35. Emmy
THIRTY-FIVE
There’sa knock on the door of the bathroom I’m getting ready in.
The Dallas Wildebeests, like every other NHL team, don’t have a female locker room in their arena. I’ve had to make do with the companion restroom in the hallway that leads out to the ice.
I hate it.
I hate that all my gear is spread out on the floor.
I hate that I don’t have a spot or an area that feels like mine.
I hate that I have to drape my jersey over the hand dryer while my teammates get eight-foot-tall cubbies where they can hang their uniforms and keep them looking nice.
I hate that it smells like pee, and I hate that I’m separated from everyone else.
“Someone is in here,” I say. I check the hair tie around my braid and make sure it’s secure. “I’ll be out in a second.”
“Emmy? It’s Piper. Can I come in?”
I unlock the door and step back so she can slip inside. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She wrings her hands together and stares at the floor. “I have to tell you something.”
My mind immediately goes to Maverick. An injury. A trade. A suspension for something stupid he said in an interview just now.
There’s a pile of bricks in my stomach, and every muscle in my body stiffens.
“What’s going on?” I ask, and my heart rate kicks into overdrive.
“The Wildebeests just handed us their final roster for the game.” Piper brings her chin up and looks at me. “They called up Cole Meyers from their AHL affiliate, and he’s playing tonight.”
The world stops spinning.
I grip the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white. My breath stutters in my chest, and I almost topple over.
We all have a relationship we wish we could take back. The one we’d do over and warn our past selves to steer clear of.
Cole Meyers is mine.
I met him when we played for the ECHL’s Nashville Bulls four years ago. He was a late-season addition, a trade acquisition from Philadelphia, and I was immediately drawn to him.
He’s the kind of guy everyone likes. His personality dominates a room, and he’s always the center of attention. A crowd favorite and a real charmer, he knows how to make people laugh.
His blond hair makes him look like he belongs out in California catching waves instead of being on the ice, and with blue eyes and a kind smile, I fell for him.
I fell for him hard.
I’d dated other men before, but I thought Cole was going to be the one.
Everything was great our first year together. We fell into a routine between practice and games and picking out plants for my apartment. I talked about him moving in. He talked about rings. A wedding in a field or a ceremony on the beach.
The stupid things we say when we’re in love.
After a stretch of games where his performance was off and he had trouble controlling his temper, he got moved to the second line, then the third.
I took his spot as a starter, and that’s when all hell broke loose.
In front of people, we were fine. A perfect couple living out their dreams.
When we were alone and no one could hear him, it was a different story.
You know Coach only moved you up because he wants to sleep with you, not because you have any actual talent.
The only reason you have a position on this team is because management likes your tits.
Did you know there’s a running joke in the locker room about who you’re going to have a gang bang with? Sometimes I tell our teammates I’ll sneak them over when you’re asleep. Maybe let them lift up your shirt and take a peek.
Bile rises in my throat.
I don’t know why I stayed another six whole months after that.
Maybe I got caught up trying to justify his behavior. Maybe it became so normal to hear those things, I started to think they were true.
It wasn’t until I watched him give his number to a fan at one of our games that finally broke me out of that horrible spell. I wanted out, and two weeks later, I was in San Diego.
“When did this happen? Last I checked, he was in Utah.”
“He was, until the Wildebeests lost a winger after a Christmas ski accident that left him with a broken arm, and Cole got called up.” Piper steps toward me. “Are you okay?”
No.
I’m not okay.
A month after I landed in San Diego, I found out he had been promoted to the AHL.
There was so much relief. I’d never have to see him again. I wouldn’t have to skate past him and tune out the things he said under his breath. I could pretend that part of my life never happened.
But now I’m going to see him again in front of twenty thousand fans.
God.
“Does he know I’m playing for the Stars?” I ask, which is a stupid question, because how could he not?
The media attention hasn’t quieted down since I joined the team. Anyone who’s watched a sports network in that time has seen a picture of me in my Stars jersey.
Even Cole.
“Yeah. He, um, was giving an interview in the tunnel and said he doesn’t understand the hype around your mediocre performance.”
Some things never change.
“Of course he did.” I rub my forehead and sigh. “Do I have any options here?”
“Do you want to play?”
“Yes,” I say right away. “I’m not going to let him take this away from me.”
“From a media standpoint, I can tell you the easiest thing for you to do is to not engage with him unless it’s totally necessary. Ignore what he says—you know he’s going to try to start some shit. Keep your head down and play your game.” She pauses. “As your friend, I would tell you to give him hell.”
