9. Corbin
CHAPTER NINE
corbin
Anger creeps up my body, finally landing on my face. She’s infuriating. Oakley is like a microwave, heating me from the inside out, and she knows how to push my buttons after spending one damn day with her. I grab her hand, pull her flat to my chest, and grunt out. “I’m going to pretend we’ve never met. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I swear, I’ve never talked to a girl like this. My dad would hand my ass to me. But, in my defense, my dad never had a girl who he rescued leave without a word or note but steal his truck.
“You think you’re so much better than me because you’re a professional athlete.” Oakley pushes off my chest.
“I’m better than you because I don’t steal.”
“You’re just mad that I didn’t sleep with you.”
A mixture of lust and hatred skitters up my spine. My eyes go round and for a split second, my mouth hangs open. How dare she? We didn’t get to that point. Clearing my throat, I protest, “I don’t remember asking you to sleep with me. Have a nice life, Oakley.”
I turn around, place my hand on my sister’s back, and lead her through wall-to-wall people. “Excuse me.”
Becca talks over the music all the way to her house, but I just listen. “How could you be so taken with her? That woman has snake venom in her blood. Why would you pick up someone at a truck stop? I always knew I was smarter than you. I love you, Corby, but you need lessons in dating.”
She goes on and on. I blow out a frustrated sigh. “Thanks for coming with me. Who would have thought she would be at the same bar?”
My sister and I are as close as twins, and we know each other too well. She has as big of a heart as I do, but she tries to mask it as often as possible. If someone asks for her help, she’d jump off a bridge to save you, but she likes to hide behind her tough attorney persona. Wrapping her arms around me, she kisses me on the cheek.
“You know people were filming. Prepare for more headlines.”
I nod with a tight-lipped admission. “Well, if there is someone we can sue, let me know, and you’re hired. Night.”
Popping the car door open, she runs inside. My head falls back against the car seat, and I let out a groan, beating my head against the charcoal-gray leather in annoyance. It's not Becca’s fault. Somehow, I always find myself attracted to people who need help. They always take advantage of me, which is why I haven’t dated for so long. I’m predisposed to be single forever.
I go home, take my supplements, and drink a warm glass of milk with a dash of turmeric. It helps with inflammation, and I’ve been nursing a shoulder injury since last year. Tomorrow, I’ll make an appointment with the team physical therapist. Practice starts next week, and I want to be one hundred percent and have the year that makes my career, hoisting the Stanley Cup trophy over my head.
When I wake up, I message Gloria, the physical therapist, scheduling an appointment for the afternoon. Then my phone rings with my friends’ different ringtones.
Reed: You’re going to marry that girl. So much tension
Me: Screw you.
Dane: Just saw the video posted. Didn’t know if you were going to grab her and kiss her or punch her.
Me: I would never be mad enough to hit a girl.
Dane: I know.
John: Well at least there’s no such thing as bad publicity.
Me: What?
John: The Notes spokesperson put out a statement.
Fuck.
Me: How bad is it?
John: Don’t know but look it up before you call them, so you don’t get caught by surprise.
Me: Thanks
What follows is a string of text messages from my current teammates.
Baker: She’s hot. Maybe she can hotwire me.
Stinson: You going to tap that or not?
Vrabel: That girl has a vicious mouth. It could be fun.
My response to each. Fuck you.
My Stallions teammates and I have an unbreakable bond, having shared a few years together. You grow from boys to men in college. In the professional ranks, it’s a little different because guys come and go and live all over the city. When I came here as a rookie, there were a few guys who helped me transition. We went to clubs all the time, but they’re long gone. Vrabel is the only one of them left. He’s divorced because he can’t keep his dick in his wife’s mouth, choosing puck bunnies when we were on the road.
Baker is in his second year and playing the field. And Stinson is married with two children. He insists he wants to live vicariously through me and is getting strung out that I’m not chasing women or rather letting women chase me.
I’m a victim of my routine, and it’s getting close to the season, so I’m resuming my in-season schedule. I go out for a run, shower, clean my bedroom, make a sandwich with turkey and avocado piled high between two pieces of toasted rye.
While eating, I finally scroll through social media. I don’t have a public relations company that handles my accounts or speaks for me. Being real is more important and as I watch video after video of the interaction between Oakley and me, no one can say I’m faking anything.
The comments are feral.
I thought Corbin was a nice man.
He always comes off as the All-American guy, but the way he treats this young lady is just wrong.
