9. Griffin
CHAPTER 9
GRIFFIN
We’re halfway through preseason when Riley has his surgery, and I’m playing like complete dog shit.
For all my talk of kicking ass, I can’t get over the sound of Riley screaming, of the bone crunch that quieted an arena of hockey fans.
Some nights I have nightmares about it, sleeping in an old, uncomfortable recliner in Riley’s hospital room. If the team has noticed anything odd about my attention to our injured teammate, no one has said anything.
They have commented on my crappy playing, though. Coach even sat me aside and told me I can’t be playing like this when the regular season rolls around.
Dammit, I just want my boyfriend back on the ice.
If he can’t play anymore, what does that mean for us?
Nothing will be keeping him here, and I’m not ready to give up hockey.
Which won’t be much of a problem if I can’t get my head out of my ass and play like the goalie they traded for.
We don’t have a game tonight, which is good because no way could I have convinced myself to bus out to some other city while Riley is being cut open.
We do have drills, though, and I’m so distracted that as soon as we hit the locker rooms and start stripping out of our practice gear, Hawks claps me on the shoulder and steers me toward the doors.
“You free?” he asks, and before I can give a response he narrows me with a sharp look. “You’re free.”
I don’t argue, just grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder as I fall into step behind him.
He takes us to a bowling alley that’s dead given it’s a Wednesday afternoon, and I’m quiet while he pays for the lane and shoes, but as we’re setting our pick of balls onto the ball return, I raise my brow in question.
“There a reason for this impromptu bonding session?”
Hawks’ eyes are blue and doe-like, so it’s easy to underestimate him, but there’s no denying the intensity he fixes me with.
“Just seeing if your aim is as bad as your blocking.”
I wince, but it’s a well deserved insult.
“Ouch. Alright. Fair. You coming to me as my captain or as my friend?”
“Both.” He picks up his ball and stands at the head of the lane. “You don’t need me to tell you you’ve been sucking.”
The ball blazes down the lane and whacks a good half of the pins down.
“Nice.”
He gives me another look, and I throw my hands up. “Got it. You clearly aren’t done.”
Another roll leaves only one pin left standing.
“We all have bad days. It happens. We’re down a player and all a little bit worried.”
I step up and grab my own ball which goes straight into the gutters before it even gets halfway down the lane.
“Problem is, our GM is stressed about losing Riley for the season. He wants to bring in some fresh players.”
Another gutter ball as I physically recoil. “They can’t trade him.”
Hawks grips both hands onto my shoulders and tips his head back to look me in the eyes.
“They aren’t thinking about trading Riley, Foster. They’re thinking about trading you.”
My jaw drops open, and while I shouldn’t be surprised because trading me around like a collectible is par for the course, I didn’t realize things were that bad.
“Because of a few bad games?”
“Because we need a new powerhouse and Roman is playing better than you right now.”
Roman is our backup goalie, who has seen a lot of ice time since I abandoned the team at the end of the match Riley got hurt in.
“They can’t trade me, Hawks.”
Not because I think I’m some invaluable player—I’ve proved in my seven years at the Minors that I’m nothing special—but because trading means I have to make a choice:
Hockey or Riley because there’s no way our relationship survives secrecy and distance at the same time.
“It’s a damn good thing you’ve got a couple more games to prove why getting rid of you would be a bad idea.”
My shoulders slump as Hawks drops his hands back to his sides, shoving them in his pockets. “Play my ass off. Stay on the team. I can do that.”
“Don’t breathe a sigh of relief just yet. Coach is talking about benching your ass and making you the backup.”
I curse under my breath as he goes back for his turn with the bowling ball. “Dammit, I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted.”
As if on cue, my phone pings, and I pull it out to see a text from Riley to our team chat telling us they’re taking him back. I check the time, and yup, there it is. Hawks managed to get me out of my head just long enough to forget my boyfriend is about to go into surgery, and I’m not fucking there.
“We’re all worried about him,” he says softly as he plops into one of the seats.
It’s my turn, but instead of picking up the ball, I collapse into the spot across from him. “Yeah, I know.”
It’s not like I can open up about how fucking scared I am. About how tight my chest feels at the thought of anything happening to Riley.
“He’d kick your ass if he knew how bad you were slacking.”
I laugh, but it sounds fake. “Oh, he knows. He goes over the plays with me every night and gives me a good lecture.”
Hawks smiles and pulls his own phone out, tapping it on the table. “You’ve got about three hours until Riley is coherent enough to put up with you. So let’s finish this, and then I’ll let you go.”
“What makes you think I’m going to see him?”
He stands and shakes his head with a secret smile. One that makes me pause.
“Wait. You know.”
