Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
GUNNER
B eckett, our team forward, called me to this bar, and now he’s making me wait in the foyer. He gave some reason, but he was talking so fast I didn’t even try to comprehend everything he said. I love the guy, but he’s too much sometimes.
I can’t say I’m pleased to be standing here. It’s pissing me off if I’m honest. I had a perfectly respectable night of chilling at home planned. Which, with the intense season we’ve been having, is needed so I don’t lose my ever-loving mind.
Not to mention, we’re just coming off our bye week, which is always miserable. The entire team spent a week in Texas drinking, hanging out, and playing cards. It was a good time, as all bye weeks are, but getting back into the routine afterward is exhausting. My body needs as much downtime as I can get so it can perform the way I need it to.
I’ll be thirty-three next week, which in my profession is pushing retirement age. I have no plans to retire anytime soon. As long as I take care of myself, I feel like that’s a reasonable expectation. Yet standing out here in this drafty foyer with gusts of Michigan’s winter winds streaming in below the entry door is making me both cold and cranky and isn’t helping anyone.
Screw Beckett. Since when did I start listening to him?
I take a step toward the entrance to the bar when the exterior door swings open.
Penelope Stellars, the constant pain in my ass, rushes inside. Her eyes narrow when she sees me. “What did you do now, Dreven?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I furrow my brows.
“What did you do?” she repeats with a huff.
Closing my eyes, I pull in a breath through my nose to calm my building rage. Blowing up on this broad won’t help anyone. I’ve learned that lesson. “Listen, Princess…”
“Don’t call me that!” she protests, her voice a spine-chilling shriek. “It sounds like a dog’s name, and I’m no poodle. You’ll address me as Penelope or Penny. Actually, you should probably call me Ms. Stellars.”
I force out a laugh. “Yeah, Penny , I won’t be calling you Ms. Anything.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, as long as you drop the stupid nickname, we’re good. Now, what did you do?”
“Why do you keep asking me that?” The question comes out with a bit of a roar, and I don’t miss the way Penny flinches.
She stands tall or attempts to. The woman is a foot shorter than my six-foot-five frame, but she can puff out her chest any day of the week. While, personally, I can’t stand the woman, I can’t deny that she has a nice rack. She has a nice body, period. Admittedly, I’ve dreamed of grabbing that ass of hers while she rode my cock. I’m not proud of that. I would’ve rather it had been about another woman, but my subconscious does what it wants.
While I may find her body attractive, nothing about her uptight, snooty personality turns me on. In fact, it does the opposite. She has such a stick up her ass, I don’t know how she gets around. She’s showing up at a bar wearing a tight black pencil skirt with a blazer. There’s a hint of a blue flowy blouse under the blazer, but one wouldn’t know with how she has that jacket buttoned up like a straitjacket. Her hair is pulled so tightly in some sort of twist on the back of her head that I’m sure it’s giving her a headache. Who shows up to a casual bar dressed like she’s ready for a press conference? She’s obnoxious.
Penny opens her mouth to speak as the bar door opens, and Iris—the team’s party planner and wife of our other forward, Cade Richards—pops her head into the foyer, wearing a pleased grin on her face. “Oh, good! You’re both here.”
“Iris…” Penny takes a step forward.
Iris backs away. Opening the door, she waves us in.
Moving a step back, I allow Penny to take the lead, and I follow her through the door. The bar is dark, and I squint in an attempt to see what’s going on. As soon as we’re firmly inside the bar, the door closes behind us, the lights flick on, and a rumble of “Surprise!” and Happy birthday!” reverberates through the space.
My gaze flicks to the entire team standing before us with what I can assume is a less-than-impressed expression. Each round wooden table has a bouquet of multicolored balloons. There’s confetti, party hats, a huge-ass birthday cake, and way too much cheer for my taste.
I steal a glance toward Penny. A smile is plastered across her face, but I know her expressions well enough to know that it’s fake as hell. She’s just as uncomfortable as I am with all this attention.
Birthdays were never a big deal growing up. I think my mom realized that the less attention she brought to me, the happier my life would be. She never wanted to put me on the radar of the various men she dated over the years, and for good reason. My mom sure knew how to pick ’em. The revolving door of men coming in and out of our house consisted of deadbeats, sometimes drunks, oftentimes gamblers, and always abusive pricks.
