Chapter 16
CAUTION TAPE
Maverick
Ispend the rest of the day mulling. I mull over what BJ said, especially the offhand comment about me dating girls I’m not interested in. And the fact that Clover is married to a guy who’s probably fifteen years older than me.
I don’t like the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, or the tightness in my shoulders that I can’t shake, or the way I’m grinding my teeth every time I think about the way her not-quite-ex dismissed me.
I also don’t like that I’m over here telling her my fucking secrets, and Clover didn’t even tell me she’s still married.
I feel like I’m being strung along, and I don’t like it.
I thought we were on the same page, that we were waiting out the semester until I’m not her student anymore.
She said she’s having trouble maintaining boundaries, but maybe I’m making this into something it isn’t.
That thought reinforces all my insecurities, and I’m starting to realize I have a lot of those. Most of which I try to keep buried under smiles and jokes.
So when I hit the ice later that evening for our game, I’m in a sour mood that only gets worse when I miss a tap in during the first period. Luckily, Kody recovers the puck, scoring the goal I missed.
He takes his seat next to me on the bench and Quinn Romero, his roommate and our teammate takes the ice.
He’s working on his master’s thesis and while he came here on a hockey scholarship, he doesn’t have a pro team looking at him.
It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He plays because he loves the game, not because he feels like he has to.
“You all right, man? You seem . . . tense tonight.”
“Just having an off game.” I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the ice.
“You wanna run some drills tomorrow afternoon? Just you and me? Maybe we can grab a bite or something?”
“Why? My sister busy or something?” Fuck. I’m being a dick.
That conversation with BJ comes back to me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m the one making this harder on both of us. I turn to Kody before he has a chance to call me out. “Sorry. I’m in a mood. Yeah, sure, we can run some drills tomorrow afternoon.”
“We could also grab something to eat after the game, if you want? I haven’t seen much of you outside of practice and games. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Just trying not to fail my classes and get through exams, you know? And yeah, a bite to eat after the game would be good.”
“Just keep it low-key? You and me?” He motions between us.
“Like a date?” I arch an eyebrow.
He grins, and then his expression sobers. “I kinda thought you were pissed at me.”
I clap him on the shoulder, not wanting to put my shit on him. “I’m not pissed at you, just trying to figure this whole dynamic out, you know? It was you and me and the guys for three years. It sort of feels like shared custody now that you and Lavender are a thing.”
“It’s good the holidays are coming up. We’ll have a break from all this.” He motions to the ice. “And we’ll have more time to hang out.”
The refs blow the whistle, and Kody and I rush back out onto the ice for the faceoff. He’s center, and I’m left wing.
Russo, the player across from me, taps the end of my stick with his. He gives me one of those chin tips. “First time on the new skates, Waters?”
“Fuck off,” I snap.
“Must suck when even the rookie players are better than you,” he goads.
The puck drops, and because I’m distracted, I miss the pass, and he steals the puck, shouldering me out of the way and racing down the ice.
I’m a second behind him, but the mistake has already been made, and I need to get the puck back into our team’s hands. I panic and make a bad play, my stick sliding between his legs. He goes down, and they blow the whistle, giving me a two-minute penalty for tripping.
The next time we’re on the ice together, he makes another comment about my shitty playing and shoulder-checks me. I shove him back, and he spins around, getting in my face, calling on the refs to give me another two minutes. And like an idiot, I give them a reason because I haul off and punch him.
It isn’t until I’m sitting in the box again that I notice my dad four rows up at center ice. “Fuck,” I mutter, and he cocks a brow at me.
He does this sometimes, showing up at a game without telling me. And of course there’s a scout from Nashville here, too. As if I need the added pressure.
We end up winning by one goal, thanks to Kody.
“You still want me to hang around since your dad is here?” he asks when we’re back in the locker room.
“Nah. It’s cool. You don’t need to see my dad rip into me about my shitty performance tonight.” I blow out a breath. “And I really need to stop channeling my inner Eeyore.”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “We all have off nights. He knows you usually play cleaner than this. And Russo was being a dick the entire game.”
Quinn stops as he passes us and claps me on the shoulder. “Russo deserves more than a shot in the face.”
“Still. I know better than to play with my fists. If there’s a lecture coming, I kinda deserve it.”
