Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Only when I’m trying not to get laid
Reid
Ishow up to the reception a little late.
No one says anything because this isn’t the type of wedding reception where people care about that. There’s no seating plan or head table, no speeches being timed down to the second. No tuxedos or signature cocktails or photographers trying to wrangle toddlers back into floral crowns.
Just a courtyard draped in string lights, some outdoor space heaters to stave off the cold, and a giant grazing platter filling a huge table that’s already half picked over by greedy hands.
The hum of the guests feels warm, filled with the kind of soft background music that you only hear in the spaces between laughter.
Charlie didn’t want a big wedding, and Jake would’ve married her in a gas station bathroom if it made her happy. So here they are—married in the city hall during the Olympic break, with a low-key private party for their reception in one of their favorite bars.
I take the last two steps with a little more weight on my good leg, keeping my stride balanced.
I’m still sore from the regular physio, but the pain’s turned into more of a hum now.
Something I can manage. Which is good, because I’m back in skates, testing out how far I can push my knee before the season recommences.
There’s already a decent number of people out back, even though there are a few key people missing.
Eli should be loud somewhere near the center, with Tamara pretending she’s not emotional while absolutely being emotional.
Instead, they’re halfway across the world with Team Canada.
A handful of Storm guys are missing too, swallowed up by Olympic schedules and time zones that don’t care about weddings.
I should be one of them.
Logan claps me on the shoulder as he passes. “Beer?”
“Yeah.”
He slides one across the bar a second later, already halfway back to Lulu, who’s laughing at something Charlie’s mom has said. Lulu catches my eye and grins.
“You look suspiciously social tonight, Hutchy.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a strict one-outing-per-quarter rule.”
She laughs and leans back into Logan, whose arms have settled around her waist, his lips pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
Viktor is planted at the bar beside me, nursing his drink.
“You are late,” he says.
I grunt. “Wasn’t aware there was a schedule.”
“There isn’t.” He takes a slow sip. “But if there was, you would still be late.”
I let the corners of my mouth twitch. “You been here long?”
“Long enough to know the meatballs are terrible and the old woman in the green dress tried to talk to me about essential oils for forty-five minutes.”
I glance toward the grazing table. “Is she still alive?”
“Barely.”
We stand there for a few beats, watching Lulu drag Logan toward the makeshift dance floor, a string of fairy lights swaying above them. Her dress twirls when she spins, then she leans in to say something that makes him smile.
Love. It suits him.
Viktor’s watching them, too. “He looks less tense.”
“He is,” I reply. “Took him long enough.”
I scan the room again. People stand where they land—leaning against the bar, perched on stools, claiming bits of space by the exposed brickwork.
Viktor tips his bottle toward the room. “Marriage,” he says. “It is a strange commitment.”
“Statistically,” I agree, “not a great investment.”
“Everyone’s in love,” he says, watching as Logan dips Lulu on the dance floor.
“Yeah.” I take a sip of my drink. “You think it’s contagious?”
“God, I hope not.”
Meadow suddenly barrels past, nearly taking out my knee.
“Sorry, Uncle Hutchy!” she yells, already sprinting off toward her grandmother in the far corner.
Noah skids to a stop in front of me, craning around to see the bar I’m blocking. “Dad said I can have another soda.”
“Your dad said that, huh?”
“Yes.” Noah grins, suspicion written all over him.
“Then you better ask him again,” I tell him. “Louder, this time.”
“Dad!” he shouts, sprinting off toward Jake, who looks like he might cry just from being called Dad again by his stepson.
Theo sees me and toddles over, planting himself directly in front of me, staring up as though he’s considering climbing.
“Hut!” He lifts his eyebrows and raises his little arms, fingers flexing. “Up!”
I sigh and lift him high with one arm, and he immediately giggles as he looks out over the crowd from his new vantage point. He settles against me, small and snuggly and warm, gripping the collar of my shirt with his pudgy fist.
Charlie glances over, softening. “You’re his favorite, you know.”
“That’s just bad instincts.”
Lulu slides in beside me, signaling the bartender for another glass of champagne. While she waits, she scans me over once, tilting her head.
“You’d be such a good dad, Hutch.”
I scoff. “Let’s not curse some poor kid with me.”
She just rolls her eyes, receives her flute, and sashays back toward Logan.
Charlie’s brother, Matt, who has come over from New Zealand, wanders over with two beers in hand and offers one to Viktor. “You look like a man who could use a refill.”
