Chapter Seven
Owen
I know that the guys are up to something the instant that I step into the locker room. They’re standing in a group facing me, wearing shit-eating grins.
I haven’t even made it three steps inside, and I can already tell I’m not in control of whatever this is. That used to be funny. Today, it just makes my shoulders tighten.
“Welcome back,” Viktor says through the shit-eatingest grin of them all. “We got you a welcome-back present.”
I stop in my tracks and plant my feet. My flight response kicks in.
I’m not usually on the receiving end of the legacy players’ pranks, but if they’ve all worked together to do, well, whatever this is, then it’s entirely possible that their present is either alive, booby-trapped, or highly flammable.
It sure as hell better not be all three.
“Actually,” Tristan corrects, “it’s for your new shadow. We wanted to make her job a little easier.”
I swallow hard. “Please do not piss off my hand-picked by Dante crisis manager.”
I mean it more than I want to. The last thing I need is another reason for people to think I can’t keep my shit together.
Adler chuckles. “We would never.”
“Never,” Lenyx echoes. “That’s your job.”
Viktor claps his hands. “Show him the gift basket, boys.”
The team parts, revealing an enormous wicker basket stuffed with… baby crap?
For a second, I stare at it, trying to catch up. My brain’s stuck somewhere between the clip, the suspension, and the feeling that I’m walking into every room half a step behind.
Bowen pats the jumbo pack of newborn diapers that takes up half of the basket. “These are to help your babysitter deal with all of your shit.”
Lenyx reaches into the basket and pulls out a onesie that says Biggest Baby Ever. “Here’s a little something for your wardrobe.”
Adler shows off a pack of silicone bibs ala Home Shopping Network. “These should help keep you from getting messy at mealtimes.”
“There’s a sippy cup for your juice,” Bowen says, no longer able to keep a straight face. “It even has handles.”
Tristan pulls out a six-pack of binkies. “And there’s something for her to stick in your mouth whenever she wants you to shut the fuck up. Which is 24/7.”
I stare as they parade out baby toys, reusable heating pads, and teethers.
“Hold on,” I interrupt. That wicker basket belongs in a magician’s magic show. Every time I’m convinced it’s empty, wait, there’s more! “Did you guys honestly buy, like, a thousand dollars’ worth of baby supplies just to troll me?”
They all burst out laughing, though I have no idea why. I laugh with them, because that’s what you do, but it doesn’t land the same way it usually does. Like I’m a fraction out of sync with everything around me.
They could have at least included a bag of Cheetos.
Viktor wraps an arm around me and gives me a playful jostle that’s rough enough to make my neck pop. “Nah. The look on your face was priceless, though.”
I’m still lost. “So what’s the deal?”
Viktor points an index finger toward the locker room door. “Wait for it.”
Nothing happens.
“Um.” I scratch the nape of my neck. “How long should I be waiting, exactly?”
Viktor checks his smartwatch, which happens to be attached to the arm that’s still draped around my neck, which means that he has to put me in a chokehold to check the time. “Aaaaany minute now.”
At last, the locker room door opens. Cam steps in, leading a frazzled Knight.
“Sorry!” Knight blurts. “We got held up in the…” He stumbles to a stop at the sight of the baby basket. “No.”
“Surprise!” the guys bellow in unison.
“Nooooo!” Knight presses his hands to either side of his face. “Who told you? It was supposed to be a surprise!”
Viktor puffs up his chest. “Knova’s known for weeks. A couple of the other ladies were speculating at the bar the other night, and I finally annoyed her until she spilled the beans.”
“Wait.” I glance back and forth from Knight to the basket. “Sofia’s pregnant?”
That cuts through everything else for a second. Real life. Good news. Something that actually matters.
“You can’t tell anyone!” Knight wails. “My parents don’t know yet! Do not incentivize my father to go back to using the hose as a weapon!”
“Wait, really?” Viktor cackles and darts for his locker. “I’m calling them right now.”
“No cell phones in the locker room!” Knight screeches. He tackles Viktor.
“Ow! Get off me! I have your mom on speed dial!”
“If you tell her, I will literally murder you. They will never find the body.”
“You think I’m scared of death threats? Ha! Knova threatens my life at least three times a week! I get off on it!”
“Fuck you!”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t think Knova would be into that.”
The two of them tussle until Knight comes out on top. Viktor splutters and tries to wriggle free of the power wrestling move that Knight just invented.
“Let me go!” Viktor chokes.
“Only if you swear you won’t call my parents.”
“Fine!”
“Swear it.”
“Okay, Jesus, I swear.” Viktor wrenches out of Knight’s suddenly slack grip. “A thank you would have sufficed, jackass. Do you know how much diapers cost? NHL players still need a coupon.”
I frown at the basket. I wasn’t out for a whole week, but I somehow missed so much. I didn’t have a chance to get anything for the basket. I make a mental note to get something to contribute while I get ready in silence.
Even though I don’t say much, it’s good to be back. I feel normal for the first time since that stupid fight. Or close enough to normal that I can pretend for a few minutes.
That normalcy ends the moment we head out to practice. Coach Metcalfe is making little notes on his clipboard, and the look he gives me could curdle milk. Not angry or yelling. Just watching, like he’s already decided what I am and he’s waiting for me to prove him right.
