Chapter 14 Parker
PARKER
My eyes are sore and my body is sluggish as I climb up the stairs to the team’s private jet the next afternoon.
I stood my ground this morning with Linc and told Jarad, and then Coach, that he wasn’t partaking in morning skate, nor is he playing tomorrow night.
Coach didn’t look too impressed, but he had no choice but to agree. He needs his best players healthy, and right now, Linc is struggling, even if he won’t admit it.
But while I might have won Coach over, the player himself is another issue entirely.
He’s pissed. Not that I care. Not about pulling him from a game, at least.
I still feel awful about last night.
I had no idea. Not a single fucking clue that he’d organized anything.
I spent ages lying in bed, trying to remember our conversation in the trainers’ room. The only thing I recall him saying was “celebrating tonight?” But I took that as a question about my plans for the night, not an invitation to celebrate with him.
When I think back to the set table, the homemade food, the flowers, the note, I struggle to believe it was real.
Those aren’t the actions of the Lincoln Storm I know.
He doesn’t buy women flowers. Hell, I don’t think he’s even bought his mom flowers.
The inside of the airplane is already in chaos. Despite being lost in my memories of the disastrous night before, my eyes are everywhere, taking it all in.
“Parker,” a soft voice calls, and when I look over, I find Brooke in the row behind the coaches and a free seat beside her. “I saved you a seat.”
My eyes lift to the rows behind her and find them almost full of the team.
I’ve been around ice hockey players long enough to know the airplane protocols and how seriously they all take their seating positions. I don’t dare go back and mess with their pre-game rituals.
However, I also don’t really want to be in the middle of the coaches’ discussions either. My other option is Mitchell, who’s sitting alone on the other side of the aisle.
Hell no.
Good to know no one else wants to sit next to the guy, either.
“Thank you so much,” I say, making a decision before someone else can snag the seat.
After placing my carry-on into the overhead bin, I drop into the seat. And holy hell, it is so much better than any airplane seat my ass has ever hit before.
I shouldn’t be surprised by the luxury the guys travel in, but I am.
“This is crazy,” I breathe as I rest my head back and allow a smile to pull at my lips.
I did it.
I fucking did it.
“Are you ready for your first road games?” Brooke asks. There’s excitement glittering in her eyes, but nowhere as much as I’m feeling.
“Yeah, I think so. I'm pretty sure I packed too much, though,” I confess.
“Standard. You’ll get used to it. It becomes second nature after a while.”
I nod, confident that she’s right. I’m going to be spending a significant amount of time on this plane and away from LA in the coming months.
I’m buzzing for it. Not only am I getting to do a job I’ve dreamed of for years, but I’m getting to travel and see new places.
It might be early days, but I think I might have made a friend, too.
“It’s so good to have a girl to travel with,” Brooke muses as a few more players walk down the aisle to find their seats. “Sometimes Hailee joins us, but more often than not, it’s me and a plane full of men.”
“You and a whole team of ice hockey players. I guess every job has its hardships,” I tease.
“You know what happens on a hockey team plane, right?”
I can’t contain my smile.
“Oh yeah, I’m aware.”
“Best part of every trip,” Brooke says as Monroe steps onto the plane and begins walking toward me.
“Donnelly,” he says with his signature smile.
“Monroe,” I greet. “How’s that shoulder?”
“Almost as good as new,” Monroe says happily. “You’ve got the magic touch.”
As he says this, there’s a grunt of disgust from behind him.
I grit my teeth to stop from saying anything. Mitchell wants attention, but I’m not going to give him any. Neither is Monroe, it seems, when he keeps his eyes on me.
“You’ve got a good seat here,” he continues, a flirtatiousness I’m more than used to in his tone.
“Is that right?”
“Yep,” he says with a wink before taking another step forward and lifting his carry-on above his head into the bin behind me. “If you need anything, I’ll be right behind you.”
Of course. Rookies at the front, vets at the back.
Without meaning to, my mind wanders to Linc. Where does he sit? He’s been a Viper since his rookie year; he might not be classed as a vet yet, but he has to be pretty far back. And that’s a good thing; the farther he is from me, the better.
I don’t need the next four hours to come complete with his glare.
You’re doing the right thing, I remind myself. Linc will thank you for it in the long run.
As if I summoned him, he appears at the front of the plane, his face set in the same scowl as earlier.
He was gone before I got up this morning, but I soon found him in the trainers’ room where he was told not to get dressed for morning skate. The second the words rolled off Coach’s lips, his glare turned on me.
He was embarrassed last night. Pissed off that I’d accidently stood him up. It would have been easy to let it go and allow him to play. But as a professional, whose main focus is his health, I have to do what’s right for him, his body, and his future playing career.
He scans the plane as if he’s looking for someone, and I hate myself for sinking down a little in the hope he won’t see me. It’s pointless—not even a second later, he finds me.
His eyes narrow and his jaw tics.
Yeah, he’s really pissed.
He also looks hot as fuck.
Forcing myself to ignore that second observation, I smile at him before dropping my gaze to the back of the seat in front of me.
Monroe lingers as Linc moves closer. I don’t need to be looking to know he’s closing the space between us. I feel it. The air gets thicker, making it harder to breathe.
“Good to see he’s taken the news well,” Monroe teases.
