect face and those gorgeous red curls plastered to his forehead under his helmet, I’d lose every damn time.
The elevator doors opened to reveal the building’s lobby, dragging me from my spinning thoughts. I slowed my steps, trying to decide which way to go once I walked out of the automatic doors.
The Tim Horton’s across the street beckoned me with its promise of a caffeine boost cloaked in average-tasting coffee.
Adjusting the brim of my baseball cap a little lower over my forehead, I hoped to get in and out with my order without being noticed by any potential fans.
Having kept mostly to my apartment on the Hammerheads’ off days, content to chill with Poe a lot more than I could during the NHL season, I hadn’t seen much of Lakeside in the of couple months I’d been here.
Hell, I’d only been in Tim’s a handful of times, and only when I overslept after a hard rehab session.
I mostly preferred to get my food delivered to save myself the hassle of running into fans.
You sound like an asshole, Landry. The fans are the reason you can play hockey at all.
The text from my agent had set me more on edge than I had already been. I decided that I’d better get a decaf coffee after all. I didn’t need any more chemical stimulants adding to my natural agitation.
A quick glance both ways showed no traffic on the road in front of the apartment building.
Out of instinct, I tucked my chin in an attempt to hide my face slightly or at least go unnoticed.
I’d been pretty lucky so far in Lakeside.
Zane had assured me that the town, though extremely supportive of the team, tended to leave the players and coaches alone, knowing that privacy was highly valued by most of us.
At the same time, I couldn’t shake the thought that I was going to run into a gaggle of fans, wanting autographs and to talk about my injury.
That’s all anyone wanted to talk about. They wanted to know when I’d be back on the ice and what the chances were of the Titans winning the Cup again.
I didn’t have any of the answers.
Despite the street being quiet, the restaurant had a low buzz of conversation. A quick glance around the room showed mostly groups of senior citizens out for an afternoon coffee and a few students with noise-canceling headphones, attempting to study.
My gaze froze on the corner of the room where Cade was sitting with a gorgeous young woman, their heads bent together. Her hands covered both of his as they leaned on the table.
I hadn’t known, until that moment, how many fantastical hopes I’d pinned on the possibility of something happening with Cade.
The punch of seeing him holding hands with someone else had nausea bubbling up in my throat.
There was no way I was going to stay in this restaurant, grab a coffee, and pretend like I could deal with an innocent run-in with Cade and this girl.
From the looks of things, if they weren’t dating, they were definitely interested. They only had eyes for each other.
Not caring if I looked like some weirdo who came into the coffee shop and ducked out again without buying anything, I turned and left. It was my turn to avoid Cade for once.
I hustled down the street in the direction of the river.
Now I had my answer. Nothing would happen with Cade. Maybe this moment was the universe telling me to get my mind focused on the things that should have been my priorities: healing my injury, taking time to rest, and helping Zane like he’d asked.
And, sure as fuck, staying away from the gorgeous walking conflict of interest that was Caden Kelly.
There was no reason a high-school-like crush should be able to affect me this way.
I needed to remind myself that I had enough on my plate this year. My feelings for Cade needed to be tucked away deep in the recesses of my mind until I could forget them completely.
I’d keep it to rehabbing my shoulder and coaching.
Simple.