I guess the guys have moved on, but Coach doesn’t seem so quick to forgive and forget. I tear my gaze away from him, only to notice Remy in the stands, chatting with Marley, Knight’s assistant, and Minnie, Tristan’s wife.
She doesn’t look out of place. That’s the problem. Like she’s supposed to be here, like she belongs in this space I’ve always kept separate from everything else.
My hands ball into fists. What’s she doing here? Things have been going so well. What, is she worried I’m going to go after one of my own teammates?
I know exactly what she’s doing here. Watching. Assessing. Deciding whether I’m a problem she can manage or one she can’t.
The guys were joking about this babysitter thing, but that doesn’t mean I want her hovering around all the time.
Viktor bumps into me during warm-ups. He nods to where Remy sits, watching me from the corner of her eye. “Don’t stress. Shadowing builds trust.”
I don’t acknowledge him. Nor do I acknowledge Adler when he skates up beside me to say, “Hey, your babysitter’s hot. Is she single?”
The word lands wrong. Not because it’s funny. Because it isn’t.
A rookie defenseman laughs in response. “Better toe the line, Rourke, or you’ll get grounded!”
I know they’re just chirping. I know. But I had to listen to this kind of shit all the time when it was just me and Mom, and goddamn it, can’t they leave me alone? I want to play hockey without getting too stuck in my own head.
Instead of relaxing as practice goes on, though, I get antsier. My focus drifts up to where Remy sits, time and time again.
Every time I look up, she’s still there. Not staring, not obviously watching me, but I feel it anyway. Like a weight I can’t quite shake.
“Getting sloppy, Rourke!” Coach Metcalfe bellows.
There it is. The moment everyone’s been waiting for.
I grit my teeth. “Sorry, Coach!”
“Don’t be sorry. Be attentive.” Coach’s eyes follow me through my drills.
Goddamn it, I like Coach. He’s a good guy. Tough, sure, but he’s not an asshole. The way he’s watching me, though, like he’s waiting for me to screw up…
He reminds me of my dad, and it makes me want to peel my skin right off my bones. Like he’s waiting for me to let him down so he can prove something. I don’t even know what anymore. That I’m not as in control as I think I am. That I never was.
I push myself harder, trying to distract myself. I love hockey. It’s good to be back. I’m definitely thinking about hockey and not about Coach.
Or Remy. Nope, haven’t thought about her once.
If I say it enough times, maybe it’ll be true.
I glance up toward the stands. Why does she have to be here?
I wish she’d leave me alone for the day.
I’ve done everything she’s asked of me. The guys were just giving me shit with the whole babysitter thing, but still…
it feels like I’m being handled. Like I’m a bomb that everybody expects to go off at any moment.
“Look alive, Rourke!” Lenyx calls out as he passes me. “One week off the ice, and it’s like you forgot how to move!”
He’s too busy chirping at me to watch where he’s going, so he doesn’t see the rookie d-man headed toward him.
I see it coming a split second too late.
Bodies moving in the wrong direction, timing off enough to turn routine into a problem.
The rookie slams into him at full speed.
The impact catapults Lenyx into the crease.
“What the fuck was that?” I’m moving before the words even finish leaving my mouth. The rookie tries to turn away, catches an edge, and goes down hard on his ass. I stop over him while the rest of the team rushes toward Lenyx. “You outta your fuckin’ mind?”
It comes out sharper than I meant it to. Louder. Full Southie accent. Closer to a snap than a question.
The d-man tries to stand up, but his skates shoot out from under him, sending him back to the ice.
His face is pale, and he won’t meet my eyes.
I glance over my shoulder to check on Lenyx.
I know he can take a hit, but this is practice, not a real game, and if he gets injured because of some rookie’s stupid stunt, there will be hell to pay.
Lenyx is on his feet, though he seems a little shaky. Violet, our physio and resident head trauma specialist, is already at his side, examining him while Knight and Viktor support each of his arms. I expect Coach Metcalfe to be at his side.
Instead, Coach glares at me. “Get the hell over here, Rourke!” he bellows.
“Me?” Why me? I had nothing to do with Lenyx’s crash, unless Coach considers me somehow to blame for his distraction by, I don’t know, existing. Maybe he didn’t see what happened.
Then the d-man tries to stand again, and I suddenly realize why he’s freaking out so much. He’s scared.
Not of the hit. Not of the fall.
Of me.
I skate back from him, putting a little distance between us. “I didn’t touch you.” I didn’t even threaten to.
But he was upright until I approached him. He fell because he was trying to get away from me, in case I came after him with my fists.
Fuck. Fuck. I would never.
At least, I don’t think I would.
Standing over a rookie I barely know who fully expects me to put my fist through his jaw, I feel worse than I have in a very long time. Nobody has ever looked at me like that before.
But I’ve been on the other end of this. I know exactly how he feels, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the pain.
I turn my back on him and skate over to Coach Metcalfe. I don’t let myself look at the stands. Better to let Metcalfe rake me over the coals than to face the ugly truth.
I don’t look. I can’t.
Because if Remy’s expression is anywhere near as terrified as the new guy’s, it’ll break my fucking heart.