17. Nash
CHAPTER 17
NASH
“That effort you showed out there,” Coach says, pointing behind him to the ice from where he stands near the boards. The rest of the team is strung along the benches in front of him, trying desperately to catch our breath. “Is what is going to take us all the way.” He drops his hand, smiling at us. “I’m so proud of the unit we’ve become. And each time you take the ice like you just did in practice? I know we’re going to the top!” He claps, and the rest of the team does too, myself included.
It was a grueling practice, and while I know everyone has to be as desperate as me to get the hell out of here, we wait while Coach talks to some of us individually.
“Excuse me,” a tall red-haired woman in a pencil skirt and a white blouse says as she moves along the small amount of aisle space between the boards and the benches, eyes on Baylor. “Sorry,” she says after bumping into my skates.
“No worries, Elise,” I say, nodding up to Elise Fullman, Baylor’s agent. Not only Baylor’s, actually. A few of the guys have signed with her. She’s one of the best sports agents on the east coast.
She smiles down at me, working her way down the bench, her high heels that she’s never without making the trek more difficult than it should be. Knowing her, whatever she has to tell Baylor is urgent or she wouldn’t bother with the difficulty.
“Oh!” Her light squeal draws my attention again, and I gape as I watch her trip over someone else’s skates. She wobbles on her heels, trying to right herself before failing. She’s about to topple to the floor before she corrects and lands in the arms of none other the Clay Kiplin.
Uh oh.
His hands are glove-free, but the rest of his gear is on, making her look tiny in his arms. She’s sprawled on his lap, eyes wide as she looks like he might tear her head off at any minute for falling into his lap like she had.
I’m about to get up and rescue her, but Clay easily pops her on her feet.
“That’s why you shouldn’t wear heels in here,” he grumbles at her.
She visibly swallows, adjusting her outfit and lifting her chin. “Sorry, Captain,” she says with a good deal of snark, faux-saluting him before steadily walking to meet up with Baylor.
“Whew,” I say to Pax who sits next to me. “That was icy.”
Pax laughs. “She’s as tough as they come,” he says. “She’d eat Clay alive if he was her client.”
I laugh at that thought.
After a few personalized goals from Coach, we’re released, and we head to the showers. And now that my mind isn’t actively focused on practice, my thoughts immediately turn to Reese.
It's been a week, and I still haven't been able to connect with her, the two of us so incredibly busy during playoffs. I hate the sour taste it leaves in my stomach but it's hard to ignore. I feel like everything changed after the night we decided to stop playing pretend, but then we both got hit with career demands we couldn't ignore, and now I'm feeling the distance more than I ever have before.
This is completely new territory to me, and I don't know how to feel in my own skin. There are so many times in the past week that I’ve opened up a text, typing out something long and romantic, only to quickly delete it.
She's been so hard to get ahold of, and I can’t stop the fear mounting inside of me that she's making good on the joke she made when we first agreed to a fake relationship after New Year's Eve. The one where she was going to make me fall in love with her only to break my heart.
We’d laughed about it then, and I thought it was going to be super funny to watch her try.
I didn't think I was capable of falling in love, too focused on my career and my family to make room for anything else in my heart.
Reese changed things.
Opened up parts of me I didn't know I’d closed off when I became a caretaker in my family almost a decade ago.
I don’t think she’s playing a role or still doing her best to drag me along in this effort to get views on the page, but after not seeing her, holding her, touching her, or hell, even having long phone conversations with her like we used to in the beginning, it’s hard not to think about it.
To not think about the possibility that she may be enacting some sort of revenge against me for being a cocky bastard with a mission to get under her skin anytime I could in the past.
Maybe I deserve to have my heart broken.
Maybe that's what love is—opening yourself up to all sorts of pain and panic and questionability.
Fuck, I've never dealt with it before. And I certainly don’t enjoy this part. I never used to question anything, and now I’m questioning everything . Insecurity isn’t something I usually have, but I can’t deny it now. And I hate it because we were both doing so damn well.
Her with her page and us soaring through playoffs with a real shot at the Cup. The Badgers had never performed so well, and I couldn't be prouder. My dad was on the mend, in a way that we never thought possible, and the bills we're getting paid. Not only that, the deals that I’d gotten because of the attention on social media allowed me to take care of my family in a way I always hoped. I’m finally able to save for myself too. Everything is falling into place except for the distance I’m feeling.
I shake my head, doing my best to breathe out of this sensation.
I know Reese.
