Chapter 27 Lincoln
LINCOLN
“Argh, you motherfucker,” Killer shouts as I run him off the road and leave him in my dust.
“Fuck’s sake. How did you win again?” Marilyn complains, sulking like the toddler he is.
“Because clearly, I’m the most talented player in the room. Hey,” I complain when Handsy throws an empty water bottle at my head.
“Let’s not get into that argument,” Brit mutters. “You all know I’d win.”
After Parker left me kneeling on my own goddamn floor like a horny teenager with a raging hard-on, I called in the guys for a distraction.
We ordered pizza and fired up the Xbox.
This is what a normal night off looks for us during the season. Sometimes there are more of us, sometimes fewer, but we kick back and try to forget about the pressures that are on us from every direction.
I fucking love my job. Playing ice hockey in the NHL is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. From as early as I can remember, I wanted to be just like my dad.
With a shitload of hard work and determination, I did it, and it’s the best fucking job in the world. But that doesn’t mean it can’t get overwhelming at times.
We’ve got not only the entire city watching us, but the entire country. There are thousands of fans out there relying on us, desperate for us to do the unthinkable and bring the cup home. That kind of pressure can get too much if you don’t find a way to push it all aside for a while.
Thankfully, I have the best kind of family around me.
My teammates are my brothers, and when one of us is struggling, we band together and do what we can to make things right.
No one understands the life we live, other than the men skating beside you night after night.
We win together. We lose together. And we do everything else in between together.
Tonight, I need them to take my mind off what Parker might be doing with the guy who booked a table at The Carlton.
It’s a solid choice, and it certainly makes a statement.
The guy either has money, or he’s the world’s biggest liar. It really could go either way.
But it doesn’t really matter which way it goes, as long as it goes badly.
Guilt twists up my insides for wishing a bad date on her. But I can’t help it. I’m selfish like that.
I got so fucking close to demanding she didn’t go out and instead spent the night here with me. But I swallowed down the words.
She’d have only rejected me.
She doesn’t want me.
I’m everything she doesn’t want.
I remember that all too well.
The rejection stings just as much now as it did all those years ago.
You’d think I’d be over it at this point. But it’s still there, reminding me that I’m not good enough for the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted.
“Linc? Storm?”
“Hey,” I complain when a cushion hits my head.
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere, just thinking about—”
“Pussy, no doubt.” Killer laughs.
“I dunno. Rumor has it that the legendary Lincoln Storm is going through somewhat of a dry spell,” Handsy teases.
“Fuck off. I’m just…I dunno, feeling a little picky.”
“Shit. If Linc is getting fussy over the women he beds, that must mean we’re getting old.”
“Speak for yourself. Thirties are gonna hit you.” Killer laughs, as if Handsy needs to know what his next birthday is. “Fuck. We’re doing something epic for that.”
“Oh yeah, like what?” Handsy asks, sounding anything but excited by the prospect of spending his big day with us.
“It’s in the off-season, so I say we need a vacation. Europe? We could eat our weight in pizza and pasta,” Killer suggests.
“You might get some decent home-cooked food there,” Brit mocks, earning himself a scowl from our goalie.
It’s no secret that Cole Hansley can’t cook for shit.
The last time he tried, he ended up with the fire department at his place due to the amount of smoke.
But his biggest issue is that he can’t keep a personal chef on his payroll to save his life.
His most recent one threw the towel in a little before Christmas, leaving Handsy at risk of setting his entire building on fire in his attempt to roast a chicken.
“I think cooking lessons might be more useful than a vacation,” I chip in.
“I will fucking end you if you put me in the middle of a class and expect me to wear an apron and sauté anything.”
“I’m just impressed you know the word sauté.”
“Bet he doesn’t know what it means,” Killer deadpans.
The friendly chirping continues as the time ticks by, but no matter what’s said or what game we play, thoughts of what Parker could be doing never leave me.
At some point, clouds roll in and rain begins pelting against the windows that usually give me a great view of the city.
“Is everything alright?” Marilyn asks when the game comes to an end. Handsy has disappeared to the bathroom and Killer is in the kitchen, grabbing more drinks.
I glance over at our rookie, hating that he already knows me well enough to read my mood.
“Yeah, of course.”
“What’s with the flowers, Storm?” Killer asks.
My eyes shoot to the dining table, where the colorful bouquet I bought for Parker still sits.
“Umm…”
“Something you need to tell us?” Handsy asks as he rejoins us.
“Yeah, but I need you guys to keep this between us.” I knew that I’d need to confess if I want them to keep coming around and hanging out here.
