Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
WADE
After that grueling PT session with Hannah, Barbier said he could run me home if I didn’t mind a few stops on the way. I’d much rather go home and grab a nap before the entire crew shows up tonight, but I wasn’t cleared to drive until today. So I guess I’m along for the ride.
I tap my fingers on the door handle, willing him to walk out of the store he zipped into ages ago. Why is a beer run taking this long? Just pick one and buy it, dude. It’s that simple. And this better be his last stop because I’ll barely have time to grab a shower at this rate.
Right when I’m about to crawl out of my skin, he finally walks out with a shopping cart filled with bags. The back of his car thumps as he loads everything, then he slides in behind the wheel.
I scowl at him. “I thought you were only buying beer.”
“And snacks.” He starts the engine.
“Is an entire pizza not enough for you?” My words drip with sarcasm because Barbie-man’s appetite for pizza is legendary.
I once saw him eat a whole pepperoni pizza and then snack on a few slices of cheese pizza as if they were his dessert.
He must burn more calories than the rest of us because the man is a beanpole.
I tap my watch. “You might as well stay when we get to my place because everyone else will be there soon.”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “That was kind of my plan.”
A low growl slips through my lips. “I should have asked Bree to run me home or one of the other guys.”
Barbier hesitates, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “It was Bree’s plan, too.”
Bree? Why would she want to keep me out of the apartment all afternoon? “What are you talking about?”
He turns onto the street leading to my place. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Evasive much.” Whatever this mystery is, I’m not a fan.
I’ve never liked surprises, not really. I prefer to know what I’m walking into so I can at least prepare like when I’m in the crease.
I can read the players, predict their moves, and anticipate what’s coming.
That patch of blue is my territory, and I know how to run interference.
Yet here I am, blind to whatever plan Bree’s hatched.
When we finally—and I mean finally—reach my place, I’m in no mood for small talk when I walk in the door.
I want a shower and a few minutes to myself before the place fills up with noise and chaos.
Don’t get me wrong, I love these guys like they’re my brothers, which they are when you consider how much time we spend together on and off the ice.
But I need a hot shower to help my aching muscles and to relax my unsettled nerves. Things will get better once I’m back in the crease. I just have to ride this out until then.
As I walk inside, the sweet scent of chocolate chip cookies slaps me in the face like a much-needed douse of cold water. Bree’s hunched in front of the oven, staring through the glass window as if her life depended on it.
When she straightens and notices Barbier and me watching her, she startles in a way that’s so frigging cute; it makes me clench inside.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.” A smile grows on her face as she grabs a plate from the counter and approaches us. “Fresh out of the oven. Care to try one?”
She’s smiling, but her eyes hold clear trepidation.
I pick one up and take a bite. Warm chocolate bathes my tongue and mixes with bits of crisp cookie as I chew. The entire sensation transports me home, back to my grandmother’s kitchen.
“Is this Nana’s recipe?” I drag my gaze from plotting my next mouthful to Bree’s expectant face.
She nods. “I had to bribe her to give it to me.”
I’m convinced my nana was a hostage negotiator in another life. Or ran her own country. “Did she require you to name your firstborn after her?”
“Something like that.” Bree giggles.
Barbier grabs one and shoves the entire thing in his mouth instead of savoring it like Nana’s cookies deserve. “Wow, these are delicious,” he says in a spray of crumbs.
Bree pulls the plate out of his trajectory. “No sharing, thank you very much.”
I close my eyes with the next bite and lose myself in the nostalgia it brings.
The aromas filling the kitchen at the ranch, the sound of Nana singing some tune to herself while she shuffled trays of fresh-baked cookies from the oven with the next batch, and Bree and me sitting at the small dinette set, dunking them in tall glasses of milk.
The realization that Bree did this for me hits me square in the chest and expands into a warm, fuzzy feeling. I’m like the Grinch when he realizes the true meaning of Christmas. “Thank you, Bree-bear.”
When I open my eyes and look at her, I swear I see tears in hers. I take the plate, put it on the counter, and pull her into a hug. “Don’t tell Nana, but I think you make them as good as she does.”
“Bree-bear?” Barbier flashes a cocky grin.
I grab the collar of his shirt, then twist my fist, yanking him to me. “Don’t even go there.”
He bobs his head up and down like a scared rabbit. “Sure thing, Cowboy.”
After a few seconds more of staring him down so he knows I’m dead serious, I let him go. He stumbles away, tossing a wary glance over his shoulder.
Bree shoots me a pointed look. “Be nice.”
I hold my hands out to my sides. “I was. He can still talk.”
“Go shower…Cowboy.” She’s mocking my hockey nickname, but the way she says it sounds almost flirtatious, and the look she gives me as she walks away twists my insides.
Good thing we’re not alone, because if we were, I think I would have grabbed her hand and yanked her against me. And then I would kiss her until she couldn’t talk for a long, long time. But those thoughts can only live in my head.
When I return to the main living area, freshly showered and wondering exactly what Bree promised my nana in exchange for her cookie recipe, everyone else has arrived.
My first instinct is to find Bree and check if she’s enjoying herself because she tends to play hostess while forgetting to enjoy herself.
That’s not what this night is about. I want her to connect with the other wives and girlfriends—WAGs—so she’ll have friends here—something she needs more now than ever.
The tension in my shoulders eases when I see Mia, Sophie, and Lily chatting with Bree in the kitchen. And she’s smiling. Good sign. I had a feeling she’d like them, and I knew they’d like Bree—she’s amazing. They already seem like friends.
How Ethan, Luke, and Payton landed such incredible women, I’ll never know, but it’s inspiring and depressing all at once. I want what they have, but I don’t see how that’s possible until I let go of these feelings for Bree.