Sure, we liked to joke around, but that’s one of the things that makes us work so well.
There’s never a dull moment, everything is surprising.
She wouldn't play me.
I dry myself off after the shower, the locker room absolutely vibrating with excitement thanks to our recent string of wins.
I should be focused on that.
Should be focused on the fact that our team is in sync in a way we’ve never been before.
But I can't stop thinking about how bad it’s going to hurt if I made a serious mistake in giving my heart to Reese.
Fucking hell, how do people do this relationship thing even once, let alone multiple times?
I get dressed, sliding a shirt over my head, and the angle has my viewpoint snagging on a group of guys across the way. Daniel is glaring at me like I shit in his gear bag.
I do a double-take, looking behind me to make sure he's looking at me the way I think he's looking at me.
There’s no one behind me.
I tilt my head, nodding to him.
“What's going on, Daniel?” I ask.
He walks over to me, the look on his face more severe now that I've acknowledged him.
His two closest friends flank either side, and all my senses perk up, adrenaline slicing through my veins as I feel an approaching fight coming on.
I rack my brain, questioning my instincts. Daniel has no reason to be mad at me, let alone try to fight me. We just had a badass practice and won a playoff game last night for fuck’s sake. Is the veteran mad because he didn't have enough ice time? That shit is expected after being on the team so long, and I always thought he was fine with that.
He stops in front of me, his jaw flexing, hands fisted at his side.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I finally ask.
Lawson and Pax must hear the tone of my voice, because the two of them head across the locker room and flank my side, the sight of the six of us staring each other down creating quite the scene.
“Your girlfriend is my fucking problem,” Daniel snaps.
I shift my weight. The dude looks ready to throw a swing, and I’ve got no idea why. “What the hell are you talking about, man?”
Daniel shifts closer.
I've never seen him so livid. He’s usually the guy who opts to man the grill at Clay’s parties—full dad vibes.
But not right now.
“Your fucking girlfriend,” he says again, so close that he almost spits in my face. “She's ruining my goddamn life. She doesn’t even have the respect to respond to me, and you couldn't care less. Too busy worshipping the ground she walks on over giving two shits about your teammates. The people you've played with for years.” He shoves me backward, a forceful blow that has me coming back in a full swing on instinct.
Pax grabs my arm, hauling me backward before I make connection with Daniel's jaw.
“I don't have a clue what you're talking about!”
“Act like you're clueless,” Daniel fires back. “I'm getting death threats!” he yells. “People are showing up at my house. Women are bombarding my wife with messages. All because of those videos Reese has been posting. My wife is scared to go out in public!”
Daniel rushes me again, but Lawson and Pax are holding me back, so I can't block the shove and the three of us stumble backward before we regain balance.
“You think you would fucking care,” he says. “You think you would step up and talk some sense into her. No amount of views or brand deals is worth this.”
All I see is red, barely hearing his words and only feeling his aggression as I try to break free of my friends’ hold.
Daniel takes a swing, but one of his friends stops him, and then there's a whole hell of a lot of Captain barging in the middle of us.
“Break it the fuck up,” Kiplin snaps, glaring at us. “I don't know what the fuck this is about but it's not happening here. You two twats are not going to bring down the entire team when we’re on a winning high. Grow up and act like the adults instead of territorial teenagers.”
Daniel and his friends shake their heads, but they listen to Clay, flipping me off before heading back to their lockers.
Lawson and Pax finally let me go. I stand statue-still for a few moments, doing my best to quell the rage trickling into my veins.
How the fuck can they blame Reese for some followers’ actions?
Clay looks at me, something like pity shaping his face. “She hasn't taken the video down.”
“What?” I ask, glancing at Pax and Lawson for confirmation.
They both cringe but nod.
“She hasn't turned the comments off either,” Clay continues. “The video that's getting the most views is the one stirring up all this intensity.”
Doubt slips into my chest, grabbing on to that distance I've felt and shaking it up.
“She can't know,” I say. “That's the only explanation,” I continue. “Reese would never condone leaving a video up if it was causing this much damage. Not just for the views.”
“Have you two not talked about it?” Pax asks.
I rake my fingers through my hair, shaking my head. “We haven't been able to connect much lately. We've been busy, her with a viral page and all the attention that's getting, and me on the ice, trying to get us to a Cup situation.”
“Do you even know who she is?” Daniel calls from his locker as he shoves gear into his bag with a little more force. I can tell he's imagining that bag is my face, but there is shit all I can do about it.