“Shut the fuck up, Marilyn,” Linc barks. “Sit the fuck down and stop flirting with our trainer.”
“Someone’s feeling extra sensitive today,” Monroe taunts, although when I glance back, I notice he’s stepped out of the aisle and out of Linc’s way.
Linc glares at the rookie. But Monroe being Monroe, he just shakes it off and smiles back.
“I’d go and rest that leg, if I were you,” I state, hoping to get him to move on. I’ve had more than enough of his surly ass today.
I spent almost the entirety of morning skate working on him. He barely said a word to me, and those he did were barbed and full of frustration. Somehow, though, the silence was worse. It allowed my mind to wander, to drift back to last night and all the sweet things he’d done for me.
No guy has ever bought me flowers before, let alone gone to the effort of writing a handwritten note. And the home-cooked dinner. As disappointed as I am that I missed the invitation, I’m also relieved. I don’t need to be around that side of Linc. It’s dangerous.
I’m better off remembering that he’s an arrogant manwhore who doesn’t care about anything but the game.
There was a time I allowed myself to see past that and let my fantasies run away with me.
But I’m not that naive eighteen-year-old anymore.
Instead, I’m an almost-twenty-four-year-old cynic who knows finding “the one” is reserved for only a few special people.
The rest of us are destined to spend our lives searching and forever failing.
With one more silent glare, Linc continues toward his seat.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I chant that over and over.
Nothing good can come from watching his ass as he walks down the aisle.
“Are you okay?” Brooke asks quietly.
Her attention makes the right side of my face burn, but I don’t respond immediately.
I count to five, and when I’m confident that I can keep my attention focused forward, I open my eyes and smile.
“Yeah, of course. I’ve been dealing with Linc almost my whole life. I know how to handle him.”
An amused scoff comes from the other side of the aisle, and this time, I can’t stop myself. My head whips around to stare at Mitchell.
“Is there something you’d like to say?” I bark, my hackles rising.
I fucking hate this guy.
“Who, me?” he asks innocently. “Nope.”
“Ignore him,” Brooke urges, and I do, because I don’t have the energy to spar with the asshole.
The last few players arrive and quickly take their seats. Both Fletch and Kodie stop beside me for a quick hello. But before long, the flight attendants are locking the doors and giving the signal that the guys have been waiting for.
Movement erupts behind our heads, and I can’t help but smile as I think about the amount of skin that’s about to be on display.
“Best job ever,” Brooke giggles beside me.
I jump when a pair of pants land in the aisle next to me, and I make the stupid move of turning around.
Oh, holy hell.
Inches upon inches of toned muscle, tanned skin, and tight boxers greet me.
But while my eyes scan the bodies, it’s not until they find one that they linger.
I recognize him instantly. And it’s not just because of his ink that I’ve seen more than enough times over the years, or because I had my hands on him less than six hours ago.
I know I should turn back around, but I can’t. Much like last night when he walked out of the bathroom in only a towel, my eyes are glued to him.
You’re his trainer.
Be professional, Parker.
The second I spot the hourglass on his arm, my breath catches, and I look up.
Our eyes collide, and that familiar electricity crackles between us.
He makes a show of opening his pants and letting them drop to his ankles, but I keep my eyes on his face.
The second the arrogant motherfucker blows a kiss, I twist back into my seat and cross my arms over my chest, silently chastising myself for being so weak.
“Did you want to talk about it?” Brooke asks.
“Nothing to talk about,” I lie, instantly feeling bad about it.
I might only be on day two, but Brooke has been nothing but friendly and supportive.
I haven’t even spoken to Casey about this. Whatever this is.
“Okay,” she says lightly, although I doubt she believes a word of it. “The offer is there, though. If you need it. Us girls have to stick together.”
After a few more minutes, the guys settle back into their seats, the flight attendants do their safety demonstrations, and we’re taxiing toward the runway.
The young female flight attendant makes her way down the aisle, checking for seat belts, and pauses the second she gets to me.
“Welcome aboard,” she says, holding her hand out for me to shake.
“I’m Leah, one of the team’s crew.” Her smile is friendly, and there’s a fun air about her that instantly pulls me in.
Her skin is dark and beautiful, her hair has been artfully styled away from her face, and her makeup is flawless.
And her curves...damn. I bet the guys love flying with her taking care of them.
“Hey, I’m Parker. The team’s newest athletic trainer.”
Her smile grows. “I was stoked when I saw the post announcing your new position. Congrats. Freaking love it when we sneak our way into a man’s world. We should go out and celebrate tonight.”
“Yesss,” Brooke agrees happily.
“Uh…” I hesitate, unsure of the rules while we’re on the road.
“It’s perfect. The guys will be having an early night ready for the game tomorrow. We won’t have to worry about bumping into them.”
“I should also be doing the same.”
“We won’t stay out late,” Brooke assures me. “Some food. Some cocktails. You deserve it for putting up with Storm today.”
“Uh oh, getting on the wrong side of the players already?” Leah teases.
“Only Storm,” Brooke explains for me. “But from the sounds of it, she’s been on his wrong side for years.”
I can’t help but groan.
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Leah says, curiosity burning in her eyes. “Listen, I’ve got work to do. But I’ll message you when we land and make a plan,” she says to Brooke before making her way to the back of the plane.