Chapter Five
CARTER
It’s weird going to a bar in your hometown when you weren’t old enough to drink the last time you were there. The bar that Tom and I walk into, Danny’s Place, is where we always talked about going when I turned twenty-one.
Better late than never, I suppose.
It’s seven p.m. on a Friday so the night life hasn’t quite picked up yet. I feel a little overdressed for the location; most everyone here is in jeans and t-shirts like Tom, and I’m over here in slacks and button up dress shirt. I’ve never actually been inside the bar before, but from what I heard growing up, it’s the go-to bar for locals. The interior is well-maintained and gives off a friendly vibe. Maroon leather booths line the walls, and there are various round tables in the middle that seem like they may be cleared out on the weekend for dancing.
“Hey, Danny,” Tom greets as we approach the bar.
“Tom,” Danny says gruffly, using a rag to dry off a glass behind the counter. Even though he’s probably a couple of inches shorter than me, he’s pretty intimidating. He’s built like a lumberjack and looks the part with his blue plaid shirt, white t-shirt underneath, and neatly trimmed beard. He’s probably in his mid-forties, if the faint streaks of gray in his black hair are any indication.
His eyes land on me, but the only acknowledgement I get is a split second look up and down before he nods and turns to the bar.
Shooting Tom a questioning look, I slide onto an open barstool.
“Don’t take it personally. It took me five years to get to a first name basis with him. He’s just getting our drinks,” Tom says, joining me at the bar.
My brow furrows. “We haven’t given him our order.”
Tom chuckles. “Yeah, and don’t try to give him one either. The man has his ways. Knows just what you need by looking at you.”
This could be interesting.
A moment later, Danny returns to us, one drink in each hand. He slides what looks like a scotch on the rocks toward Tom, and a short glass with some sort of cocktail over to me. The slice of orange peel used as a garnish has me raising my brow. “Old Fashioned,” he grunts at me, then walks to the other side of the bar.
I’ve never had an Old Fashioned, despite knowing it’s a classic. My grandpa used to drink them all the time before he died. I take a tentative sip, the sweet vanilla and caramel notes of the whiskey mix nicely with the citrus of the orange peel.
The slight burn in my throat as it moves down turns to warmth, and I close my eyes a moment, savoring the taste.
Meeting Danny’s eyes across the bar, I raise my glass and nod with a grin. He grunts in approval before moving his attention elsewhere.
Tom takes a sip of his scotch with a smug look. “See? Just what you need.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, but grin as I take a proper drink of my Old Fashioned. I can’t help but think of Sophie, and how if things had been different, if I had gotten an offer from Boston, maybe this would be a regular Friday night thing the three of us did in the off season. The thought causes me to unload what’s been on my mind since we left Town Hall. “I didn’t expect to see Sophie like that.”
“I told you she was passionate,” he mutters, nursing his drink.
“That’s not…” I run a hand through my hair. “It was just… fuck.” A sigh leaves me. I’m not really sure what I’m trying to accomplish here. The Sophie I left behind nine years ago and the Sophie I met tonight are two completely different people. She always had this confidence about her, but in high school, she was quiet, shy, and just radiated happiness. Now, I don’t know what she is, but she’s certainly not quiet and she certainly didn’t look happy. It’s strange to think that she’s grown up just as much as I have, and that I am completely unaware of what her life looks like. What her day-to-day is.
I really have no one to blame but myself for that, but it’s an unexpected punch in the gut just the same.
But fuck, did she look good. Looking at her across the room in that meeting had been torture. She had been so athletically built in high school from years of playing hockey, which, obviously, I found sexy as hell, but in the last nine years, she’s made this transition into a full-fledged woman . She’s still built the same, but now there’s the slightest of curves where there weren’t really before. Her long legs had looked even longer because of the heels she was wearing, and that button-up top she had on gave me just the slightest glimpse of the top curve of her breasts.
Fuck.
And then she started yelling at me, and all thoughts of how fuckable her body looked flew out the window. Instead, I was left to look into the pain of her face and know that I was the one that put it there.
