Chapter 9
nine
. . .
Nick
three months ago
Luke fucking Henry. I can’t stand that guy.
For the past year, every time I think of that trip to the Caribbean, my blood boils. Every time I think of him pawing at my girl, I want to punch something.
Not that Bex Whitney is my girl. She can’t fucking stand me. Doesn’t mean I’ve been able to stop thinking about her, though.
The four times we played Austin last season, I punched him. Repeatedly. By the third game, he had it out for me just as much, and the final match—well, that was a draw. It was worth the game misconduct majors and getting ejected to finally unleash some of my frustrations.
It’s not like I can go out and get laid to clear my head. As much as I’d rather not, my dick only wants one woman. I don’t know why I’m so fixated on her, but I can’t deny the simmering attraction flooding my veins every time I think of her.
Though I can’t deny it felt good to beat that asshole’s face in. If I can’t fight my best friend’s fiancé anymore, at least I can punch his teammate.
As far as I know, Bex and Luke are still together, and that’s all the reason I need. The thought of spending all weekend with the two of them all loved up makes me want to hurl.
But it’s Elsy’s wedding. I will do anything for my best friend. Including walking the woman who haunts my every waking thought down the aisle.
Henry came to the bachelor party last night, barely leaving Whitney’s side. The two of them are thick as thieves—and no wonder, if he’s dating his little sister, and they play for the same team. Happy family.
Although not for long. Last I heard, Henry signed with Tampa, and Whitney still has another few years contracted with Austin.
Thinking about the contract situation gnaws at my stomach.
Mine is up for renewal at the end of this coming season, and my agent’s said things aren’t looking good.
I’m thirty-four, facing the end of my career.
I’ll be lucky to eke another two-year contract extension.
By thirty-six, who knows how long I’ll keep playing.
I’m practically ancient in the league. There are only a handful of guys who hit their forties.
It might be time to hang up the skates. But then what do I do with myself? Hockey is all I know. It’s the only thing I have going for me right now. If I don’t have hockey, who am I? I don’t think I like that answer.
“You okay?” Elsy asks me. She’s wearing the fluffy white dress and has her blond hair pulled back in an updo as the makeup artist puts the finishing touches on her face. “You look like you’re about to puke.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Hungover?”
“Not really.” I woke up with the barest twinge of a headache, and after a fried egg sandwich and an Advil, I was good to go.
After all, we’ve got a very important wedding to attend to. I have to bring my A-game. Elsy’s my best friend. She’s all I have.
A few other women buzz around the dressing room, friends of Elsy’s I’ve met a few times over the years. I’m surprised Bex isn’t in here with them, but she’s with her brother and the rest of the guys. Which makes sense.
Especially with… Luke Henry. My lip curls in disdain. Maybe they’re sneaking off for a prewedding tryst.
Fuck, I’ve got to stop obsessing over this. We had a one-night stand, and it went sour. I have no claim to her, and I don’t have any business getting upset over who she may or may not be sleeping with. We’re not together. She won’t even look at me.
Throughout the rehearsal yesterday, she pretended like I didn’t exist, even as we were walking down the aisle together.
And she flinched every time I touched her arm.
During the dinner afterward, we sat at different tables, and we didn’t mingle.
Even though I wanted to talk to her, to ask for another truce, I have to respect that she would rather I disappear.
Another twenty-four hours and then I’ll never see her again. Maybe I can finally move on. Get past this weird fixation that’s plagued me for three years.
The wedding planner bustles into the room. “We’re almost ready,” she announces. “How are we doing?”
The makeup artist steps away, surveying her work. “You’re perfect.”
Elsy looks to me, and I nod grimly.
Let’s get this show on the road.
“We’re ready,” the bride says.
In short order, we’re rounded up and escorted through the hotel to the courtyard where Elsy and Whitney are doing their first look.
My best friend clutches my hand, nearly strangling it. “What if—”
“No doubts,” I declare. “If you want to run away, I’ve got the getaway car.”
“I don’t want to run away.”
“Then you’re going to go out there and let that asshole fawn all over you.”
She gives a nervous giggle. “He’s not an asshole.” When I give her a pointed look, she amends, “Anymore. I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
My feelings about Whitney aside, I can’t deny he adores her.
He’s fully devoted, and for a brooding brawler like him, I’ve never doubted his commitment to my best friend.
From the beginning, he’s done his best to win me over, and I reserve the right to beat his face in if he hurts her.
I’ve done it once, and I’m not afraid to do it again.
But I don’t think I’ll need to.
“And you will. The first step is getting married. So if you don’t want to run away, let’s do this.”
