Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Abby
The guys have been away for a game, and it was weird having the house all to myself for the past few days.
It’s been over a week since the last chase, and I managed to put together the footage we could use.
There wasn’t much because the actual chasing didn’t last long.
Still, the videos along with blurred images have grown my subscribers.
I won’t be a millionaire anytime soon, but I’m making money—enough that I won’t have to live on ramen for the foreseeable future.
Now the guys are back home, and they have the day off.
Neither rose with the sun like they usually do, so I decide to get them breakfast to let them sleep longer, even though I’ve been tempted to wake Levi and ride him like a desperate whore.
Landon hasn’t touched me without his mask on, but Levi fucks me every chance he gets, and this girl can get used to the orgasms.
The coffee shop near the training arena makes the best eggs benny, but I don’t have access to the car Leila said I could borrow, as these two assholes have parked in front of the garage where it’s being kept, so I steal Levi’s keys and take his truck.
It’s a pigsty compared to Landon’s, but he won’t murder me in my sleep if I drive it, unlike his brother.
It takes me less than fifteen minutes to get there, and some idiot is riding my ass as I slow down to park.
“Learn how to drive, you stupid bitch!” the arrogant asshole shouts while beeping his horn.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you over your fragile ego!” I yell out my window.
“Eat a dick,” he fires back.
“Your mom should have swallowed, then we wouldn’t have this issue right now.”
He pulls out onto the wrong side of the road and speeds past me.
I laugh as I park the ginormous truck, and as I get out, I spot Tate standing beside the car next to me.
“Oh, hi. Sorry you had to witness that.”
Tate smiles. “Don’t be sorry, he totally deserved that.”
“He really did. Do you know how hard it is to park this stupid thing?” I say.
“I can imagine. Are you getting breakfast?”
I nod. “Would you like to join me? I could use the company, as Thing 1 and Thing 2 are sleeping in and I was bored.”
Tate chuckles. “I would love to.”
We walk to the door, and he opens it for me, gesturing me inside. The shop isn’t busy, and the young woman tells us to take a seat anywhere, and that she will be with us shortly. I head toward the corner, and once we reach the table I’ve chosen, Tate steps past me to pull out my chair.
“You’re such a gentleman, thank you,” I say as he takes his seat across from me.
The young waitress makes her way over to us with menus and water glasses. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Coffee, black,” Tate says without hesitation.
“Same,” I add, handing her the menu back. “And I’ll have the eggs benedict with bacon, crispy.”
“And for you?” she asks Tate.
“Eggs over easy, wheat toast, and fruit on the side,” he says, then glances at me with a slight smile. “I’m guessing you’re not a big health nut.”
I laugh. “Is it that obvious? I’ve learned that life’s too short for boring food.”
“Old habits,” he says with a shrug.
I study him across the table; he seems like a different person from when he is at the chases.
“So,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “Assistant coach. That’s a big deal, right?”
Tate takes a sip of water. “Yeah, my injury kind of derailed my playing career, so coaching was my Plan B.”
“That must have been hard,” I say, and I mean it. Knowing what it’s like to have life derail your plans.
“It was,” he admits, running his finger along the rim of his water glass. “Still is, sometimes.”
Our eyes meet across the table, and there is something in his gaze that makes my pulse speed up and my cheeks heat.
“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your story? Besides nearly getting into a fistfight in a parking lot?”
I grin. “That’s actually a pretty accurate representation of my life lately. I moved back home after my job didn’t work out. Now I’m figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. Maybe content creation?”
“Content creation,” he repeats. “What kind of content?”
I take a sip of my coffee, buying myself a moment. I can’t exactly tell him I’m Maskedsnack. “I’ve been thinking about getting into social media management. I used to do some marketing stuff before I moved back home, and I’m decent with content calendars.”
“Social media management.” He nods. “That’s a solid field. Are you looking for full-time work or freelance?”
“Either, really. I’m not picky at this point. I just need something stable that pays the bills and doesn’t make me want to throw my phone out a window.”
He smiles. “Fair enough. You strike me as someone who’d be good at it. You’re articulate, and you think fast on your feet. I mean, that comeback in the parking lot was pretty impressive.”
“Thanks,” I say with a laugh. “I’m working on channeling that energy into something more productive than verbal sparring with random assholes.”
Tate grins wide at that. “So how’s it been,” he asks, “living with Landon and Levi? That’s got to be . . . a lot.”
I wrap my hands around my coffee mug, considering the question. “It’s been complicated, honestly. We have history—and not all of it is good. They came back into my life unexpectedly, so living with them is like living in this weird space between the past and the present.”
“I’ve been told some of the story, given you wanted to skull-fuck Anastasia in my foyer,” he says, followed by a chuckle, so I decide to give him the whole story.