“Just… can you tell me about her?”
Tom looks at me skeptically, probably because I made him swear to never bring her up unless it was absolutely necessary, but I want to know. My brain is trying so hard to correlate the Sophie I knew to the one I just saw, and it’s driving me crazy.
“You sure?” he asks knowingly. After I give a nod of confirmation, he sighs. “After Sarah passed, Soph moved in with me full time. She’s been helping me with Jordan ever since. Which is great, because Jordan loves his Aunt Fee.”
A smile ghosts my lips when I remember all of us eating at Sal’s, our old hangout, and Sophie bragging about how one of Jordan’s first word was “Fee-fee”. While not her name, it’s the sound that came out of the little guy when she repeatedly sat in front of him saying “Sooo-feee”.
“What’s she been up to all these years? Has she met anyone?”
Tom’s voice lets out a little raspy chuckle. “No, but I wish she would do something for herself for once. She’s been living with me, which is great. But she also manages our parents' flower shop and the Twin Rinks.”
I ignore the hope that fills my chest at the mention of her not seeing anyone. I have no business thinking of any kind of future with her… no matter how much I might want it. I’m clearly the last person she wants to see and for good reason. For years I promised her it was the two of us, together always.
I broke that promise.
Even if she did want to see me, I don’t think it would work. As much as I want another chance with her, reality bites. As soon as this rec center project is finalized and I have my new contract, I’ll be off to training camp and out of her life again.
“Not to mention,” he continues, “she’s been doing all this since she was still in college, getting her business degree in accounting. Now, instead of charging for any financial services, she does it for free on top of everything else. I don’t know how she does it all.”
She’s stretching herself thin. One of these jobs would be enough to fill anyone's time completely, but she’s doing so much. I want to know what drives her, why she’s spending so much time doing everything for everyone else, and nothing for herself.
“So Carter…” His voice is hesitant as he looks over at me. “What’s going on with your dad?”
Sighing, I run a hand over my face. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Usually, he’s on my ass about money, threatening Mom, spouting all kinds of bullshit. And then a little over a year ago, it all completely stopped. He had been disappearing for longer stretches at a time. His gambling was out of control, and I’m thinking maybe he pissed off the wrong person. If the bastard was still kicking, you know he would’ve resurfaced to get his fingers into my next contract. There’s nothing he likes better than exercising control over decisions that should be mine.”
Tom knows all about how Dad essentially blackmailed me into signing with the team he wanted me to, holding Mom’s safety over my head. He was one of the few people I talked to about everything when it was happening.
Tom nods somberly. “Speaking of next season… do you know what team you want to sign with?”
I shrug. “I have a couple of offers on the table, but I’m not in a rush to make a decision.”
“Did you get any offers from New Jersey or New York? Between injuries and Sullivan’s retirement, Boston’s got room for a winger on their first line.” Tom mentions it casually, but I know he would love for me to be local again. Hell, I can’t deny the thought of living close to Tom is pretty appealing, but is it really what I want?
“Yeah, but I don’t know, man. For so long, I stayed away from home just to keep Mom safe. To keep Sophie safe. But now that they are safe, it’s like I don’t know what to do with myself. My piece of shit dad had me looking over my shoulder for years. Now that I’m free of all of that, I just want to take my time and figure things out.”
Tom claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m here, Cart. Whatever you need. A sounding board, a non-biased opinion, or just someone to keep an eye out for your mom, I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Just a single bed is fine,” I tell the concierge, hiking my bag further on my shoulder. I had thought staying with Mom during my visit was the best idea, but after getting home from the bar, the earlier visions in my room assaulted me, and all I could see was Sophie. Again.
Then the memories of Dad and all of his abusive shit hit me like a ton of bricks. That, on top of the memories of Sophie, made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. Getting out of there was a no brainer.