Not that I’m trying to hold on to them—believe me, I’ve tried to let go. But I find myself even more drawn to her, even after a year of little to no contact, which doesn’t help.
I take the seat near the couch where Luke’s sitting with his love-consumed eyes pinned on Sophie.
That deep ache hits me square in the chest again as I stare at Bree.
My thoughts take a wayward direction, imagining what this same scenario would feel like if she were my girlfriend, hanging out with the other WAGs.
Luke clears his throat, leans toward me, and whispers, “Check your face, man.”
Ethan, who’s sitting next to him, nods his agreement. Elias and Mathéo sit huddled together on the floor with Mason, watching an NHL game, so they’re oblivious.
Payton holds out a beer to me. “I recognize that look.”
Glancing up at him, I take the proffered drink and then take a long pull. The fizz goes down my throat and lodges there.
“Thanks,” I grunt.
“How’s the groin?” He lifts his brows.
I’d have welcomed the change of subject if it had been anything else, but I push a grin I don’t feel onto my face. There. All fixed. “Getting better every day.”
Luke and Pay exchanged glances.
I wave my half-empty beer between them. “What’s that about?”
“Just concerned about you, man.” Luke sets his nearly full bottle on the shell-shaped coaster sitting on the coffee table.
“I’m fine,” I spit out. The last thing I need is these two acting like helicopter parents.
After a surreptitious glance toward the women, Payton sits on the arm of the couch. “Has Bree said anything to you?”
“About what?”
Luke’s turn to chime in. “What happened in Texas?”
I shake my head. “Just that she went independent, but it didn’t work out.”
Again, they share this look like they know something but don’t want to risk upsetting me.
A sigh mixed with a growl slips out of my mouth. “Stop pussy-footing around and spit it out already.”
Luke scratches the side of his head. “Sophie did a little digging.”
Judging by his demeanor, I’m not going to like this. I down the rest of my beer. “Why?”
He shrugs. “I shared your concerns over what happened to Bree, so she called a friend who does the coverage for the Texas Stars.”
I about launch out of my chair. “I told you not to tell Sophie about my—”
He holds his hand out toward me. “Relax, man. I didn’t say anything about that. Just that Bree’s your best friend, and you’re worried about her.”
When I glance over to where Bree’s standing with the others, my gaze collides with hers.
She’s watching me with a puzzled expression on her face, making me wonder if she overheard me.
I’m glad Luke cut me off before I revealed my secret.
That would have created an even bigger mess than I’m in right now.
I don a grin for her benefit. She returns the gesture before diverting her attention back to the group of women surrounding her.
She looks comfortable standing there with them, like she belongs. Like a vise, the pressure in my chest tightens a little more at the sight, and my head and my heart are having a full-blown argument at this point.
“Pierce!” Luke’s growl yanks me back to what he’s saying.
“What?”
He blows out a breath and rolls his eyes—something I know he’s picked up from Sophie. “If you keep looking at your girl like that, she’s going to figure it out.”
“She hasn’t so far. I might as well be a pane of glass.” Sarcasm drips from my tone like a leaky faucet.
He knits his brows together.
“She looks right through me.” Pains me to say it, but it’s the truth. Always has been.
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Do you want to know what Sophie found out or not?”
I take a minute to think about it because a part of me feels like I’m crossing a boundary or entering Peeping-Tom territory. “Do you believe this information is helpful?”
“Yes.”
“Then shoot.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, preparing myself for the worst.
“There was an unconfirmed rumor that she was secretly dating one of the players.”
That would explain her evasive answers whenever I asked about her boyfriend. “Unconfirmed?”
He nods. “Yeah, some guy named Langston.”
“Chase Langston?” I bite out.
Something deep inside me snaps at hearing the name. I know her choosing to date him isn’t a rejection of me, but it sure feels that way.
“You know him?”
“Yeah, I know him.” The bane of my existence during junior league, I once told him when he expressed interest in Bree, that she was off limits.
Clearly, the jerk didn’t get the message. And knowing Chase, there’s a good chance he did it to piss me off. He’s lucky Texas isn’t a short drive. Otherwise, I’d be grabbing my keys right about now and most likely spending the night in jail.
Instead, I do the next ridiculous thing—aka stupid. I push out of my chair and head straight for Bree. The heat simmering in my chest feels like a volcano about to erupt without warning, but there’s no stopping it.
“Pierce!” Luke’s bark grabs the attention of the knuckleheads playing video games, but does nothing to slow my stride.
Maxwell tries to step in front of me, but I shove him aside.
Bree’s back is to me, but the other three? The closer I come, the more their eyes widen, so my face must be broadcasting my rage. As I reach Bree, I resist the urge to grab her wrist and drag her into a private place to talk. Instead, I tap her shoulder.
She spins around, all smiles, until she looks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile disappear so fast.
I unclench my jaw enough to force my words out. “Can we talk?”
She makes eye contact with Mia, Lily, and then Sophie before landing back on me. “Sure.”
I’m almost positive Sophie just figured me out, judging by the way her brows lifted and her eyes sought out Luke. So much for keeping my secret from her. My reaction probably confirms what she already suspected.
But I don’t care at this point. I take—not grab—Bree’s wrist and tug—not drag—her into the bedroom. At least I’m using some restraint. And I’ll be honest. I’ve imagined this many a time in the past, but never like this.
Bree’s technically not the one I’m angry with—Chase gets that honor—and I’m mature enough to recognize that the hurt I’m feeling over her dating him instead of me is my problem, not hers. I’ve never told her how I feel.
But that doesn’t answer the bigger question: What did the scumbag do to her? Because I know Chase, and I’m one hundred percent positive he’s the one who messed with her head.
Once I shut the door, I face her. Before I can temper my tone, the words fly out. “Chase Langston? That’s who you were dating?”