Chapter 12
DEVON
“What part of do not pinch with this team are you not getting?” Coach didn’t look pissed exactly. But he had a furrow in his brow and he appeared…stressed.
Leaps shrugged. “I had a chance—”
“Bullshit.” Hairs. Coughing into his sleeve.
“Hey!” Yanni, Leaps’s D partner snapped.
“You let him do it.” Hairs raised an eyebrow.
“You think I can control what he does?” Yanni appeared ready to pull his hair out. Between Leaps not doing what he was told and Hairs totally flaking both offensively and defensively, they’d been responsible for allowing three goals against.
Hairs was trying to blame Saffron, but Vadim, the goaltending coach, wasn’t putting up with that shit.
Coach sighed. “We have one period left—we’re only down by three.”
“We can do it, Coach. I swear.” Anty, who centered Hairs’s line, clearly didn’t want to be pulled into the drama.
To my frustration, my shifts hadn’t gone much better. At least we’d avoided pinching. But I also hadn’t had the chance to run the puck down the ice and score. I really fucking wanted to score. If only to show Coach how focused I was.
Coach eyed each one of us. Then he nodded. “We’ve got one period left to turn this around. They’re getting pissed, and they’re going to get chippy if we start scoring, but what are we going to do?”
“Play our game!” the team replied in enthusiastic unison.
“And when they try to goad us into fighting?”
“Don’t take the bait!”
“When they play dirty?”
“Punish them on the scoreboard!”
He swept his hand toward the door, “Let’s get out there and do it!”
We lumbered out. He’d said those exact words to us when we’d won our last game. So, he must’ve had faith we could somehow pull off an epic comeback.
Lous nudged my shoulder. “You got this.”
But we didn’t got this. Laval scored on us two more times, and Deca—the bastard who’d come down from Montreal—clocked a shutout.
Fucking Montreal. They were so goddamn stupid. Send down a talent like Deca and that guaranteed their team would keep losing.
Laval, on the other hand, clearly planned to take full advantage.
On the bus, even Hairs was subdued. Several times tonight, Laval’s skaters had just swept in, taken the puck from him, and scored. Yanni and Leaps had been MIA.
That said, I hadn’t scored or even assisted. Hard to do that when the score was 5-0 and you were on the losing team.
Lous nudged me. I was super grateful he’d taken the seat next to me for the long drive ahead. “You going to sleep between here and Belleville?”
I sighed. “Six hours feels like a fucking long time at this point. I rarely sleep well on buses.”
“Ah.” He grinned. “I sleep like a baby. I can drop anywhere at anytime and do a hard fifteen for a nap. On a night like this? Nudge me if I snore or lean on you and drool.”
“Gross!” I laughed—likely as he’d intended. “I’m gonna put on my headphones. Maybe I’ll sleep, right?”
“It’s possible.” He removed his wool scarf, rolled it into something resembling an airplane pillow, put it behind his head and—swear to God—was snoring in under two minutes.
I pulled out my headphones, put them on, and tried to get comfortable. I left my phone in my back pocket, even as it buzzed.
No one—at all—was important enough for me to check for.
Except Jack, and if he’s texting me, that’ll only bring a world of hurt.
For both of us.
Amazingly, I slept. When I woke, we were pulling into the hotel.
I was in bed and asleep before Hairs managed to say anything of consequence.
He’d griped.
I’d ignored him.
He’d needled.
I’d pulled my pillow over my head.
And tried to ignore the fact that I had three unread texts from Coach. The preview I’d spotted while I’d been setting my alarm.
When I awoke, I was disoriented and my mouth tasted like someone had taken a dump in it. Because you didn’t brush your teeth last night.
Fucking Hairs. I hadn’t wanted to be in the bathroom a second longer than absolutely necessary because the guy was impatient as fuck. I also wasn’t letting him go first because I’d probably still be waiting and he’d have made a fucking mess.
He snored loudly as I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
I was in and out of the shower pretty quickly as—considerate person I was—I didn’t want to hold up the room.
