Chapter 7 #2
The chair I sat in scraped across the wood floors when I stood, grabbed my beer, and stomped off, heading for my favorite spot at EDGE: Nashville: the rooftop deck.
I’d turned a disaster into an oasis before Ewen and I headed north.
I wanted to do the same to the top of the old bank we bought for the club in Manchester, but the city planning committee and the historical society were being fucking cunts about it.
Flopping down in an Adirondack chair I built by hand, I chugged the beer I had in my hand, then cursed the fact I didn’t snatch a bucket from the island as I stalked past. Instead of going back inside where I was definitely the topic of conversation, I pinched and twisted my lips in thought.
If anyone lived in my head, they would’ve called it sulking, and they wouldn’t have been wrong, but no one lived up there, so I got to stew in my thoughts without commentary from the peanut gallery.
Was I enamored?
Yes.
Unequivocally.
Without a doubt.
But…
And this is a big ass but.
The boy was too damn young for me. Way too fucking young for me. I enlisted in the Marines before the boy started kindergarten.
How did I know?
I wasn’t stupid.
I Googled the little shit.
So…
Yes, I knew exactly who the fuck he was.
He had his own fucking Wikipedia page.
And if I had it memorized, sue me. No one but me knew how deep my fascination went.
Donald Malachek III.
Nickname: Trey
Only child of Donald Malachek II and Oksana Petrova.
Grandson of Donald Malachek and Linn Gustavvson
Grandson of Victor Petrov and Elena Volkova
Center for Team USA Men’s Hockey.
Olympic Gold Medalist.
First draft pick in the NHL Draft
Manchester University Maulers Captain
Clicking the links for his family members showed me his championship legacy ran deep.
His father and grandfathers all played in the NHL, leading their teams to multiple Stanley Cups.
His mom skated for the Soviet Union and then for Russia.
Her mother was a ballerina for the Bolshoi, and his dad’s mom was a fucking model turned movie star.
We were so mismatched that even thinking about it was stupid. The ridiculousness of the matchup made up the vast majority of my embarrassment about how stuck on him I was.
A wet, cold bottle appeared before me. With a deep sigh, I took it, cracked it open, all without looking to see who had pulled the short straw.
Hawk lay down on my feet with a huff, and my head swung around to meet Alex’s gaze.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this pining you’re doing has something to do with Aiden’s buddies.”
I groaned, then cursed when beer spewed from the bottle in my hand because I knocked the bottom against my fucking knee.
Which only made Alex shake his head and laugh at my antics in trying to keep Hawk and me from being covered in beer.
Giving up, I stood, dropping the bottle into the recycling bin before returning to my seat.
“You’re a fucking mess,” Alex said. “And since I coached those boys for a while, I have an idea which of them has you twisted in knots.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, that was my response whenever Trey Malachek popped into my head.”
Before I could stop myself, or remember how wrapped he was around his boy, my eyes flew to his, and if I opened my mouth, I felt like I would breathe fire on the man until there was nothing left of him but ash.
“Holy shit. You do have it bad,” he said with a chuckle, his arms raised as if saying his hands were off.
“Fuck off,” I growled, which made Hawk growl at me before he moved to Alex’s side. “Jesus Christ. This is ridiculous. I’ve barely even spoken to the boy.”
“If you think that’s ridiculous, try falling for one of your players. The one who happens to be the son of your best friend.”
“At least you met Aiden at EDGE. He at least knew something about you when you met.”
“Sure, I’ll give you that, but he knew nothing else,” Alex said. “And as ridiculous as you think it is, I personally think you’d be good for the kid. He needs a steadying influence.”
“What—”
Alex shook his head. “Nope. I won’t go any further, but don’t discount the kid because of the age gap or any of the other bullshit reasons you have in your head.
Because that’s what they are. They’re bullshit you’ve fabricated in your skull to tell you not to take the risk.
But, and I’m no mental health professional.
As someone who has lived with huge life-changing shit happening to them and then battled the depression and anxiety and negative speak that takes over your head when your carefully constructed, hard-earned life goes to shit, sometimes, taking a risk is the only thing that’ll bump your ass out of the rut. ”
I rubbed my hand over my mouth as I nodded at the way his words landed in my gut. I was on the backside of thirty-five.
“I thank Mikal every day—in my head, because that asshole’s ego is big enough without my help—for pushing me to take the coaching position at MU.
I’ve never been so fucking happy. Not even when I was still playing and raking in millions.
So, consider this your bump. If the boy’s interested, go for it. What do you have to lose?”
My mouth dropped open to say my self-respect, but I swallowed it back down when I looked over at him. Fucker wore a knowing smirk with a smugly lifted brow. “Something you wanna say?”
I laughed at the asshole and shook my head. “Not a fucking thing.”
“Good. Now, let’s go finish eating. We’re gonna need all the energy we can muster. We’ll be chasing after nine collegiate hockey players all night, and I’ll have my hands full dealing with the one who shares my bed.”
“They’re adults…”
“You’re too old to remember what you were like as a twenty-one-year-old Marine painting the town with your buddies?”
I groaned, “Fuuuuck. We’re so screwed.”
“If we’re lucky,” Alex said.