41. Stefan
41
STEFAN
We lost to the Crushers, again, but this time it was an embarrassing loss. Like 13-0 embarrassing and to top off the embarrassment, I was sent off in the last period for my behavior. Coach and Wren are going to ream my ass when the game is over, but fuck them. Fuck this. Fuck everything.
Walking into the arena I was on cloud nine. Due to the turbulence, I spent the rest of the flight next to Wren and we may have gotten a little handsy-handsy under our blankets. I was relaxed and ready to tear up the ice but before the game, I was coming back from seeing Rick when I heard some NY fans in the tunnels. They were saying they’d love to see me get my ass handed to me on the ice, especially from Kallen. I chuckled to myself but when they brought up the Alicia shitstorm, I started to get angry. Then they went on to say I’m washed up and need to walk away from the game. All I’m good for is fucking bunnies and appearing on WtB . Fuck them. I’m Stefan D?uchmen and I’m a fucking amazing player.
By the time I got back to the locker room, I was fuming.
Their words irked me and when one of my old teammates made an off-the-cuff joke about them beating us last time, that was the end of it. I saw red and lost it. Each time I’d see their smarmy faces coming toward me with the puck, I did whatever I could to take them out. I should have been focusing on the puck and scoring goals, not beating up on my old teammates.
It’s no wonder I was sent off, I was playing dirty.
My body is going to hurt tomorrow after all the Kronwalling I did tonight. Storming into the locker room, I throw my helmet and growl in frustration. Ripping my gear off, I change into my street clothes and I get out of there before the game has even finished.
I’m sitting in Squires, drowning my sorrows, glaring at my phone. It’s ringing, again. I have a heap of missed calls from Wren and Coach Barber. So far, neither of them has left a message but that changes when my phone pings alerting me to a new voicemail. Clicking into it, I bring my phone to my ear. “Stefan, it’s Leif.”
“No shit,” I mumble.
“Where the fuck are you? You don’t take off like that, ever. Clearly someone pissed on your Cheerios after we landed but violence aside, you played a solid game. Call me when you get rid of the bunny you’re no doubt with now, but please, for the love of God, keep it in the hotel room … or her house.”
I snort at his words and then sigh because I really need Wren right now, but at the same time I don’t, because I know she’s going to be ashamed of me.
Dropping my phone to the bar top, I order another beer and while I wait, a group of guys walk up to the bar, talking about the game and how I’m a douche. I’m about to tell them to get fucked when a chick sidles up to me. She presses her tits into my arm and drapes hers around me.
The bartender drops off my beer. Picking it up, I hold it to my lips and chug it back, ignoring the bunny next to me but she doesn’t take the hint. Finishing my beer, I order another. She leans farther into me and whispers, “Hey, stud, wanna buy me a drink?”
Turning my head to look at her, I study her face. She’s pretty, but she’s not Wren. I’m about to tell her to piss off when I feel someone stop and stand right behind me.
Spinning around, I come face-to-chest with a chest I know intimately. Lifting my gaze up, I stare into irate vivid-blue eyes that are currently shooting daggers at me. “Come with me,” she growls.
“Ummm.” The bunny, who clearly cannot read the situation, steps between Wren and me. “I was here first, bitch. Back the fuck off. You can have him after I blow him in the restroom.”
Wren turns her gaze to the chick and looks her up and down. Then she locks her gaze on my hands, resting on the chicks hips. Subconsciously, I placed them there and when she lifts her head, no longer do I see anger on her face. All I see is hurt and before I can say anything, she storms away.
“Fuck,” I hiss. Jumping off the chair, I shove the bunny aside and earn myself a “What the fuck?”
Ignoring the bunny, I call out to Wren but she ignores me, flipping me the bird over her shoulder while she storms away from me. All I care about is reaching Wren. Even if she hadn’t turned up, I wouldn’t have touched that chick. I’m with Wren now, I won’t do to her what I did to Chelsea.
Finally, I catch up to Wren and I step around her. She stops before slamming into me. “It’s not what you think,” I tell her.
Glaring at me, she doesn’t believe me. And my thoughts are confirmed when she growls, “You really are a douche.”
“And you’re a stuck-up bitch who’s riding my ass every five seconds,” I throw back at her. My anger is misguided right now and I know I’m being an ass, but New York brings out the worst in me. I hate this fucking place.
“It’s my job to ride your ass,” she snaps. “Stefan, you are this fucking close”—she holds her fingers millimeters apart—“to losing your career. To losing everything you’ve worked so hard for.” There’s a silent “me” in there as well, but that’s neither here nor there right now. “I don’t want to see everything go up in flames because you acted like a Neanderthal, hot-headed dickwad out on the ice.”
“More like you don’t want your reputation marred if I fail,” I throw back at her. That was a low blow and as soon as the words pass my lips, I feel like an ass, especially when I see the hurt on her face over that comment.
“Yes, I’m so shallow that I’m all about the ‘look at me’ crap. I’m not conceited like you. I actually fucking care.” She turns and once again, walks away from me. After a few steps, she spins back and storms over. She stops right in my face. Her blue eyes shimmer in the light with anger and hurt and pity. “You really are a self-centered, egotistical prick.”
“And you’re a sexy, uptight bitch.”
We stare at one another, the packed bar fades into the background and it’s just Wren and me. We’ve each said our piece and now, the hunger and desire is returning. We haven’t had angry hate sex yet but I have to admit, I’m excited for it. Before anything can happen, from beside us, Kallen mumbles, “Huh, didn’t see that coming.” His words pull us back from whatever that just was, and both our heads swivel toward him.
Staring daggers at the asshole, I spit, “Fuck off, Jones. She’s my handler. That’s it.”
Wren’s head snaps back to me, and when I look back at her, I see hurt etched all over her face. She shakes her head and as she turns to leave, I notice tears welling in her eyes.
Standing here, I watch her race away from me. Immediately, I mourn her loss and hate myself for hurting her with my words. With words that I don’t mean. She’s more than my handler, so much more.
“Go after her, you fool,” Kallen’s voice echoes through the silence as I watch Wren race toward the restrooms.
Turning my head to him, I glare and hiss, “What?”
“For puck’s sake, you two clearly have the hots for each other. Go. After. Her,” he enunciates the last three words, spelling it out for me, but I have more than the hots for her. I’ve fallen for her but after my actions just now, I think I’ve lost her.
Remembering that we’re supposed to be keeping this on the down-low, I huff, “Do not.” But we both know I’m full of shit. Wren Brookes is an amazing woman and she’s the one person on my team who has had my back, no matter what, but when it comes to her, I keep fucking things up.
Looking back to Kallen, I’m at a loss of what to say. “I?—”
“Go,” he says again and this time it sparks me into action. Turning on my heel, I head off in the direction Wren went and hope I haven't fucked things up completely because I don’t want to lose her.