Viktor considers him. “Correct.”
They clink bottles, and Charlie’s parents drift closer, her mom still teary-eyed from earlier, and her dad smiling like he’s holding something fragile together.
“This is exactly what she wanted,” her mom says to no one in particular. “Simple and no nonsense.”
Jake overhears and nods, reaching to take Theo from me. “She told me if I even suggested a seating chart, she’d leave me.”
A couple of Charlie’s friends, both with unmistakable Kiwi accents, end up beside me a minute later. It’d be easy conversation—for someone else.
One of them hums a laugh and touches my arm.
“You’re Reid, right?” Her eyes are already scanning down my torso. “The goalie?”
I nod, polite but clipped. “That’s me.”
“Heard you’re the one with the big… save percentage.” She laughs at her own joke, biting her lip.
I feel it, register the flirtation, but that’s where it stops. There’s no spark and definitely no urge to lean in or keep it going.
I give her a half smile. “All true.”
“You dance?”
“No.”
She pouts, deliberately leaning in. “Shame.”
“Still recovering.” I shrug, gesturing at my leg.
She lingers a second longer, but I don’t offer anything else, and eventually, she peels off toward the dance floor.
Viktor raises an amused eyebrow. “You always this charming?”
“Only when I’m trying not to get laid.”
We lapse back into silence, the kind that settles between two people who’ve known each other long enough to not have to fill it.
After a moment, he shifts.
“So you are seeing someone?”
I shake my head once. “Not lately.”
“You?” His brow lifts, just a bit. “Mr. Sunshine? Impossible.”
“Shocking, right?”
He hums around a sip of beer. “The world is off its axis.”
I smirk, taking another sip of my own. “I’ve had my fair share, just haven’t been interested in a while.”
He nods like that makes sense, and doesn’t push for more detail. That’s the thing about Viktor—he can be annoying and too honest, but he can also sit in silence without making it uncomfortable.
But the silence still opens a door in my head I wasn’t planning to walk through tonight.
It’s not about the sex. I’ve never struggled with that part. Hell, I love it. I like it rough, I like control, I like knowing exactly what gets someone to fall apart and being the one to give it to them.
I don’t half-ass anything once the clothes are off, never have.
That’s never been the issue. It’s everything that comes after—when the room goes quiet, and there’s nothing left to distract you from yourself.
And lately, I haven’t had the patience for anything that feels temporary.
So I haven’t touched anyone since before the injury. I don’t want that empty connection anymore.
Especially now, when I’m walking through every day knowing I might not get back the one thing I’ve built my life around.
I take another drink, watching Logan laugh as Lulu makes him twirl her on the dance floor, and watching Jake scoop Meadow up for their own dance as she shrieks with laughter. The noise swells again with music, laughter, clinking glasses.
I don’t even realize I’m thinking about her until I’m halfway through my bottle.
Carina.
Sharp-tongued, controlled-until-she’s-hungry, steady-until-she’s-stressed Carina Park.
Havoc.
The only nickname I’ve given someone that feels more like a warning to myself than anything else.
I don’t know what her deal is. One minute, she’s calm and surgical, the next, she’s writing words in a burger with ketchup. And still, she acts like nothing in the world can shake her.
Except that’s not true, because I saw it when I wasn’t supposed to. Just a few moments of emotion, enough to know there’s something soft under all that steel.
And ever since then, something’s been itching at the back of my skull.
It’s something that makes me stop noticing women like the one who just flirted with me. Something that keeps me up at night, wondering what kind of noises she’d make if she ever let herself let go. If she ever let go for me.
And yeah, that scares the shit out of me a little bit.
She’s younger than me. At the top of her career and pushing for more.
I’ve got nothing to give her. Most people want something from me—money, status, a luxury lifestyle.
Carina doesn’t.
I make my way over to a table and sink down onto the seat, stretching my leg out to give it a rest.
Theo appears a few minutes later, clutching what looks like a half-eaten cheese cube in one hand and an empty sippy cup in the other. He beelines straight for me, weaving between ankles like a heat-seeking missile.
I don’t even get the chance to brace before he climbs.
“Jesus,” I mutter, catching him under the arms as he tries to hoist himself up using my shirt. “You ever heard of personal space?”
He breathes loudly with concentration and shoves the cheese cube against my jaw. “Eat it.”
“I don’t take bribes.”
He shoves it harder.