Chapter 56 Lincoln
LINCOLN
I’m as hard as a fucking rock. And there is no way in hell I’m able to hide it.
Not that I want to hide from Parker.
It’s just that we’re in the visiting team’s training room in the Blackhawks’ arena, and anyone could walk in at any moment and discover me pitching a tent in my athletic shorts.
So much for keeping it professional.
Fucking kill me now.
I close my eyes as Parker runs her fingers up my right thigh. A groan rumbles deep in my chest as pain shoots up my leg, but it does very little to relieve my situation. If anything, it makes it worse.
The only thing that’s making this bearable is that I don’t think she’s noticed.
How that’s possible, I’m not fucking sure. But her movements and focus haven’t faltered, and surely, surely, they would if she knew I was achingly hard for her.
Honestly, I’m not struggling that much. My tight muscles aren’t anything that an ice pack couldn’t solve, but the temptation to be closer to her was too much.
“Ah, shit. Right there,” I gasp, and she digs her thumb in a little more. “Fuck, Parker.”
The second the groan is out of my mouth, I panic.
I sense her attention on me, and my temperature spikes a couple more degrees, but when I open my eyes to look at her, her gaze isn’t locked on my face. It’s on my crotch.
“I-I think we should probably call it a day,” she says, her voice deep and raspy. It hits me right in the balls, but despite my need to reach out and drag her back, she steps away, putting way too much space between us.
“Parker, I didn’t mean—”
She looks around, her eyes darting to each corner of the room as if we’re being watched.
“You should go.”
“W-what?” I stutter like an idiot. I can’t help it; all the blood in my body has ventured south, and my brain is hanging on by a thread.
“You need to go. We can’t…I can’t…” Her hand gestures to my crotch. “If someone saw…if Mitchell—”
“Fuck that motherfucker. I don’t give a fuck what he thinks.”
Something I don’t like flickers in her eyes. I think it’s fear. But that can’t be right.
There’s no way on Earth my girl is scared of that pussy.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on. That’s the whole fucking point. And yet you’re sitting there like that as if it’s the best day of your life.”
“Maybe it is. I woke up with a pretty girl in my arms, and I just scored a hatty. Who knows where this day could take me next?”
“To Texas,” Parker deadpans.
“Where the possibilities are endless.”
Her expression is blank, her excitement for what might come non-existent. Her walls are up so high right now, I’m not sure even I can scale them.
“You’re wasting time,” she tells me.
I frown, confused as fuck.
“For what?”
“Matilda.”
My frown deepens.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“She’ll fix your little issue right up, I bet.” Her eyes dart to my crotch again, and I smirk.
“Little? I think we both know that—”
A bang sounds from somewhere behind us, and when I glance over, I see a shadow move in the office doorway.
“You need to go, Linc. Now.”
Her hard, determined eyes hold mine, and I quickly find myself sliding from the table.
“You can finish this off later, though, right?”
I mean my legs.
I totally mean my legs.
“Leave, Storm.”
Her use of my surname gives me pause. It seems like a long time since we only spoke to each other using them. In reality, it’s only been a few weeks, but so much has happened. So much has changed.
“Okay,” I concede, because I can see her beginning to freak out. “But this isn’t over, Donnelly. Whatever is going on here, we’re going to talk about it.”
She exhales heavily and rolls her eyes.
My brows shoot up and my fingers curl. The image of her bent over my knee with her bare ass in the air fills my head.
“Fucking hell,” I groan to myself as my cock jerks in excitement.
“We’re done here. There is nothing to talk about,” she insists before turning her back on me and walking away.
I stare after her, watching her ass and hips sway in her leggings, feeling like I just got punched in the face.
What happened? And where is my pretty girl from last night?
I leave with my tail between my legs and head back to the dressing room, where the guys are still goofing around, high on our win.
Fletch takes one look at me and sobers instantly.
“Storm, what’s—”
I grab his forearm and drag him away from the others.
“How much do you know about Dillion Mitchell?”
He blinks, taking a moment to register my question.
“Not much, considering how long he’s been with the organization. Why?”
“None of the guys want him as their trainer. Is it just because Parker is better, or is there more?”
“I mean, he can be an opinionated asshole when he wants to be. He mostly keeps it locked down, but I’ve overheard some things.”
“Like what?”
Fletch scratches his chin. “Er…well, you remember when Lars Henrikson came out as gay?” Fletch asks, referring to a player who was traded to the Wildcats when I was a rookie.
“Yeah.”
“Mitchell wasn’t impressed.”
“So he’s homophobic?” I ask.
“Yeah, amongst other things. Why? What’s going on?”
“I think…I think he’s giving Parker a hard time.”
His lips part as if he’s going to ask why, and then it hits him. “Because she’s a woman. Motherfucker.”
