Chapter 28 Fletcher
FLETCHER
“We play the Montreal Vortex tomorrow,” Ellie announces the next morning at practice.
I wanted to crawl into bed with her last night, fuck her, ride her, make her scream and moan my name, fill her with my cum. I even jogged in the cold and sleet to her parents’ house, but it was packed with her family celebrating the Rhode Islanders’ win.
“Everyone did great. You all earn a sticker,” she says as she passes out the prizes.
“Can I have my surprise later?” I murmur so only she can hear me when I step up to the bag.
I can’t keep my eyes off her during practice, can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to be buried inside of her.
I’m going to fuck her again soon. Hopefully, tonight after the holiday party.
We’re supposed to be doing a passing drill, but I can’t concentrate from watching Ellie. She’s balanced on the toe of her skates, legs spread wide, knees bent. The same position she’d be in to ride a cock.
No, my cock.
She rises and falls slowly as she demonstrates a puck recovery move to Ren she wants him to try.
I’m not the only one watching her.
“Damn, you think if we win at least the Eastern Conference, she’ll sleep with the guy who scores the game-winning goal?” Eddie snickers. “Might rethink my stance on female coaches if I get some pussy on my—oof!”
Eddie doubles over, choking on the words as I break my stick into his gut.
“Ooh,” the guys near me all groan as I bring the stick down on Eddie’s back.
“Fuck you, Sullivan.” He spits blood at me.
“Fuck you, Eddie. You say one more goddamn thing about our coach, and I’m going to gut you.”
“You don’t have the balls. You’re her fucking lapdog,” he sneers at me.
I grab him by the collar of his jersey and lift him up so his skates dangle above the ice.
“Hey!” Ellie yells, skating over. “Fletcher, put him down.”
I ignore her.
“You have been misinformed if you think I’m some lapdog.
While you were drinking and playing video games and losing hockey games at Boston University, I was in combat.
So no, I have no problem gutting you right here on the ice,” I snarl into his ear before I drop him in a heap on the ice. “Fucking try me.”
Eddie scrambles up. “Wait, combat?” He narrows his eyes at me like he’s going to say something, like he’s going to tell everyone that I’m not who I said I was.
I lock eyes with him, channel Hudson when he’s at his coldest.
Fortunately for me, Eddie’s a little shit. He storms off the ice.
“Fletcher…” I stare down at Ellie until she gulps. “I will handle my team as I see fit.” Her voice doesn’t tremble.
Jovi is nervy. Cookie hides behind Bramms as I skate slowly to the blue line.
I can’t tell what Zayne’s thinking. And honestly, I don’t care. No one speaks about my coach like that.
I look them each in the eye.
“Line up for the next drill.”
“What are you doing?” Ellie demands, stopping me in the hallway before I can follow the rest of the team into the locker room.
“Going to shower. You want to join me?”
“No, I mean with Eddie,” she demands.
My teeth grind. So she heard him.
“People are going to say mean things about me. Sticks and stones, you know. You can’t just jump in and defend me every time. That’s crazy.”
“I’m not Ren, but I’m not sane either. And no one is going to say shit about you when I’m around,” I tell her sharply.
“It’s bad for the team.”
“Fuck the team,” I growl.
“We can’t let this”—she gestures between us—“come in the way of winning.”
I make a frustrated grunt. I want to kiss her, want to take her to a secluded place, want to fuck her to remind her she’s mine.
“This isn’t going to work if you’re more focused on me than playing. Oh my god,” she groans. “My dad—”
“I don’t give a shit about what your dad thinks, Candy Cane.”
She gives me a hurt look.
I run a hand through my sweaty hair. “Is Dana Holbrook going to be at the holiday party?”
“Dana Holbrook?” Ellie looks distressed.
“Trying to change the subject since we will have to agree to disagree that you deserve to be treated with at least a bare minimum of respect.”
Zayne’s house is warm and loud and chaotic, exactly the kind of place a normal person would love to be in for the holiday—teammates yelling over each other, Christmas lights flickering out of sync, holiday music blaring over the speakers.
But my jaw is tight, and the weight of what I’m about to do hums low in my chest like a warning. “I don’t know why you’re bothering to decorate this place,” I mutter to Ellie as I pass, eyeing the tangled garland and precarious string of lights someone duct-taped to the mantel.
“You should’ve seen it before we cleaned, Coach,” Bramms chirps.
“Did you clean it?” Harlowe deadpans, pulling a sock from behind the couch.
“I told you to move the couch!” Carlsson yells at the rookies, who all suddenly find the floor fascinating.
Zayne’s wearing a Santa hat, happily humming to the Christmas carols blaring from the speakers. Jovi’s setting up, trying to get the bass just right.
Eddie hasn’t come back to the house since the blowup on the rink. I’d say good riddance, but technically, we do need him at the next match.
I glance around then steal a kiss from Ellie behind the tree, just a quick one, hot, needy.
Bramms is already eating the snacks. Carlsson complains loudly.
Ellie jumps away from me, guilty, as he comes over.
“I’m just trying to convince her to trade Eddie,” I say to the Finn, who watches us, eyes narrowed.
“Can we eat? Can we?” Jovi bounces around. He’s been crushing Christmas treats since practice.
The doorbell rings and rings.
“It’s not a party without girls!” Granny Murray bursts in with a ton of young twentysomething women.