It’s not a question, and the hand that lands on my shoulder and squeezes confirms it. “I’ve always known. From that first look you shared in the weight room.”
“How?”
Hawks goes quiet, walks up to the lane—picking up his ball from the return—and knocks down every single pin with one throw.
“I knew about Matty,” he says softly. “Riley doesn’t know it, but Matty had an awful poker face. He was younger than me even, and he couldn’t hide how head over heels he was for Riley. I don’t think anyone else picked up on it, though. A lot of our team is pretty oblivious.”
“You saying you took one look at us and knew we’d hook up?”
He shakes his head. “I took one look at you and knew you’d fall in love. For months, every single time the two of you interacted, I was waiting for you to see it. Then one day you came into the locker room … and the way you looked at each other was with a connection I wish I could find.”
If you didn’t know him, you’d wonder why Hawks was chosen as captain. He isn’t the best player on the team or the oldest. He doesn’t usually give sage advice. There’s something about him that manages to just get other people. I can’t explain it. Hell, I’d call it a little eerie.
“Some advice,” he says, leaning his hip on the machine in front of the ball return. “If you want to be here for him, get your head in the game. Stop being distracted. I’m not sure if I can talk Coach off the ledge again.”
The fact that he went to bat for me at all has my throat closing up. Coming to this team and forming the bond I have with Riley is wild enough, but the friendships I’ve made are just as ingrained in me. This is all fresh territory.
I take his advice to heart, because I want this.
I want to be here.
With my team.
With Riley.
I’m not ready to give up on either yet.
The doctor lets me wait in Riley’s room for them to wheel him in from the recovery ward. His sedation is worn off, but he’s still out of it as the nurses check his vitals and chit-chat amongst themselves. They dim the lights and shut the door as they go, and I can’t help staring at my sleeping boyfriend.
His copper hair is overgrown with no traces of the blond he covers it up with at the start of the season, and his beard is due for a trim. Thick gauze is wrapped tightly around his left leg, and though his eyes occasionally open, there’s no awareness or recognition yet.
The doc said it might be a little bit before he’s coherent and talking, but I just want to be here with him.
Watch his slow, rhythmic breathing. Brush the hair out of his eyes and stroke his cheek without fear of someone walking in, of him being afraid someone will catch us.
God, I wish he wasn’t afraid.
I wish I knew how to take it away.
“You’ve made this place a home for me,” I say into the quiet. “I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
I grip his hand in mine and cup his neck with the other.
“It kills me to think that could go away. That one wrong move could crumble us. That’s why I wanted to be open to the team. I need a shred of hope that this is something bigger.”
It doesn’t matter that he can’t hear me. That this is a one-sided conversation. I need this weight off my chest so I don’t crush him with it. He’s got it hard enough right now.
“Do you see a future with me?” I ask as I drop my forehead to his, rubbing the warmth of his cheek with my thumb. “Because I fucking see one with you. God, Riley.”
I’m not the kind of person who cries when they get emotional, but here I am, spilling tears faster than I can blink them away.
“This thing between us feels like a lightning storm of chemistry. I know you feel it. I want it.” I brush my lips over his cheek, his nose, the crease between his brows. “I want you, Riley. I need you to want this, too.”
When his face tips up to meet mine, my heart kicks up a thunderous beat, but the soft press of his lips and the groan that follows is disoriented.
“Griff …” He says my name on a sluggish slur, a warm, heavy breath ghosting my face. “Love you.”
Love you.
We’ve never said those words before. I’ve come close, and I swear he has too, but it’s one of those things that feels like it would tip us over the edge into a place where we can no longer pretend.
I know he’s still half asleep and out of it, but I kiss him anyway. He grunts, mouth slack, and when I go to pull away, his hand squeezes mine.
“Griff?” he mumbles, purpose behind the word instead of rambling high on painkillers. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey yourself, handsome.”
He chuckles, and I give him a little space to open his eyes and blink the room into focus.
“Just you?”
He doesn’t sound disappointed, so I smile and pull the plastic chair by his bedside closer. “Just me. Figured you wouldn’t want a bunch of loud-ass puckheads taking away your beauty sleep.”
“Thank you.” He links his fingers with mine, and I bring our joined hands to my lips. “I might not be good company for a while.”
“Get some rest, Easton.”
I run my fingers over the scratch of his beard, and he leans into my hand.
“You’re my favorite person. You know that?”
“I’ll make sure you remember that when you wake up.”
He smiles, closes his eyes again, and I know by the slow exhale followed by the steady rise and fall of his chest that he’s fallen back asleep.
One thing becomes abundantly clear as I sit in that room listening to the snores of a man who somehow snuck his way into becoming a huge chunk of my world:
I will do anything to keep him, and right now that means working my ass off to secure my spot on this team.