“I need him gone,” I state.
“We can’t just—"
“We can, with the right evidence. I want to know anything that anyone overhears. The second we have something concrete, we’re taking it to Marsh,” I state—our GM. “And as much as we can, I don’t want her alone with him.”
“Storm, we can’t exactly…” His words trail off as my glare gets harder. “I’ll speak to the guys. If he’s fucking about, we’ll find out and do what we have to do. In the meantime, you really should convince Parker to put in a complaint.”
“She’s barely talking to me.”
“You were just in there,” he argues. “I walked past and—what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, fuck you very much.” Although, as I say the words, I figure that I must have. I can’t think what, though.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.
I wish I had even an ounce of his confidence.
I stand there for a moment with my head spinning as the guys pull on their game day suits, ready to head out.
A couple of hours and we’ll be on a flight to Texas, then the real challenge begins: finding her hotel room number and doing whatever it takes to make her agree to let me sleep in her bed again.
I spend the bus ride back to the hotel gazing out the window, trying to figure out what the fuck I did wrong and ignoring everyone around me.
Killer and Monroe try to drag me into conversation, but they soon give up when I don’t even turn around.
I don’t doubt that I’ll get a grilling for it later, but for now, they’re content with celebrating.
I should be doing the same.
I won the fucking game.
So why does it feel like I’ve lost?
The second we get into the hotel, we all disappear to our rooms to shed our suits before dinner.
But no sooner have I stepped into the room than my cell starts ringing.
Hope blooms that it could be Parker.
It’s ridiculous. I’m not sure she’s ever called me in her life.
We’ve only ever messaged.
But today might be the day.
I feel like a grade-A asshole when disappointment hits at the sight of my sister’s name.
Get a fucking grip, Storm.
“I gotta get this,” I tell Kodie as he changes. “I’ll meet you down there.”
He agrees, and I pull the sliding door to our balcony open and step out into the bone-chilling cold.
I’ve spent my life in LA. I’m not used to windchills like this. But right now, I need something to help me focus, or I fear I’ll drown in my own dark thoughts.
“Hey, sis, how’s it going?”
“Hey, superstar. You killed it tonight.”
“Aw, you watched,” I tease.
“You know I watch all your games.”
“Only when you’re not partying.”
“Once or twice that’s happened.”
“Suuure.”
“Well, whatever you did before tonight’s game, you need to do it again.” My mind goes straight to Parker. “We want that cup this year.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Dad would be so proud of you, you know that, right?” Nova says, sounding so much older than she really is.
A lump climbs up my throat as I think of him.
The pain and loss never leave me. Sure, it’s gotten easier to deal with as the years have gone on, but post-game is always the worst. I’d love to know his thoughts on my performance, on things I could improve, and ways the team could work together better.
“I like to think so,” I muse, my voice thick with emotion.
“So, Dallas tomorrow? Feeling good about that one?”
“Obviously,” I deadpan.
They beat us in our last match-up, so the pressure is on. They made it all the way to game seven in the last round of the playoffs last year, and they’re going to want to improve on that this year.
“Cocky as always,” Nova taunts.
“How are things with you?” I ask.
“Yeah, you know. School is school. Life is...well…life.”
“Wow, you really painted the picture for me there.”
“Not much to say, really. I’m just ready to be done with it all.”
“Seen Mom?”
“Nope. You?”
“No,” I confess, feeling guilty for not reaching out.
After Dad died, I made sure I called and messaged her every day. I hated the idea of her being alone. I mean, I still do. She and Dad had been together all their lives. Inseparable. And then all of a sudden, he’s gone, and she’s been left behind.
But as the time passed, I discovered that I was the only one making any effort. At no point did she check in on me and see how I was coping. Once that reality hit, I took a step back.
Was it the right thing to do? Fuck knows. But I couldn’t keep holding myself in the past because she was refusing to grieve and deal with what had happened. I had a life to live, and I fully intended to live it—both for me and for my dad.
Nova and I chat for a little longer before our call comes to an end.
As I lower my cell from my ear, a strong gust of wind whips past me, and I shiver.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter as I let myself back into the warm hotel room.
I need to get changed and go and get food, but the thought of being around everyone so soon doesn’t appeal. Instead, I sit on the end of my bed and unlock my cell.
I have messages, emails, and notifications from all my social media apps. But really, there is only one person I want to hear from.
Sadly, I doubt she’s reached out.
But just in case I’m wrong, I open my messages.
My heart jumps into my throat when I find an unread one from her.
Opening it, I frown when I find a photo of the coffee I got for her this morning staring back at me.
It takes me a moment to figure out what I’m looking at it, but then I notice the writing.
And beneath the photo…
Little P: Wouldn’t want you to miss an opportunity.
Suddenly, everything starts making a little more sense.