Mom seemed put out, but understood when I told her there are just too many memories in that house. I don’t know how she stands staying there. Hoping that staying in a room that doesn’t constantly remind me of my high school girlfriend would keep me from thinking of her, I drove my car to the only place to stay in town. Ivy Glen Inn. It’s rustic, but in that homey-way that most everything in Ivy Glen is. The building is only two stories, the brick exterior giving away its age. It’s not what I’m used to staying in, considering the Vultures always housed us in upscale hotels for away games, but I’m not so far up my ass that I can’t stay in a three-star establishment.
After running my credit card at the terminal, the concierge in the lobby smiles and hands me my key. As I unlock and open the door to my room, I’m hit with the standard “hotel room” smell that I grew accustomed to after seven years of traveling. A queen sized bed with a maroon comforter fills most of the space, with two nightstands on either side.
I throw my bags on the bed, then pull out some boxers and sleep shorts. Steam fills the small bathroom once I start the shower and step under the hot spray of water, closing my eyes.
Despite all my attempts to remove her from my mind, thoughts of Sophie return. Even with how pissed she was at me, she looked beautiful. The angles of her face are a little sharper, but her eyes are the same. Honey brown and expressive as hell. The way her long, auburn hair was curled slightly, falling down her back.
I had spent our entire childhood knowing how she was feeling based on her eyes. They were joyful, or full of love. Sometimes mischievous. Occasionally sad. But I had always known how to fix that last one. When we were kids, I’d tell stupid jokes until she laughed, and when we got older, I’d be able to just hold her and be a comfort.
Tonight, reading the emotions in Sophie’s eyes was like picking up my favorite book only to see that someone had changed all the words. And then recognizing my own handwriting on the pages.
Fucking fire and pain was all she had as she unleashed her fury on me, and I deserved it.
I hate that I have something to do with that pain.
I hate what Dad did. What I had to do because of him .
And I fucking hate how I ghosted her. How it made me feel like I was exactly like him .
Because Dad? He’s a selfish bastard who couldn’t even treat his own wife right.
But me? I loved Sophie, more than the air I breathe, and I still hurt her.
Maybe she’s changed, but so have I.
Back then, a part of me loved how it felt like she needed me. How she would stick close to me during parties and get togethers, letting me take care of her. She clearly doesn't need me anymore. Or, more likely, she doesn’t want to need anyone.
But it’s becoming equally clear that I want her. That I never stopped wanting her. I want to know her again, everything that she’s been through and who she’s become. I want to run my hands over the slight, soft curves of her body that weren’t there nine years go, peel her clothes off and?—
My cock grows hard thinking of her, and I grasp it in my hand, pumping up and down. Sophie. My Sophie. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to watch the look her eyes turn from hate into need, and then, surrender.
Thoughts of how I’d gently grab her neck and kiss her breathless, dominating her mouth with my tongue fill my mind. How the lipstick she wore tonight would look wrapped around my cock, my fingers fisting in her hair as I guide her up and down. I can already tell she’ll need someone to get her out of her own head. She may not want my help now, but if she’ll let me, I can give her exactly what she needs.
Fuck. My free hand braces against the shower wall as I lean forward, the hot water running over my back as I stroke faster, picturing her perfect tits bouncing underneath me as I thrust into her, holding her legs over my shoulders.
My hand tightens as I imagine flipping her onto her hands and knees, fucking owning her pussy, pounding into it until she screams my name. If she’s good, I’ll reach around and rub her clit until she comes undone around me?—
I gasp her name as hot ropes of cum paint the tile of the shower wall.
Being away, it was easy to pretend that I no longer had feelings for Sophie Hartwell. I admit, when I first planned on coming back to town, the prospect of seeing her again had my stomach flipping. Then, simply being in Ivy Glen and being reminded of her at every turn was hard. But having her in front of me, breathing the same air as her and not being able to take her into arms had been fucking torture.
I need to make her mine again.
Catching my breath, I make a promise to myself. I’m going to apologize and explain everything to her. I’m going to get on my fucking hands and knees if have to.
I know I fucked up. She deserves so much more than what I gave her.
But maybe… if she hears me out, I can have a second chance.