Brooks #2
My fist tightens at my sides as I try not to deck my teammate in the face. None of these guys know the truth. They know what the media has put out. They know the lies.
Polston turns to me, water bottle in hand, taking a pull before speaking again. “I’d be pissed if someone kept a secret child from me. He has every right to take what’s rightfully his.”
“Polston,” I warn as my anger builds.
“Come on, man; you really believe she didn’t get knocked up in high school so she could one day spring this kid on him and try to take his money?
” he says with a disgusted look on his face.
“I mean, Christ, look at her. She’s hot as fuck and a doctor but make no mistake, she’s only doing this shit now for money.
No pussy is worth that trouble. You better watch yourself, Brooks; you could be next. ”
I don’t know what happens next, but the next thing I feel is the crunch of Polston’s nose breaking under my fist. He fights back, holding me by my sweater, getting a few hits in on my jaw.
Just as he rears back again, I cock my arms and lay another blow into his jaw.
Both of us drop to the ground in a tussle.
I pin him underneath me, rearing back to lay into him once again, but Halloway grabs me by my sweater, pulling me back off him. Polston makes it to his feet, ready to lunge at me as Throne grabs him from behind.
“What the hell is going on in here?” a loud voice erupts from the locker room doorway.
I push Halloway off me as I turn toward Coach Dunbar and Mr. Richards standing at the helm of it all.
Brows creased and face reddened, Coach moves further into the locker room, eyeing me with the most disgust I’ve ever seen.
And he has every right to. I’m the fucking captain and here I am, beating my teammate to a pulp because he had the nerve to shit talk.
Captain or not though, I’d do it all over again.
“Miller, my office now,” he hisses in my face before turning and stalking off.
I look back at Polston, who’s finally broken out of Thorne’s hold. He shoots a look my way before whipping the back of his hand across his mouth and stalks to the showers. He’ll be fine. He’ll get over it. Maybe he’ll even get an apology out of me. Maybe.
Unlacing my skates, I step into my slides and make the trek to Coach’s office.
I call the elevator and ride it to the third floor where all the admins’ offices are.
I take a few deep breaths before raising my hand to knock on the door, but only getting off one loud knock before Coach’s voice booms from the other side.
I step in, opting to stand as Coach and Mr. Richards stare at me—poker faces firmly in place.
“What the fuck was that back there in the locker room? You’re the goddamn captain, yet you’re fighting your own team for God knows what.” He lays into me as Mr. Richards just continues his firm stare.
I walk around to the chair, sitting in front of his desk, plopping down on a groan before dropping my head between my shoulders. Finally realizing that the stress of the situation is finally catching up to me.
“With all due respect, Coach… Polston—teammate, friend, or not—was way out of line back there.”
He raises an eyebrow as if he’s not quite following along.
I release a ragged breath as the frustration builds in me again. “He was insinuating that Dr. Marshall had a baby with Boyce Cameron to take advantage of his money. Then he insinuated once again that she would try the same thing on me.”
Mr. Richards’ face contorts into something unreadable.
“She may not be on the ice, Coach, and I may be dating her. But she’s still a member of the fucking team. This organization.” I try to gain control of my rage. “Polston deserved what he got. Like I said, friend and teammate or not, he was out of line.”
His look is impassive as he takes in what I said.
“You’re a scratch for tonight’s game and don’t think Polston’s going to get off easy; he’s a scratch tonight too,” he says, his anger returning.
“We’re this fucking close to the goddamn playoffs—” he yells, holding up his finger to simulate how close we actually are.
“So, I’m expecting you two to get your heads out of your asses and play some fucking hockey. ”
“Mr. Miller, we appreciate what you did standing up for Dr. Marshall tonight. But Coach Dunbar is right. I need your head in this fucking game. We want that cup,” Mr. Richards says as he finally breaks his silence.
I nod in understanding as Coach turns to talk to Mr. Richards in hushed tones. Taking that as my cue to leave, I stand from the chair and head for the door. Last thing I need is to be hanging around for more lecture. I reach for the door handle, turning it as Coach calls my name one last time.
“Keep your head in the game, Brooks. I’d hate for you to get taken down because of this drama.”
“Understood.” And with that, I’m out the door.