Unbelievable. She stole his truck. Man haters.
“Thank you,” I mumble under my breath.
He’s the face of the Nashville Notes, and he acts like this? I’m not spending my money to watch an asshole
like Corbin Shearer.
Something is wrong with him lately.
But he’s so hot, I’ll give him another shot.
Will his mind be on hockey or
fighting with this woman?
Great. This is a clusterfuck of immense proportions.
When I enter the arena, every person I pass gives me a pitiful glance. I make my way down to the physical therapy room, and it’s empty. Tapping my knuckles on Gloria’s door, I hear her say, “Come in.”
“Hey.”
“How’s the shoulder feeling?” she asks without making eye contact.
“It hitches when I reach behind me.”
“Okay, let’s get you to the training room and on the table, so I can feel the muscles.”
“Gloria, is something wrong?”
She walks in front of me with her clipboard and says, “Lie down on your back.”
Lifting my left arm, she begins with movements to test my range of motion. Her fingers are strong, and her hands steady as Gloria carefully rotates my shoulder joint. When I wince in discomfort, her lip corkscrews up into her cheek.
“Have you been doing your exercises?” she asks, focusing on my arm.
“Of course, my body is my career. You know how seriously I take my health,” I say, almost pleading with her to believe me because I can tell something is off.
“Hmm. Well, it seems you’ve been a bit distracted lately, so I had to ask.”
“What do you mean?” Then of course, it hits me. “Are you talking about the press with the girl who stole my truck?”
She says, “I am. Did she have a good reason for taking your truck?”
Her touch is firm as we move to resistance exercises. I know the routine, so she doesn’t have to say push against me, pull or press.
My face tightens when I press against her in a slapshot motion. “Hmm.”
“Has it gotten worse?”
“No, but you’re tense as fuck. Did you ask her or not?” she asks, clipping her words.
I asked Oakley why, but I was talking about her leaving without telling me. “Not really. We were having a fantastic time at Wynward’s wedding, then she disappeared. I thought….”
“Ask her why she took your truck.” Her eyes pool with water. “I’ve been in some messy situations. Instead of ridiculing her in public, sit down and have a conversation with her.”
That’s when I really look at her, and she has a pound of makeup on with a blue tint. Her face is bruised. What the fuck?
“Did someone hurt you? Who?”
She hurriedly wipes the tears that splash from her lashes to her cheeks.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Gloria, it does matter.” Then I remember she was sneaking around with Dousier. The guy who caused Bryce’s concussion last year. “I’m going to kill that mother fucker.”
“It’s not what you think,” she stresses. Her normally steady hands shake.
“Then tell me what it is.” I sit up.
“Worry about yourself, Shearer. This is none of your business.”
“It’s my business if one of my teammates did this to you.”
I pop off the training table and text Dousier.
Me: Where are you?
Dousier: Running in Music Row Park. Why?
Me: I’ll be there.
Gloria hands me a new ice pack. “When you get home, ice it on the top for fifteen minutes. Then, with your arm above your head, ice it underneath.”
“Got it.”
On my way out, the general manager stops me. “Do you have a minute?”
“Actually, I don’t. I’m already late for an appointment.”
“Make an appointment for tomorrow with Delia,” he says, speaking of his executive assistant.
The park is about a five-minute drive from the arena. The running path is a curvy circle so if I stay here, I’ll run into Dousier.
I stretch my legs and torso, then I see him coming. He stops in front of me, and I give him a left-handed jab straight to the nose.
“What the fuck are you doing, Shearer?” he asks as blood pours out of his nose.
“I always knew you were a piece of shit. I kept your secret with Gloria, but if you hit her again, I’ll report you to management.” There’s a strict rule about dating staff that you interact with on an ongoing basis, so I’m sure they’ll be interested.
He pulls his running tank out of his waistband and wipes the blood from his face and the spattering across his bare chest. As I watch him clean up, I don’t see his right hand coming, and he connects with my jaw. And the fight continues. I’ve never liked him, but he cemented my hatred for him, knowing he’s beating Gloria.
After we both connect a few blows, and our chests are heaving, we notice we’ve attracted a small crowd, and I spit blood on the ground in front of him. “Don’t touch her again.”
“Fuck you, Shearer. You’re no saint.”
“No, I’m a sinner like everyone else.”
In mere minutes, I get a phone call from Delia. “Michael wants you in here first thing tomorrow morning.”