The fact that I’m referred to as the Beast now is ironic because I spent most of my childhood and teenage years as a scrawny little rat. I’m what they called a late bloomer, not hitting my big growth spurt until I was damn near well out of high school. For eighteen years, I was skin and bones and easy bait for my mom’s boyfriends. She conditioned me to hide, be quiet, and stay away.
There were no birthday celebrations to remind the jerks that there was someone else in the house they could beat on besides my mother. No, it was just a day like any other day, save for one minor detail. Each birthday before the current man sleeping in my mother’s bed would wake, she would sneak into my room and wake me up with a kiss on my forehead.
“Happy birthday, my sweet boy,” she would say.
She would ask me what my birthday wish was, and I would always say, “To be great at hockey,” but I would always secretly wish, “To grow strong enough to save you.”
She would then pull two donuts out of a bakery bag. They were always frosted in a bright hue and covered in sprinkles. It was the one time a year I ate a donut, and something about the birthday donut was next level.
I once asked her if all donuts were so delicious, and she said that birthday donuts were extra yummy because they were filled with birthday magic.
We would sit atop my bed and slowly eat our donuts. I’d savor every bite and every second where I could just be in the moment with my mom, happy and hopeful. There was a time when I actually believed that this birthday magic my mother spoke of was real, and I dreamed that it would eventually save us from our circumstances.
When the special treat was gone, she’d give me one more kiss on the forehead and sneak back out of my room as quietly as she had come in. And that was the entirety of my birthday celebration.
I made my secret wish every year for as long as I can remember, but in the end, I couldn’t save her. Now, birthdays serve as another reminder of my failure. And, wouldn’t you know, I share the day with one of my least favorite people.
“Our birthday isn’t until next week,” I grumble.
My protest does little to remove the smile from Iris’s face. “I know, but we’re going to be in Vancouver. We couldn’t have a proper celebration so far from home, so we decided to throw you a party a little early. Plus, this way, it was really a surprise.”
“Oh, it’s definitely a surprise,” Penny says through her forced grin.
Iris waves us forward. “Enjoy! We have lots of food, and of course everyone is here to celebrate you both. We’ll cut the cake in a little bit.” With a nod of her head, the music starts up, and it’s a full-blown party.
Now that I understand what’s going on, I realize Penny was probably called here under the guise of fixing some issue, and of course she thought said problem was me. Her questions from the foyer make complete sense.
I turn to her, narrowing my gaze. “I guess I didn’t do anything now, did I?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut it,” she says before heading toward the crowd of people waiting to celebrate us.
My birthday twin isn’t fond of me, but I have to say the feeling is mutual.
Sebastian Calloway, our center, who we call Bash, hands me a bottle of beer. “Happy birthday, old man!”
“Cookie.” I dip my chin in acknowledgment, using his other nickname, which he despises. The name is idiotic, and I feel like a complete jackass uttering the word, but Bash’s adverse reaction brings me a little bit of joy every time.
His mouth falls into a frown, and he sighs. “Seriously? We agreed to let that go.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, and I’ll be calling you a lot worse if you call me old again.”
We have a pretty young team, and to someone like Bash, who just turned twenty-four, I might be considered older for this profession, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it. I’m sure I’m living in denial, but I plan on holding the starting goalie position for this team for years to come, provided my knees and hips hold out.
Bash waves his arm out in front of him, motioning to the scene before us. “Pretty cool, huh? Were you surprised?
“Cool? Not sure. Surprised? Yes.”
“Aw, come on. What’s better than all your best friends in one room celebrating the day you were born?”
The answer to that question is too vast to pinpoint a single response, so instead, I grunt and take a swig of my beer.
Bash slaps my bicep with a laugh. “The Beast in all his grumpy glory. Happy birthday.” He clinks his beer bottle against mine. “I’m glad to be here celebrating with you.”
“Thanks.”
Everyone in the Cranes organization probably thinks of me as a family would of that one loner grumpy uncle at all the gatherings. They love me and are glad I’m here but don’t know exactly what to do or say around me. The truth is, everyone here is my family—the only one I have. Despite the air I may put off, I love them all. I don’t know where I’d be without this job or these people.