“I can do that.” I roll my shoulders back and fix my pads. “I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will be. You’re so strong, Emmy. I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, but I figured you’d rather know now than be surprised when you get on the ice.”
“I do. I appreciate you looking out for me, Piper.” I scoop my helmet off the floor and buckle it around my chin. “I need to get to the tunnel.”
“The boys are out there. Are you going to tell them?”
I don’t want to, but I think I have to.
“Yeah.” I nod and chew on my bottom lip. “I’m going to tell them.”
“I’ll be in the stands.” Piper squeezes my elbow. “And I’ll be here after the game if you need anything.”
“You’re the best kind of friend.” I hug her. “Gosh, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Em. Now go kick that fucker’s ass.”
I open the door. The tunnel is crowded, and my teammates are all waiting to head to the ice.
Connor and Grant knock their skates against each other. Riley is listening to something Lexi is saying, and I’ve never seen someone nod so many times. Liam is staring at the wall, mumbling under his breath and biting his jersey like always, and Hudson and Maverick are in the corner, talking each other’s ears off.
When Maverick spots me, his eyes light up. He breaks out into a smile, and he lifts his hand in a wave.
I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a grimace. He frowns and walks toward me, scooting past Seymour and Ethan.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
I tip my chin to look up at him. “I just found out my ex is playing for the Wildebeests tonight. I wasn’t expecting it, and I’m kind of freaking out.”
“Is this four-inch-dick dude?”
“Yeah.”
“Bad breakup?”
“Something like that.”
Maverick steps closer. He crowds my space, eyes holding mine. “Did he lay a finger on you?”
“What?” Hudson asks from my left. “Who put a finger on her?”
“Someone hurt Emmy?” Ethan pulls off his gloves. “Who the fuck was it?”
“Hell, no. We ride at fucking dawn!” Grant yells, and Seymour pats his shoulder.
“Maybe we ride in the next ten minutes, G.”
“My ex who I played with in the ECHL. He moved to the AHL, and the Wildebeests called him up to play tonight,” I rush out, telling them all the truth.
“Did he hurt you?” Maverick asks, lethally low.
“No. No. He wasn’t nice, but he never put a finger on me.”
“What did he say? What did he do?” Maverick yanks off his helmet and tosses it at the wall. There’s so much intensity behind his eyes, I almost stop breathing. “Tell me, Emerson.”
“He said a lot of things… That the only reason I got anywhere on the team was because my old coach wanted to sleep with me. That I was only signed because management liked how I looked. He joked—” I shake my head. I can’t finish the next part.
“What. Did. He. Say?”
“He joked that he was going to let my teammates come over and do what they wanted to me while I slept. That I was going to be passed around the locker room so everyone could have their fill.” A sob bursts out of me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t want to make this weird. I promise I have control over my emotions.”
Out in the stands, the fans scream in anticipation of the game. The starting lineup music begins to play, but inside our tunnel, it’s deathly quiet.
“Come here,” Hudson says, the first to speak, and he pulls me into a hug.
I sink into the comfort of his embrace, and it feels good to be held by someone I look to as a brother. To know he has my back and he’s here for me, tears and all.
“I’m going to kill him,” Maverick whispers. “I’m going to rip each one of his limbs from his body until he’s nothing but a pile of fucking bones.”
“What position does he play?” Hudson asks, and I wipe my eyes.
“Left winger. I replaced him on the starting line, and that’s when things went south.”
“That’s our girl,” Seymour yells, and I’m close to bursting into tears again.
“We’re going to take care of him,” Ethan says, and he puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got your back, Emmy.”
“Yeah,” Grant adds. “You’re ours now.”
“If he comes within four feet of the goal, I’ll shove my stick down his throat,” Liam says, and from him, it’s the equivalent of a love poem.
“You all really don’t have to?—”
There’s a tug on my arm, and Maverick pulls me toward him. He cups my cheek and drops his head so his forehead presses against my helmet. “Do I need to remind you about the things we have to do and the things we want to do?”
“No.” I swallow. “I remember.”
“And you also remember that I take care of what’s mine, right?” he asks, lower this time.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”
“Good.”
He pulls away and looks down the hall. Coach Saunders is walking our way, and he stops in his tracks when he sees us all huddled together.
Maverick grins, and there’s nothing sweet about it. “You might want to call the commissioner and start apologizing, Coach. We’re going to be in a heap of fucking trouble when we’re finished here tonight.”