“They’re my ex-boyfriends,” I say. “It’s complicated because I was with both of them at the same time.
We were together, all three of us, and then .
. . I left. Cut them off completely. I came back here thinking I’d moved on, and now we’re trying to figure out how to be friends or family or whatever we’re supposed to be. ”
“That does sound complicated.”
“Understatement,” I say with a laugh. “But they’ve been good to me since I’ve been back. Better than I probably deserve, given how I handled things. Leila, their sister, helped me see that I might have made a mistake by not listening to their side of the story.”
“And have you? Listened to their side?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “It turns out the whore I blamed them for fucking was actually manipulating all of us. So now we’re all just trying to move forward.”
“I don’t blame you when it comes to her. She’s known for being problematic to the wives of the players she represents.”
“It’s nice to know it isn’t just me she targeted,” I say honestly. “But I’m trying not to think about the what ifs when I can’t change them. And I’m trying to forgive myself for being so quick to judge without getting their perspective.”
“How do they treat you now?” he asks.
“Levi’s been . . . Levi,” I joke, and Tate laughs. “He wants to pick up where we left off. Landon is more cautious. He wants to rebuild our friendship before anything else—that is, if anything else even happens.”
“And what do you want?” Tate asks.
The question catches me off-guard. I set my coffee down and really think about it for a moment.
“I’m not sure. Honestly, I’m scared—so much happened. I knew I couldn’t trust her with them, but they had me convinced I was imagining things. I don’t want to get hurt again, but I also remember how it felt to be with them, and I miss it.”
“It sounds like you’re being smart. Being friends is a good place to start.”
“I think I want to be friends with them first. I haven’t dated since then, and maybe I might want to.”
Our food arrives, and we eat for a moment in comfortable silence. Then Tate asks, “What would your ideal job look like? If you could have any position?”
I think about it while I cut into my eggs benedict. “Honestly? I’d love to work for a sports brand or agency. Something connected to hockey or athletics in general. I’ve never played sports, but I’ve seen how many athletes get into trouble posting their own content, so it could be fun.”
“You could probably leverage your relationship with Landon and Levi, I’m sure they would be more than willing to help.”
“I could,” I agree, “but I don’t want to use them. I want to earn it on my own.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, then I take another bite and moan slightly.
“That good?” Tate asks with a smile.
“So good,” I confirm. “You’re missing out with your boring eggs.”
“My eggs are not boring,” he protests. “They’re understated.”
I laugh so hard I nearly spit out the sip of coffee I’ve just taken. “Understated eggs. Wow, very brave.”
The conversation between us flows naturally—he asks me about growing up in the area and about Leila and her family. Then we talk about him and his family, and what it’s like being the assistant coach compared to an athlete. Eventually I ask what he does on his days off.
“Honestly?” he says, scooping up the last of his eggs with his toast. “I’ve been keeping to myself a lot lately. I’m trying to figure out who I am outside of hockey and my family’s expectations.”
“Don’t you get lonely?” I ask.
“I do,” he admits. “But I’m realizing that sometimes you have to be alone to figure out who you actually are.”
I understand that on a fundamental level. The time I spent away from Landon and Levi, as painful as it was, taught me a lot about myself.
“And what did you figure out?” I ask.
Tate sets his fork down and looks directly at me. “That I like things I’m not supposed to like. That I want things that don’t fit the expectations other people have built for me. And that maybe I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you should be whatever the hell you want to be and fuck everyone else and their stupid views of what you should and shouldn’t do. When did society stop minding its own damn business?”
“It may have been around the same time as social media,” he says with a laugh, and I couldn’t agree more.
By the time we’re done eating, I think I understand why Landon likes Tate. He’s thoughtful and kind, with a dry sense of humor. He listens when I talk, and not only because he wants something from me.
When the server brings the check, Tate reaches for his wallet, but I put my hand on his arm. “My treat,” I say. “Consider it a thank you for defending my outburst.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but then he smiles and nods. “Okay, but next time is on me.”
I pull out my phone as we’re leaving the restaurant, the morning sun hitting us as we step outside.
“I have a question,” I say, turning to face him.
“Hit me with it.”
“Can I have your number?” I ask, my heart racing. “I mean, only if you want. But I’d like to grab breakfast again sometime.”
Tate’s expression softens, and he reaches for my phone. “I would really like that.”
He types his number in and hands it back to me. He’s entered the contact name as Tate with a coffee cup emoji next to it.
“Text me?” he says. “So I have your number too?”
“I will,” I promise.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek for just a moment. “I’m glad I ran into you today, Abby.”
“Me too,” I whisper. “And I will text you to organize our next coffee date.”
We both get into our own cars, and I wait until he pulls out before I reverse. Once he leaves, I slap myself on the forehead.
I used the word date; I probably scared him off.
God, I’m an idiot.