But I also don’t want the whole franchise to know.
It became even more important to keep it quiet after what Parker confessed to earlier about the way certain members of staff see her.
The last thing she needs is for everyone to know she’s living with me.
I don’t want anyone thinking she got her job because of anything I did.
All of them lean a little closer, as if I’m about to tell them my biggest, darkest secret.
“I’ve got a roommate.”
Killer barks a laugh. “Who the fuck wants to live with you?”
As if on cue, there’s movement on the other side of the apartment, and when I look up, I find Parker standing there. She’s utterly soaked. Rainwater drips off her, leaving her standing in her own little puddle.
“I can assure you, it wasn’t by choice,” she states.
Her expression is blank as she says the words. There is none of her usual joy when we spar together. There’s…nothing.
I launch from my seat on the coach.
“Parker, what—ow, fuck,” I bark as pain shoots up my leg.
Parker instantly drops her purse, a tote bag she didn’t have earlier, and her shoes that are once again in her hand, and surges forward.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I stand a little taller and stretch out my leg.
“It’s fine. Just a bit of cramp.”
“Lincoln,” she warns.
“Honestly, it’s fine. Overreaction.” I force a smile on my face, but from the way her eyes narrow, she’s aware that I’m lying.
The guys sit silently, looking back and forth between us like they’re watching a tennis match.
“You two…” Handsy starts.
“Are you living together?” Killer finishes, like an old married couple.
“It’s a temporary thing,” Parker explains. “There was a fire in my building, and I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“And I love it so when she makes me feel appreciated,” I deadpan.
She rolls her eyes but watches me closely as I sit back down on the couch.
I’d be lying if I said the pain had subsided. But it will.
I’m playing our next game. There is no question about that.
“I’ll get you some ice, then I’m going to bed. Continue as if I’m not here.”
My eyes track her as she moves to the kitchen and bends over a little to open the freezer.
Fuck, she has a spectacular ass.
“How was the date?” Marilyn asks when she turns around and walks back toward us.
Parker sighs before pulling on a smile. It’s all I need to know that it didn’t go well.
“Yeah, you know. About as good as any date you find on Tinder.”
“That good?” Handsy asks.
“Yep,” she says before turning her eyes on me. “Massive disappointment.”
I open my mouth to say something, although I’m not entirely sure what, but she beats me to it.
“If you have any more issues, you know where to find me. If not, enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You’re welcome to join us,” Killer calls as she walks away.
“Maybe another time. You guys have already lost once this week. I’d hate to see you do it again. And to a girl.”
The guys all chuckle before Marilyn announces, “I like her.”
“Excuse me?” I blurt before I can think better of it.
“Whoa, not like that. I just mean I’m glad she’s a part of the team. She’s better than Mitchell, and she’s fun to talk to.”
I raise a brow, and he holds his hands up in defense. “I’m not interested, I promise.”
I look at each of them and find a whole range of questions in each of their eyes. None of them voices them, though. Instead, Killer slaps his thighs and says, “We should probably head out. Let you rest that leg.”
Only a few minutes later, they’ve gathered up all their stuff, and they’re heading toward the elevator.
“Please don’t say anything about her being here,” I say quietly.
I don’t want to be a reason her life is harder at work than necessary.
“Your secret is safe with us, Storm. Any secret, for that matter.”
“Get the hell out of here,” I bark before the elevator doors close on them, leaving me standing in the middle of my silent apartment.
Turning around, I start toward my bedroom when another door opens and Parker pokes her head out.
“They didn’t need to leave because of me.”
My eyes drop to the Bandits zip-up hoodie and sleep shorts she’s wearing that expose her legs.
“They didn’t. They were heading out anyway.”
“Right.”
“I told them to keep you staying here to themselves.”
She nods in appreciation. “Not sure how I feel about being your dirty little secret, Storm,” she muses as she slips past me and into the kitchen for a bottle of water.
“Most women would pay good money to be in that position.”
“Good thing I’m not most women, then, isn’t it?” she asks before twisting the lid off and drinking almost half the bottle.
“What happened tonight, Parker?”
She shrugs one shoulder as she lowers the bottle to the counter.
“He wasn’t worthy,” she says, as if it explains everything.
“And he abandoned you in the middle of a downpour?” I ask, gesturing to the puddle that’s still in the entryway.
She laughs. “No. I needed some air, so I walked.”
“Back from The Carlton.”
“Hmm,” she mumbles. She’s lying. “Did you want me to look at your leg before I go to bed?”