17. Chapter 16 #2
He grunts, and ignores me, because Josie has curled her arm around his side. Her lips brush his ear, and whatever she whispers makes the back of his neck flush red.
I try to look away as one of my brother's massive hand drops to the curve of her ass. He growls in her ear and squeezes.
"Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want."
Wonderful. My brother's getting laid tonight in the room next to mine. Very happy for him.
Needing a distraction ASAP, I spot Darcy at the far end of the counter, accepting her key card from Rose with an excited little giggle. Her mood seems to have improved from the bus transfer, so I decide now is as good a time as any to go chat.
I wander over before my brain clears the request.
"Hey. What floor are you on?"
Darcy glances at the envelope, eyes dodging mine. "Twenty-six."
"Oh really. Same as me!" I wink, trying to catch that smile, but failing. "What room?"
Her dark eyes narrow as Coach Pearson passes behind us to receive his own key from his daughter. They exchange a few words, but from what I can hear, it's mostly just Coach telling Rose what to do.
"Why?" Darcy asks.
I shrug. "Emergency preparedness."
"For what emergency?"
"Haven't decided yet."
Her phone buzzes in her hand. She glances down, and whatever's on that screen makes eyes go wide and her body go very, very still.
"Work?" I ask.
"Yeah. It's Colin." She fires back a reply that's mostly thumbs, then kills the screen without showing me. When she looks up again, her smile is the polished gala one I remember.
She slides the envelope into her bag without showing me the number. "I'll be working tonight, Beck. It seems I've got a very important report to get ready."
Get ready?
Wait.
Don't we have WEEKS of this assessment left?
"Noted," I say. I keep my voice light because pushing right now isn't the move. "Well, if you need me. I'm in room 2604." I lean in and make a very subtle, yet obvious, wink. "Just down in the hall."
She barely reacts, in fact, I think she just took a step back from me.
She's been careful about this shit all day, and with Coach, my brothers and half the organization standing ten feet away, I can't exactly blame her.
Coach Pearson's whistle cuts through the lobby before I can say anything else. The sharp sound bounces off all that marble and every head turns.
"Listen up! Rooms. Bags down and get changed.
I need all you lumps back here in forty-five minutes.
" He checks his watch, then glares at the group like we've already disappointed him.
"We've got the arena walkthrough and pre-skate in one hour.
Nobody's late. Nobody gets lost. Nobody ends up at a blackjack table.
" His eyes land on me specifically. "Nobody. "
"Coach, I'm offended."
An hour later, we're walking into the visitor locker room at the Vegas arena, and even the away digs in this league are stupid.
The room is massive with dark wood stalls, and our gear is already there.
Josie and Rose move down the row like a two-woman pit crew, straightening nameplates and hanging jerseys so every Bears logo faces out at the exact same angle.
An equipment guy is running everyone's skates through the sharpener in the corner, sparks jumping off the steel.
The whole room smells like fresh tape and cold air pumped straight off the ice.
My jersey hangs in my stall. MORRISON.
I gear up fast, and follow the team through the tunnel, stepping through the gate.
And there it is.
An empty NHL arena. There's not a sight like it on this fucking planet.
Thousands of seats rise into the shadows, the ice untouched and gleaming under the lights like nobody's ever skated on it in the history of mankind.
Tomorrow night this place will be screaming.
Coach sends us for a slow skate, gathering some gear for a light session.
I push off and take my first lap, blades biting clean, and that's when I spot Darcy, sitting at rinkside by the bench, that fucking tablet still in her hand, already typing.
She's watching me.
And not in the good way I've taken a liking to.
She's just doing her job now, taking notes and filing everything into that goddamn report.
I could give her something worth writing down. Maybe a little shimmy. Triple axel. Front flip, land perfectly, blow her a kiss.
Or I could stop being an asshole and play hockey.
I choose hockey.
Coach Pearson and his assistant Pete set us up in groups. We go through easy, simple drills, simple touches with the puck, nothing cute. I run the corner drill twice and both times I make the boring play, the right play, and it feels weirdly good.
Declan glides up beside me at the far blue line, captain-mode locked in. "Keep your passes simple tomorrow. Short and clean."
"Nothing fancy through the neutral zone," Mason adds, appearing on my other side like they rehearsed it. They probably rehearsed it.
"Guys. Seriously. Not now."
They both stop.
"We're just—"
"I know what you're doing. You've been doing it all week. And I love you. Deeply. Against my better judgment." I point my stick between them. "But can you let me fuck up my own life for five minutes without forming a committee? Goddamn, I'm so tired of it."
I skate away before either of them can vote on a response, but before I get far enough to reset the anger brewing inside me, Coach's whistle pulls us all to center ice.
We circle up, sticks resting across our knees, helmets tipped back. Pete stands beside Coach with his iPad, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Good session," Coach says. "Tomorrow's simple. We play our game, we don't chase theirs. Vegas wants to run. We don't run with them."
He walks through the plan. Matchups. Special teams. Declan's line takes the top unit. Second power play gets a shuffle. It's our standard road-game stuff, and I'm nodding along, remembering where I fit into all of it.