Chapter 12
PEYTON
“Are you ready to play against your old team?” Dad asked.
I shrugged, trying not to jostle my phone, which I was using to FaceTime him as I stood outside the hotel doors. “It’ll be kind of weird, not gonna lie.” I grimaced. “Hopefully the fans don’t boo me.”
“Eh, they know how it goes. It isn’t like you get to dictate trades.”
“Still. Sometimes they don’t like seeing us in rival jerseys.”
“I’m sure they’ll get over it.” Dad grinned. “Score on your old boys a few times. It’ll make you feel better.”
I laughed. There honestly wasn’t much that a few goals couldn’t alleviate. “We’ll see. And I had lunch with some of the guys this afternoon. It was good to see them, you know?”
“I bet. No hard feelings, then, huh?”
“Nah. They get it.” I chuckled. “Jantzen wanted to know if Coach Tabakov is really the hardass everyone says he is. I said, ‘No. He’d probably be all over your ass for dicking off, but for those of us who actually work…’”
My dad barked a laugh. “That sounds like you.”
I just snickered. We moved the conversation away from hockey, and he caught me up on everything happening back home.
Mom was on a trip with some of her friends, so it was just him for the next week or so; no wonder he’d wanted to talk almost every night this week.
We FaceTimed a lot anyway, but he got a little stir crazy sometimes when Mom wasn’t there.
And although Mom hadn’t had a relapse in years and her sponsor was on the trip with her, I knew he still got nervous when she went away.
So even when I was ready to faceplant into bed, I always had time for my night owl father.
I didn’t mind. Being away from my family had been my norm since major juniors, and even now, well into my professional career, it was hard sometimes.
We’d been through hell as a family, and by some miracle (and thanks to a lot of therapy for everyone), we’d come out of it closer than ever.
Despite the geographical distance, and I was glad we’d kept up that closeness after all this time.
It always did make me a little homesick, though. After we’d ended the call, I promised myself—same as I always did—that I’d head back to Omaha the minute the season was over. Maybe Dad and I would finally rebuild his shed like we’d been meaning to do for the past like five years.
Probably not, I thought with a chuckle on my way back into the hotel. We’ll put it off and put it off, and the day we decide to do it, it’ll rain. Same as every year.
God, I missed my family.
As I crossed the hotel lobby, I glanced toward the bar to see if any of my teammates were still hanging out. It was late, so I wasn’t surprised that they’d all cleared out.
Wait. No.
Not all of them.
I did a double take and realized I recognized the man hunched over a glass at the bar.
I checked my phone. It was almost 1:30. Breakfast started at 7:00. Buses would start leaving for the arena at 8:30.
I hesitated outside the bar. I wanted to go crash myself—I was exhausted—but my gut told me it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check on my teammate.
Pocketing my phone, I strolled into the bar and up to Avery. “Hey. You’re still awake?”
He turned to me, a few strands of dark hair falling over red, exhausted eyes. Then he shrugged. “Just having a nightcap.”
Was that a slur, or was I imagining things? Hell, tired as I was, I’d probably started slurring myself.
He patted the barstool next to him. “Have a seat. I’ll buy a round.”
I hesitated, scanning the bar. There was no one from the team in here. No players. No staff. I didn’t need or want a drink, but I also had a feeling I shouldn’t leave my captain alone right now.
I took the offered seat. “Just water for me. We have to be up in a few hours.”
“We do?” He took out his phone and fumbled with it, then peered at the screen. Sighing heavily, he dropped the device on the bar, letting it clatter loudly beside his glass. “Shit. Night got away from me.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. Nightcap, my ass. Avery did have a slur going on, but that wasn’t the only thing that suggested he’d had too much. His gestures were heavy and clumsy, and when he’d checked the time on his phone, he seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes.
He could drink like any hockey player, and he usually held his liquor well. Not like this.
I tried not to drum my fingers nervously on the bar. “You good tonight, Captain?”
The wince was subtle, but it was there, though he quickly covered it with a laugh before sipping his drink. “Just too wound up to sleep. You know how it goes.”
“Uh-huh. I do.” I shifted in the barstool. “You, um… You planning on…?” I gestured toward the elevators.
Annoyance flickered across his face, sending a ripple of panic through me.
Shit, had I overstepped? But before I could back pedal, he released a resigned sigh.
“I should get some sleep.” He threw back the remainder of his drink, and the ice cubes clinked as he put the glass down beside his phone.
Then he gestured for the bartender, who brought him his check.
Well, at least he was calling it a night now rather than later.
The bar would be closing in the next half hour or so, but that meant he still could’ve squeezed in one more drink before last call.
With as much as he was struggling just to sign the credit card receipt, one more drink could’ve spelled disaster.
“All right.” He put the pen down on the receipt and pushed it away. “Let’s get out of here.”
I managed a quick smile and got up.
Then Avery went to stand, but his balance wavered. Badly.
I grabbed his arm and put my other hand on his chest to steady him. “Whoa. Hey. You sure you’re all right?”
He laughed, gripping the back of the barstool for support. “Should’ve watched that first step, I guess.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m good.” He smacked my arm, casually brushing my hand off his chest in the process. “C’mon. Let’s get upstairs before—” He made it two steps this time before he staggered to the side.
Without a word, I slung his arm around my shoulders and wrapped mine around his waist. He muttered insistence that he could walk just fine, but he was leaning heavily on me, so I listened to his body instead of his mouth.
We both probably looked drunk as hell, staggering across the lobby toward the elevators. Fine. I just wanted to make sure Avery got back to his room, ideally in time to sleep this off and absolutely before someone else from the team saw him.