“Dayum. Eddie’s gonna be sad he missed this.” Jonesy whoops.
“Merry Christmas, boys!”
“Hey!” Ellie stomps over to them. “This is a private team party.”
“Yeah, Violet,” Harlowe sighs, recognizing the leader of the cousin crew.
Ellie turns to Zayne, her mouth twisting as she introduces her family. “Sorry. Cousins. Second cousins. Sisters. One of them might actually be an aunt.”
“The invite said ‘and family,’” one of the girls says, snapping her gum. “We’re family.”
“We brought liquor!” another one cheers.
“Don’t drink too much!” Ellie shouts after them as they flood the room like glittery locusts.
Zayne looks out happily over the crowd—sober, but still happy.
“This,” he says, taking a sip of mineral water, “this is what it’s all about.”
“What?” I ask, distracted. My eyes are on Dana Holbrook, who just stepped through the front door, a big fur coat wrapped around her white winter pantsuit. I’m barely listening because Ellie is greeting none other than Dana herself.
“Life, Fletch. This is what life’s about,” he says, a little wistful.
“Right.”
“Gonna go say hey to the boss,” I mutter and drift toward Dana. Ellie’s watching me; I can feel it. But I can’t stop. I have a mission.
“We can’t party too late,” Ellie warns. “We have practice tomorrow. This was supposed to be a low-key holiday gathering.”
“Is she always such a buzzkill?” Dana saunters over to the wet bar.
“Damn, I didn’t know a pantsuit could be that sexy,” Carlsson whispers.
“I’d be her house husband,” Ren drawls.
I elbow Ren. “You’d need to get teeth first.”
The music changes. Ellie’s cousins scream, dragging players into the middle of the living room. “I love this song!”
“Shots!” Granny Murray hollers.
“Do you still have that purse full of pills?” Ziggy jokes.
“There’s a game tomorrow,” Ellie rushes around reminding people.
I sidle up to Dana. “Didn’t think you’d want to mess up your nice shoes in a place like this.”
Dana snorts as I dance next to her. “You should have seen me in college.”
“Yeah, were you a party girl?” I ask, trailing my fingers on her pantsuit, hoping I feel her phone and can snag it.
Zayne is giving me that I’m going to fuck you up look that he gets before he creams someone on the ice.
I can’t care, can’t feel the weight of his disappointment.
Or of Ellie’s.
Sure, that might be Ellie looking jealous, but I have a mission. And it’s not “fall in love with my hockey coach,” no matter how cute she is.
Dana catches me looking at Ellie. She’s too good of a businesswoman to let me get a read on what she’s thinking.
“Boss lady,” Ren drawls in that molasses accent. “I believe they’re playing our song.”
A country pop song blares from the speakers as Ren practically tosses Dana up onto the coffee table to cheers. I bleed back into the shadows, watching as the players dance with Ellie’s pretty cousins and sisters.
The music pulses. Jovi’s taken over DJing duties.
I drift into a side room. Dana’s purse is among the pile of coats in what Carlsson calls the “smoking room,” but really, it’s where Ren has moved onto the couch.
I don’t hesitate. Anyone can come in, but I just pray that there’s enough of a window.
Out comes her iPad. I have the decoy tablet in my jacket for easy access, and I swap them out.
Just in time. Dana saunters in.
“Can I help you, boss?”
She raises an eyebrow. She’s a little drunk.
I need to stall, need her not to wonder why I’m in here, not at the party, and what that iPad-shaped thing in my coat is.
“Uh-oh.” A smirk plays around her mouth. “Did you make my coach mad? Did she put you in time-out?”
“Someone jealous?” I slowly roll out the words. I don’t need to worry anymore. I have acquired my target. Once Lawrence hacks into this iPad—hopefully, all the evidence Hudson’s client requires will be on it—my job will be done, debt repaid.
“Not me.”
“Hmm. Too bad. Because I still want to know what it’s like to fuck a billion dollars.” I wink at her and head back into the party. I need to duck out, get the iPad to my cousins.
The party is full chaos. Granny Murray is showing Cookie and her granddaughters how to play strip poker. Jonesy’s passed out on the couch. Bramms is slow dancing with an inflatable reindeer. Harlowe is trying to fish someone’s underwear out of the punch bowl.
Ellie stands alone by the tree, a red-and-white Solo cup decorated like Rudolph in her hand, her eyes tracking me with a frown that’s half suspicion, half something softer.
I walk straight over to her, my pulse still hammering from the risk, the deception. Hopefully, the win. “You’re not dancing.”
“Trying to manage the party.” She seems a little frazzled.
I get a text from my eldest cousin:
Hudson: Talbot’s down the street. Stand by. He’ll find you.
“Going to hit the head.” I lean in to kiss her.
But she moves her head at the last minute. “Okay, I should probably refresh the snacks.”
I grab her chin. We’re in front of everyone. But that’s not what it is. She’s lying. I can see it. But I don’t have the bandwidth to weasel it out of her. After tomorrow, I’ll probably never see her again anyway.
The sudden realization is like taking a puck to the teeth.
I look at her—really look at her—and I almost cave. I want to wrap her up in my arms. I want to kiss her like this party isn’t happening. Like she’s mine.
I turn away before I can wrap her in my arms and tell her I love her. There was always a time limit on this, I remind myself. And I’m out of time.
I look around at my teammates, at my dream.
This was never meant to be mine.