In the end, I needn’t have worried. Hairs still slept like the dead.
Another weird expression, but I didn’t give a shit. I needed protein, coffee, and fiber. And not necessarily in that order.
Oh, and bacon. Couldn’t go wrong with bacon.
I wound up in the line at the buffet with Lous, and we shared a table. I glanced up to find Claus sitting with Coach. Fucking hell. “Where are Amy and Tori this morning? I thought they’d be sitting with Coach.” Instead of the guy who knows our secret.
Lous shrugged. “They went to a fine-dining establishment.”
I squinted. “A what now?”
“Today’s their anniversary. So, a special brunch, and after practice they’re going to make themselves scarce. We won’t see them again until tomorrow’s morning skate.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Was I supposed to, I dunno, get them something?”
“I signed your name on the card. Drink your coffee. You look like shit.”
Since I wasn’t entirely clear if he’d been joking about signing my name, I let it go. “If you had the roommate I did, you’d count yourself lucky you were even able to make it down to breakfast.”
He arched his eyebrow.
“Hairs. Likes to turn the television up to full volume. I’m amazed no one complained.”
“Likely he had players on either side, and they were exhausted enough to sleep.” He winced. “Sorry about that. Bad luck.”
“Yeah.” I probably shouldn’t have been badmouthing my roommate, but Lous couldn’t have been ignorant of the guy’s attitude. Or how he’d helped us lose the game last night.
Lous eyed me. “We’ve got a good team. And we’re finding our footing with our new coach. You new guys are finding your grooves. We’ll be fine.”
“We should’ve scored last night.”
“Laval’s a good team. Overall, we didn’t follow what Tori told us.”
“We did.” I had to defend those of us who hadn’t fucked up.
I’d struggled to follow Tori’s—and Coach’s—directions.
My glance strayed to Claus and Jack. Whatever they were discussing was damn intense.
Not once had I caught them looking my way.
Quite possibly they weren’t even discussing me.
Or my ill-advised relationship with Jack.
That was so fucking over.
Yeah, but he texted you last night. Dollars to donuts he wasn’t texting Hairs…
Another of my mother’s very weird expressions. An English one, though. “Ontario’s a bilingual province. Tonight I’m going to turn on the French newscast.”
Lous chuckled. “You think he’ll be in your room for the newscast?”
“Probably not. He’ll go out again, right?”
“Yeah. You not going to?”
I shrugged. “That’s not really my scene.
Even when I was nineteen and newly legal, it wasn’t my jam.
” I wasn’t going to explain about how I didn’t want to disappoint my dead mother.
That felt like it might be oversharing. A little too macabre for nine in the morning.
“How hard are they going to work us in practice? We didn’t get that much sleep last night. ”
Lous grinned. “Just you watch.”
I winced and, yeah, four hours later, when practice ended, I regretted even taunting the fates by asking for an easy time. The fates were cruel and never granted me any wish I made.
Things hadn’t been helped when Hairs and Leaps had missed the bus and their rideshare had gotten snarled in traffic. Traffic! In fucking Belleville. The two had shown up almost twenty minutes late, and to say Amy had been pissed would’ve been the understatement of the century.
Coach had been pissed too, but his had been a more-contained rage.
He hadn’t raised his voice. He’d made Hairs and Leaps bag skate after practice, and he’d warned them that this was the one and only time they could be late like that without being benched.
But he hadn’t shouted. Likely he’d heard how the last coach yelled, berated, and treated players badly. Hell, I’d heard the stories.
I’d thought, because Coach was fair and didn’t yell, that players would want to do their best for him. Christ knew I did.
But shits like Hairs, Yanni and Leaps just didn’t seem onboard with the program.
Well, Hairs and Leaps. I still didn’t have a good read on Yanni. If the glares he kept shooting my way were any indication, I was in trouble too. Did he think that he and Leaps deserved to be higher than the third line and third D pair? Did they think I hadn’t earned my spot?
Or maybe I was just being paranoid.