I’ve just never been what one would consider “a people person.” When I was a child, I was conditioned to stay quiet and keep to myself. It was a matter of survival. Once I was in college, I found that attempting to change everything I’ve always been wasn’t that easy. I grew up avoiding friendships and keeping to myself, which carried over into adulthood. It’s quite difficult to be someone you’re not, even if you may want to. Sometimes I think it’d be cool to be like others. Take our starting forward, for example. Cade is one of the coolest people I’ve met. The guy is as nice as can be and can talk to anyone. He could befriend a rock, if needed. Beckett is always the life of the party—fun, outgoing, and charming. It’s rare not to see a smile on the dude’s face. They are both so vastly different than I am. Even with an immense amount of effort, I could never be as outgoing as they are. And the truth is… I don’t want to be. I’m pretty damn content being the more reserved, if not a little grumpy, one on the team.
As if my internal thoughts summoned him over, Beckett approaches wearing his classic shit-eating grin. “So on a scale of one to ten, how awesome was this year’s bye week?” he asks.
“It was cool.” I can’t help but chuckle; the guy’s charm penetrates even my thick skin.
“Right? Who needs house parties with a revolving door of women anyway? It’s fun just to hang out together with our real friends.”
“Mm-hmm.” I smirk with a shake of my head.
Our bye week was different this time around. In years past, we rented a mansion in an exotic location and partied for a week straight. This year—thanks to the shortest courtship in history that led to Beckett’s marriage to our team doctor—the week was more laid-back. Beckett has retired his whore ways and has settled into life as a married man. We still rented a mansion and had an abundance of food and alcohol, but it was more intimate. Those in attendance were family and friends of the team, not random hookups. We talked, hung out, and played cards. It was a great time.
“What?” Beckett raises a brow. “I just thought we could use a change of pace.”
“Sure you did, Feltmore.” I nod.
He huffs out a breath. “I did.”
I’m just giving him a hard time. I’m happy he’s found someone he wants to spend his life with. In my now almost thirty-three years of existence, I can honestly say that no one has come close for me.
The woman who stole his heart walks up to his side and supplies me with her brilliant smile. Our team doctor, Elena Cortez, recently turned Elena Feldmore, is a stunningly beautiful woman. I can see the appeal. As far as doctors go, she’s pretty badass, too.
“Happy early birthday, Gunner.” She’s the only person here who calls me by my first name, and I like it.
Nicknames are fine among the guys, but when I step back and really think about it, being referred to as the Beast out in public is just weird.
“Thank you. I’m surprised you came out.”
The team doc doesn’t often join us at the bars after a game. It’s not her scene.
“I wouldn’t miss celebrating your birthday.” She grins. “I won’t stay out long. I’m still exhausted from all the fun we had last week. I’m waiting for that second trimester boost of energy to hit me, but this pregnancy has me exhausted.”
Beckett wraps his hand around her waist and kisses her temple. When he leans back, he wears an expression of complete adoration.
Iris bounds over to our group. “It’s cake time!”
She leads me to a high-top table with a sheet cake big enough to cover the entire surface. Penny stands facing our joint birthday cake, waiting. Begrudgingly, I step up to her side. All eyes in the place are on us as Iris lights the candles. I take calming breaths through my nose, wishing I were anywhere but here. All this attention on me is not my style.
Iris initiates the happy birthday song, and everyone in the place belts out the lyrics. I drown out the off-key melody, counting down the seconds until I can step out of the spotlight.
At the end of the song, Iris claps her hands together and cheers, “Make a wish!”
Her words crash a wave of nostalgia over me, and I freeze. Every muscle in my body goes stiff. Emotions that I haven’t felt in so long weigh down on me. I feel everything as if I were still that frail little boy who had to sneak a sprinkled donut and a moment of his mother’s time.
A squeeze of my hand pulls me from my memories, and I look down to see Penny.
“You okay?” There isn’t an ounce of malice in her voice, and the way in which those two words soothe my rising panic unsettles me.
I pull in a breath and nod.
“On the count of three, make a wish and blow?”
I nod again.
Penny counts, “One, two.” She looks at me with a reassuring grin, and it does something to me. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of her kindness. “Three.”
She opens her mouth to blow and, with her eyes, directs me to do the same. I follow suit, and the pair of us extinguish the tiny flames of the candles. Right before the last candle is out, a vivid image comes to my mind. It’s not a wish, exactly, but it’s there in utter clarity, and if I’m honest, it freaks me the fuck out.