God, please don’t let anyone be filming us.
The last thing either of us needed was this ending up on the internet.
Fortunately, the lobby was pretty deserted and I didn’t see any phones pointed in our direction. I didn’t think anyone even noticed us, honestly, aside from a desk clerk who glanced up at us before returning her attention to her computer monitor.
Not a moment too soon, I poured us into an otherwise empty elevator. “What floor are you on?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Avery? What floor—”
“Ninth.” He tugged something free from his pocket and glared at it, then nodded sharply. “Yeah. Ninth.”
Well, that was a plus—he had his keycard with him. I hadn’t even thought to check, and I really didn’t want to have to ask the front desk for another key to his room.
I jabbed the button for the ninth floor. My room was on the eighth, but I’d get there after I knew Avery was safely in his.
Avery made a half-assed effort to free himself from me, but as soon as I loosened the arm around his waist, he faltered. He caught himself with a hand flat on the mirrored wall, leaving a handprint on the otherwise clean glass.
“Shit,” he muttered. “They mix ’em strong in this place.”
I huffed a laugh, but I didn’t buy it. Yeah, some of the hotel bartenders could have a heavy hand, but one drink—no matter how strong—wasn’t going to turn a pro hockey player into… this.
The elevator stopped. I let Avery try to take a couple of steps on his own, then just quietly caught him again and hauled him out of the car. “What room?”
“Nine twenty—uh…” Avery turned over the keycard’s envelope. “Oh. Nine-twelve.”
I grunted in acknowledgment and steered us toward that room. There were voices behind some doors. Familiar voices. TVs, too. Some of our teammates and likely staff members were still awake.
With each step I took, half-dragging him down the hall, I silently begged every door to stay shut.
Luck or some deities were on our side tonight, because we made it to room 912 without incident. One tap of the keycard, one click of the lock, and we were home free.
I guided him into the room and nudged the door shut behind me.
Then I helped him to the king-size bed and eased him down on its edge.
“There we go.” I tried not to sound relieved as his weight slid off my shoulders.
Not because I couldn’t hold him up—I just hated the responsibility.
The absolute certainty that I was going to take a bad step and let him fall.
Now he was safely in his room and on his bed.
Avery wavered a little, then seemed to steady himself, and he clumsily loosened his tie. “Uh, thanks. I guess I’ll… see you at breakfast?”
I nodded. “You good for the night? I don’t know if I should leave you when you’re…” I trailed off, wondering why I was trying to discuss this with someone who was that drunk.
“I’m fine.” He slid the now undone tie off his neck and let it fall onto the comforter beside him. Gazing up at me, he grinned. “I’m fine, okay?” He pushed himself slowly to his feet, pausing to make sure he had his balance. As he unbuttoned his jacket, he added, “I’m not—I’m good, okay?”
I tried to keep my skepticism out of my expression, but I doubted I succeeded.
Avery rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’m good.” He shrugged off his suit jacket, and there went his balance again.
Without thinking, I grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “Whoa, easy.”
“I’m fine!” He tried to take another step as if to prove it, and that…
did not end well. He toppled into me, sending me back against the TV stand.
By some miracle, I didn’t hit the flatscreen behind me, though it wobbled precariously.
It didn’t fall, and I managed to steady both Avery and me. Again.
He grabbed the edge of the TV stand for some extra support, and we locked eyes. For a moment, we were both still, my heart absolutely slamming into my ribs as we stood there, neither of us apparently quite sure how to disentangle ourselves.
“Um.” I swallowed. “Maybe you should sit down again. Have some water before—”
His weight shifted, and I moved to catch us both again when—
Avery kissed me.
Just… out of nowhere, his mouth was against mine.
For a couple of seconds, I was frozen, disbelieving that Avery Caldwell—the man I’d wanted since forever—was kissing me.
But then the astringent taste and fumes of strong booze nearly made me cough. They also reminded me why we were here.
Avery wasn’t kissing me. A version of Avery who was so shitfaced he couldn’t walk was kissing me.
I put my hands on his shoulders again and—carefully but firmly—pushed him back a step.
He didn’t protest. If anything, he looked a little confused.
By my rejection? By the fact that I was here at all?
Who knew. All I knew was that I needed to get out of this room and away from him as quickly as possible.
He was way too drunk to know what—or who, let’s be real—he was doing, and I didn’t fool around with people who were intoxicated.
I guided him back a couple more steps until he hit the bed. Then I pressed down on his shoulders, and he sat again.
Releasing him, I said, “Let’s get you some water.”
He nodded, looking a little dazed.
I scanned the room. This hotel, like so many others, had a pair of complimentary bottles of water on the dresser. I grabbed one and broke the seal, which took some work because holy shit, my damn hands were shaking.
“Okay, this should help you sober up.” I turned to hand him the bottle, but halted.
He’d lain back across the bed, and he was already out cold. Passed out? Asleep? Well, unconscious one way or another.
“Christ,” I muttered, and then took a swig from the bottle since it wasn’t like he’d be drinking it any time soon.
I studied him as I tried to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t just leave him like this. What if he had alcohol poisoning or something? What if he got sick while he was still lying on his back?
I could text one of the trainers or the team doc. Except… damn it. No. That could get him disciplined by the club. If nothing else, it would humiliate him, but it could also hurt his career. His place on the team.
Standing there in Avery Caldwell’s room at almost two in the morning, listening to him snore as he lay sprawled in his expensive suit…
I had no idea what to do next.