The rest of morning skate is uneventful, besides the fact that both Polston and I are no longer playing in tonight’s game and are currently sporting matching busted lips.
I eat a quick lunch with the guys, making it my goal to avoid Polston and any more drama for the rest of the morning before heading home for a quick pre-game routine.
I may not be playing, but I’m superstitious.
And not doing what I need to for a game, playing or not, could affect the outcome tonight.
“Shit,” Hayley murmurs from the kitchen island as I walk into my condo. “What the hell happened?”
I pull her into my chest, inhaling her intoxicating scent as I give her a tight squeeze, relenting to let go. “Polston and I got into it. We’re both a scratch tonight. We’ll both be sitting on the bench tonight, watching as punishment.”
And what a fucking punishment it is. Nothing like watching your team suffer because two of its best players decided to hold a royal rumble in the locker room.
Yes, there’s no I in team, and the two of us missing one game shouldn’t be the end of the world, but it can break a line.
And when the line suffers, the team suffers.
“Come,” she says, pulling away and guiding me to the bathroom where she pulls out a small first aid kit to fix up my lip and the tiny cut on my cheek. “Want to talk about it?”
No.
“It was nothing.”
“It was something, obviously,” she says as she crouches down in front of the toilet where I’m currently sitting. She presses the gauze pad with alcohol on it to my cheek, causing me to hiss from the pain. “Such a baby. Does it have something to do with Boyce?”
She places the gauze down on the floor next to her, turning her focus to the first aid kit. Her breathing increases slightly like she knows deep down that my fight was a result of Boyce Cameron’s actions.
“Like I said, it was nothing.”
“Polston’s your friend. Friends just don’t fight for the hell of it,” she says as she squeezes some ointment onto her finger before rubbing a thin layer on the gash. “I’m not made of glass, Brooks. I’m a big girl. I can handle the facts.”
It’s not that she can’t handle the truth.
It’s the fact that I know she’ll feel responsible for all of this.
That she’ll believe everything Mr. Richards told her was true; she’s a distraction, bringing unnecessary drama into my life.
Yet, I could give two fucks about any of that.
I would rally for her any day of the week.
“It’s nothing. Water under the bridge.” A bridge I used my fists to get my point across. “You’re a part of this family, just as any player or staff member of that team is. So regardless, you deserve the same respect and support as any of us.”
She peers up at me through hooded lashes, the corner of her lips curling slightly. “Thank you.”
My thumb caresses her cheek as my mouth meets hers in a slow, passionate kiss.
One hand moves to her waist as the other comes to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as I deepen our kiss.
My hands move down her sides, gripping her hips as her legs on instinct wrap around my waist. I make quick to place her on the bathroom counter.
Fuck, she’s soaked, dripping, so wet and ready for me.
“Fuck!” I growl into her ear as her hands find the waistband of my athletic shorts.
Her hand graze against the tip of my cock. It’s already hard, but the feeling of her hand grasping around it makes it harder. She gives it a few strokes before her mouth meets mine in a needy kiss.
I make haste a kiss down her jaw to her neck, my tongue circling the sensitive skin behind her ear before moving down to her clavicle. My hands grip the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head and dropping it onto the floor beside us.
Perfect.
So. Fucking. Perfect.
I use my knees to spread her legs wider. My hands rub up her thighs as I inch closer and closer to her wet heat. Slowly, I pop the button on her jeans, the zipper following. Her head lolls to the side as she releases a low moan.
She slowly lifts her hips, readying herself for me to slide them down her long, lush legs.
“Mom! “Camden’s voice echoes from somewhere in the hallway.
Shit.
I press my forehead against hers as we both attempt to catch our breaths. She hops down off the counter quickly, righting herself before responding.
“Yeah, buddy?” she says before mouthing I’m sorry to me.
“Can I come with you to the game tonight? I’ll stay with Aunt Cass. Promise,” he says as she whips open the door, looking down at him. “Yeah, buddy. I’m sure Brooks would love for you to be there rooting for him and the team.”
Camden looks over his mom’s shoulder to me. I run a hand through my thick hair before gripping the back of my neck, giving it a tight squeeze. I raise my hand in a small wave, as a small grin spreads across his face.