“I do,” I say back, taking one step forward, but Clay moves in front of me again. “She can't know?—”
“She does know. She's known since the first string of comments started. She doesn't care. All she cares about is views.” Daniel cuts me off.
Anger slices through me, hot and boiling on Reese’s behalf. “You don't know her, man,” I promise. “This is a giant misunderstanding.”
Daniel rolls his eyes. “Damn. Now I almost feel sorry for you. She has you wrapped around her pretty little fingers. Do you even know that she's got a date set up with Darrell, to talk about her helping him the same way she helped you? Guess your videos with her aren't getting enough attention so she's going to have to cook up something else with someone new in order to keep it going. Bigger and brighter things. It's fucking pathetic.”
He throws his bag over his shoulder and storms out of the locker room, leaving me standing there, looking like an idiot.
Because I didn’t know that.
She hadn’t told me about any intention to do videos with Darrell.
Clay huffs and stalks off now that the fight threat is gone.
I look to Pax and Lawson, silently questioning everything Daniel just said. “She's not,” I say, completely dumbfounded. “Right?”
My heart clenches at the idea that this really all is just a game to her. That she never liked me and was just using me for views and good sex.
And if that's all it was, then why did she say she wanted to stop pretending when I did?
I mean, fuck, I'd been deep inside her, driving her wild with lust, so maybe she would’ve agreed to anything in the moment, but it’d felt real.
Everything between us felt real.
She wouldn't set up dates to create drama on the page, right?
Icy doubt clings to my insides.
My mind spins with the worst possibilities.
I can’t find any sense of solidarity.
“Tell me you two don't know anything,” I say to my friends. “Please,” I beg. “Please tell me you have no clue what's going on because I swear to God if you've heard something from Monroe or Blakely and didn't tell me I was being played for a fucking fool?—”
“Breathe,” Lawson says. “Nash, you just have to breathe ,” he says again. “I don't know anything. I promise.”
I cut my eyes to Paxton.
“I don't know anything, either,” Paxton says. “But I know Reese, she wouldn't do anything malicious on purpose. But you two are the ones who set this up as a fake thing. Have you ever actually confirmed that it wasn't?”
I rub my palms over my face, my entire body shaking from the adrenaline. “I thought we did,” I say.
“You thought?” Lawson ask. “You need to be certain about that shit, man,” he says. “Otherwise, you're getting pissed at her for something she may not even know she's doing wrong. You said so yourself, in the beginning, this was supposed to just be fun.”
“Fuck,” I say.
I pull out my phone, dialing her number and holding my phone to my ear, the breath tightening my lungs with every ring that goes unanswered.
“Voicemail,” I say, hanging up. “Either of you have any idea where she is?”
Pax is the first to make a face, so I glare at him.
“I heard Monroe say something about her going to the coffee shop after practice to meet up with one of the players to talk about videos.” He grimaces. “Only know that cause Monroe was going to stop by there and get me a coffee.”
“Who is she meeting with?” I ask. “Don't you fucking dare say it's Darrell,” I say before he can even respond.
“I don't know,” he hurries to answer.
“Shit,” I snap, grabbing my stuff and storming out of the locker room so fast my friends can't even follow me.
I'm already in my car by the time they've made it to the players’ lot and I ignore whatever they're trying to say to me as I take off toward the coffee shop.
My anger mounts and builds, a strong boil that threatens to burn me from the inside out. I swear to God if I've gotten played, all for the sake of some fucking endorsement deals and some views, I'm going to lose my shit.
She wouldn't set a date with Darrell.
She wouldn't.
She's fully aware of how big of a piece of shit Liam is, he's dating her best friend for fuck’s sake. And she hates it. She's told me that on several occasions. She doesn't see what Monroe sees in Liam, and Darrell is that douchebag’s best friend. They're cut from the same cloth.
She wouldn’t entertain a storyline for him like she did with me. Right?
We’re different.
It's not fake between us. It's not just about some damn social page.
And regardless of the money and influence it's brought to the team, she wouldn't put players in danger, like Daniel is saying.
She wouldn’t do that to him, to his wife, to anyone.
She wouldn't do that to me.
Maybe I'll make you fall in love with me just to break your heart to prove you actually have one.
Her words from the day after New Year's Eve echo through my mind. The words sound way more serious than ever before.
And as I pull into the coffee shop, something in my chest cracks. A deep, internal pain I’ve never felt before.
It only takes me a minute to realize it’s my heart breaking .