Coach had us gather around him. “Pull more shit like you did last night and that loss column will be so long that we’ll get first pick in the draft.”
Right. Bottom of the pile.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Don’t party too much tonight. We’ve got tomorrow’s skate to get our shit together and then a game to win. Laval’s a good team. Belleville is beatable.” The Ottawa farm team was quite capable—but they were also well able to blow substantial leads.
Tori stepped forward. “Meet me in the conference room. I’m ready to go over tape.”
And by the time she was finished reaming us out, showing us all the ways we’d screwed up last night, as well as where we might be able to actually beat Belleville, I was beyond exhausted.
As Lous predicted, Hairs took off as soon as we got back to the hotel. Where the fuck he was going in this town, I had no idea. I’d played here any number of times and hadn’t heard of any hotspots worth visiting. Which maybe wasn’t fair. Perhaps Belleville had a thriving nightlife.
I always pronounced the name incorrectly.
Or correctly, depending on one’s perspective. I said ville like it was a town in France rather than the English pronunciation. I heard Mom’s lilt when I said it.
I flopped on the bed and eyed the clock radio.
5:57.
So I could catch the six o’clock news. And I could pick between English and French because Hairs wasn’t here to annoy. In all truth, though, I doubted he’d be annoyed by French. He’d be too busy trying to figure out where to go to party. Hell, he was probably getting laid as well.
A knock sounded at my door.
I padded over, expecting Lous.
Or maybe Claus.
Nope. Fucking Jack.
At my door.
Looking adorably sexy with his hair a little disheveled.
I eyed him. “What do you want?”
“I’d like to discuss that play you suggested.”
I blinked. “What play?”
“Can I come in, or do you want to go down to the restaurant? I need to discuss that play.”
I glanced down at my socked feet. “Let me put on shoes. No way are you coming into this room.” Not only because Hairs had left it a pigsty again, but because nothing good would come of the two of us in a room together.
Alone.
I shoved my feet into my running shoes and tied them in a way that would make my mother shudder. Shoe tying had not been something I took to, and we’d spent hours of her precious time teaching me. Meanwhile, skate laces were the easiest things in the world to do up.
Another memory.
Thanks, Mom. I promise I’ll do the right thing.
I ensured I had my keycard, and then I stepped into the hallway.
Jack stopped his pacing.
I gestured toward the elevator.
He pointed to the door leading to the stairwell.
“Sure. Whatever.”
He went through first and held the door for me.
I almost started down the stairs before it dawned on me why we were really in the stairwell. It had nothing to do with an aversion to elevators.
He proved my hypothesis right when he slapped his hand against the wall. “I need you.” He nearly growled the words. “I fucking need you. You didn’t answer my texts—”
“Jack.”
“And I can’t get you out of my head. You said I’d figure it out.
You said I had a praise kink.” He stepped toward me.
Then stepped back. Like he finally understood if we touched in this semi-private place, we’d combust. Someone would do something stupid—hand job, blowjob, spanking—and we’d get caught.
Even if we didn’t get caught, we’d have to live with the consequence of knowing what we’d done.
My conscience wouldn’t be able to handle that.
I needed to get called up. To make Mom proud.
He needed to keep his job. One day he might land a coaching job in the big leagues where he belonged. He deserved that chance. Being discovered fucking his player would guarantee he’d never get that opportunity.
I wasn’t scared. His anger was clearly self-directed. He wasn’t going to touch me. Not only because he’d be breaking the agreement we had, but he knew he didn’t have my consent. He understood—in a way some people didn’t—that one didn’t touch without permission.
Ever.
So he wouldn’t reach out. Even as he clearly wanted to.
Even as I desperately wished he would. Right now, though, he needed me to help him work through this…
whatever this was. My gut instinct was to order him to his knees, but anyone could come in here at any time.
We shouldn’t even be together like this.
Yet I didn’t command him to walk away. To leave me alone.
I met his gaze. “Talk to me, Jack. What is it that you finally figured out?”