Ducking down, I kiss her cheek, then release her hand. I shove her gently toward where Whitney’s waiting in his tux, facing away from us.
I want to watch him fall head over heels.
But then I catch sight of Bex, and my heart stops.
My gorgeous redhead is watching as her best friend approaches her brother, and the adoration on her face makes my heart thump in my chest. She’s wearing a stunning, pale pink dress with a high neckline and a slit in the leg, the gauzy fabric flowing over her substantial curves.
It’s giving Greek goddess vibes. Her auburn hair falls in gentle waves over her bare, freckled shoulders, and a thin gold band holds back her hair.
Fuck, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered.
Tears form in her eyes, and I watch as Henry sidles up beside her, offering her a handkerchief. She takes it with a murmured comment and a soft smile, dabbing at her eyes. My stomach sours at the sight of them together. I guess they’re still going strong.
How dare she smile at him. How dare she like her boyfriend. It’s not fair. I feel like a petulant child, wanting to throw a fit because I want all of her smiles. Hell, I’d settle for just one.
Elsy taps Whitney’s shoulder, and the look on his face when he sees her…
it makes my heart pound and my stomach twist. I want what they have.
I want my person so fucking badly. Instead, I’m hung up on a woman who can’t stand the sight of me.
Have been for three years now. Don’t see that flame dying out anytime soon, despite how much I wish I could just freaking move on.
After a thousand photos of Elsy and Wyatt, plus a few with the wedding party, we regroup and gather for the actual wedding. I take my place beside Bex, who glares at me and turns away.
I wish I knew what I did to make her hate me.
For a minute, I almost thought we could move past it, but then she threw me out of her hotel room, and I’m still clueless.
She’s still the epitome of my dream woman, and I’d give my left skate for a real chance with her.
I can’t decide what’s worse: her hating me with no context, or my attraction to someone who despises me. I’ve always been a masochist.
At the last possible moment, I offer her my arm, and she takes it stiffly. With slow, measured steps, we make it down the aisle, and then I take my place opposite her. She stands behind her brother, tall and confident.
Fuck, I wish I had as much confidence as she does.
Elsy’s dad walks her down the aisle. And as my best friend marries her husband, I’m so unbelievably happy for her, it almost eclipses my self-loathing. Just for a moment.
After the ceremony is over, we take another million pictures, and then finally, finally, we enter the ballroom for the reception.
Elsy was smart, seating me and Bex at different tables.
I wish she didn’t have to, although I’d like to avoid any explosions.
My feisty girl is a firecracker, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My phone rings in my pocket. There are only a few numbers allowed to ring through, and Allen’s one of them.
Sure enough, my agent’s name rolls across the display. Although nobody is paying attention to me, I excuse myself, answering the call as I walk away from the party. As expected, the news isn’t good. They don’t want me anymore. Nobody does.
Well… one team might.
Could this be the sign I’ve been waiting for?
My chest tightens from how fast my heart’s beating, and I beeline for the bar, ordering a bourbon, neat. I stare into the depths of the glass, contemplating all my life’s choices. How did I end up here?
As I look up, I catch sight of Bex clinging to Henry’s arm a few feet down the bar. They haven’t been apart all evening, and fuck, does that sting. Everyone else is happier without me around.
“You okay, man?” Henry asks. “You look down.”
“Why d’you care?” I mutter, the bitterness nearly overtaking me.
He already has the girl of my dreams, is in the prime of his career, and has a huge family that seems to genuinely like each other. He already has everything I want.
Why is he good enough for her, and I’m not? What do I have to do to be worthy of her?
“Hell, I don’t know.” He shrugs, slinging his arm around Bex’s shoulders and hauling her into his side. She beams up at him, her hand on his chest.
My heart twists into a knotted pretzel, and I rub at my shirt over the offending organ, like that will make the ache go away. It doesn’t, though. Nothing will, not while this dipshit has my dream girl.
“Fuck off.” The words spew from my lips, poisonous and foul-tasting. I’m not this person. I don’t want to be this person. But I can’t help it around him.
Henry rolls his eyes. “You want to be miserable, go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you from a good time.”
Why can’t he just leave me the fuck alone?
I don’t have very many vices. After my mother died of complications during a liver transplant, while donating hers to my alcoholic father, no less, I don’t let myself indulge in alcohol very often.
Good bourbon. Expensive bourbon. It’s a rare indulgence, and I don’t let myself drown in it when I’m in a shitty mood. I never want to be like him. I refuse to allow it.
But fuck it. Fuck this. Fuck everything.
I lift the glass to my lips, downing the alcohol. Liquid fire burns through me, and I turn and make eye contact with Bex, who sneers at me.
“I’ve been traded. To Boston.”