“We all know better, but when someone’s grinding you like he was, it’s hard not to react.” He turns to Kody. “Whose bed you sleeping in tonight?”
Kody’s cheeks flush. “Uh, probably not mine.”
Quinn’s gaze shifts from me to Kody and he smirks. “See you both at practice tomorrow, then. And don’t beat yourself up too much, Waters, the pressure can be a lot to handle.”
“Thanks, man.” I know he’s trying to be helpful, but he’s not looking to make the pros, and that’s been the goal my entire life.
Kody turns back to me after Quinn leaves and clears his throat. “We’ll still run drills tomorrow afternoon? And we can go for dinner after that.”
“Sounds good.”
He heads for the showers, even though he’ll take another one as soon as he’s home. I take off my gear, not paying much attention to the conversations going on around me.
“There’s a party going on at Deever’s. I vote we go. One of the sororities is there.” A freshman holds out his phone, showing our teammates a video clip of two girls doing keg stands. “Waters, you wanna come?” He gives me a nod.
“Maybe. Send me the address.”
I’ve been off the party scene for weeks now. But after this shitshow of a day, I might need to unwind with a lot of beer. Or shots.
The freshman, whose last name is Frenchie, sends me the details. I tell the guys I might see them later, then hit the showers, passing Kody on his way out.
He bumps his fist against mine. “See you back at home.”
“Sounds good.”
I take my sweet time in the shower and getting dressed. As expected, my dad is waiting for me outside the locker room. He’s chatting with a couple of the younger players, and when he sees me, he lifts his hand in a wave.
They shake his hand and head for the door, glancing over their shoulders as my dad strolls toward me, one of his eyebrows quirked.
I’m a carbon copy of him. Same build, same height, same hair, same everything—apart from the bump in his nose where it was broken more than once in his earlier years, and the fact that he’s an infinitely better hockey player than I’ll ever be.
“I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.” My shoulders are already tight, bracing for what’s to come.
“I had a dinner meeting in the city with one of Aunt Sunny’s clients, and I figured I’d check out the second half of the game.” He pulls me in for a back-pat hug.
Aunt Sunny works for a nonprofit organization that helps kids with terminal cancer meet their favorite hockey players. It’s awesome, but also tragic. They’ll never experience a broken heart before theirs gives out on them.
Dad and I make small talk on the way to his truck. “You drive here?” he asks.
“I got a ride in.”
“Want to grab a beer?”
“Maybe a coffee would be better. I have an exam I need to study for when I get home.” It’s not a lie, although I don’t plan to study tonight. And this is my way of cutting this visit as short as possible.
“Coffee it is, then.” My dad’s truck beeps, and I toss my backpack in the back seat, then climb into the passenger seat and buckle up.
“You want to tell me what happened out there tonight?” he asks as he slides the key into the ignition.
I knead the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Just played like garbage, I guess.”
He glances over at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just . . . exams and games are a lot to juggle. I don’t want to shit the bed.”
“Your grades are okay, though?”
“Yeah. They’re up.”
“Okay. That’s good. One more semester and you’ve got a degree under your belt, and I have a feeling you’ll get called up. Just keep your eye on the goal. You’re almost there.”
“What if Nashville decides they don’t want me?” I give voice to the fears that plague me after games like this.
“There’s another team that wants you if Nashville doesn’t.” He says this with such conviction, as if it’s a given.
“But what if there isn’t?”
“There will be. Trust me. The scouts are talking. That’s all I can tell you, though.” He pulls into the drive-thru of an independently owned coffee shop and rolls down the window. He gets a black coffee, and I get one of their latte things that are full of sugar and caffeine.
I wait until he pulls ahead before I say, “What if I don’t want to get called up?”
A crease forms between his eyes. “You’ve been working your entire life for this, Maverick. Why would you want to walk away now? What’s going on? I’m worried about you, son. This isn’t like you.”
I lift my hat and run my hand through my hair before replacing it, adjusting the brim. “I know. I’m being stupid. Tonight, I played like a rookie, and it put me in a shit headspace. I’ll be fine next game.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “You will. It’s normal to have doubts after a rough game. We all have them. I had lots of bad games. And I got lots of penalties when I was a rookie and playing with my emotions and not my skill set. I don’t ever expect you to be perfect. You know that, right?”