Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
TANK
“ W ait what?” Stone freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, his pulled pork and rice momentarily forgotten. “So, you and Stephanie are dating? Exclusively?”
I shrug. “She’s not looking for something casual. Neither am I, so…’
Stone’s blue eyes widen, and his fork remains frozen between his plate and mouth.
“What?” I finally ask, casting a pointed glance at his utensil.
He sets it back on his plate, clearing his throat as he lifts his hands at his sides. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t… I thought you were…” He lets out an awkward laugh. “I mean, Stephanie’s just so upbeat, so happy and sweet and always looking on the bright side. And you’re…”
I scowl hard enough to make the backs of my eyes ache a little.
Stone motions to my face with one of his golden-boy grins. “Exactly.”
I grunt and force my features to relax.
“But that’s okay,” Stone says, reclaiming his fork with a chuckle. “Not everyone likes fun.”
“I like fun,” I say, taking a pull on my beer before setting it back on the table with a thud. We’re at Healani’s, the Hawaiian-themed sports bar not far from the practice facility. It’s Monday night and it’s dead—exactly the way I like it. I’d rather have my asshole bleached than step foot in here on karaoke night or during football season.
Maybe I do hate fun…
But Stephanie doesn’t seem to mind.
“We have a good time together.” I snag a fry from my nearly-empty plate. Unlike Stone, I was raised in a home where dinner wasn’t always a given, and I wolf down my food accordingly. “I took her to the food trucks in the art district on Friday, and we grabbed smoothies yesterday after my private yoga class.”
Stone waggles his brows suggestively. “Well, well… So, you’re taking private classes now, huh? And how’s that?”
“It’s good,” I say, refusing to rise to the bait.
He smirks. “I bet it is.”
“Shut up, asshole. I’m taking care of my health.”
He snorts. “Oh yeah? Is that what they’re calling it these days? Just be sure you take care of her health first. A gentleman always does.”
“Say another word about her ‘health,’ and I’ll have to punch you,” I say, making Stone chuckle again. I wait for him to stop giggling. When he doesn’t, I add, “I’m not kidding. And it’ll be in the face. Not the abs. No amount of gut clenching will save you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” he says, popping a giant bite of rice and pork into his mouth and talking around it. “You’re cute when you’re falling in love. Violent, but cute.”
I bristle, my jaw going tight as I reach for my beer again. “We’ve been on two dates. Don’t be stupid.”
But I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—Stone or myself. I know it’s way too soon to have real feelings, but I also know I haven’t felt anything like what I feel when I’m with Steph in a long time.
“And I didn’t tell you so you could fuck with me, dickhead,” I add. “I was hoping you might actually have some advice.”
“Sorry, brother,” he says, making a visible effort to stop giggling and smirking. “What kind of advice are you looking for?”
I reach for another fry, avoiding eye contact as I mutter, “I don’t know. Any kind, I guess. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in a long time. And I realized last night when I got home, that I…” I pull in breath, pushing through the discomfort tightening my chest. Stone knows all about my checkered past, and he’s never judged. He’s one of the few friends from my early days in the NHL who stood by me, even when I probably didn’t deserve his loyalty.
It’s one of the reasons I put up with his shit.
He certainly put up with mine.
“I’ve never dated anyone sober,” I continue in a softer voice. “Even before the pills became a problem, I was always high when I hung out with girls in high school and in the minors. I’ve never dated anyone seriously as an adult, either. I mean, I guess twenty-four is technically an adult, but I sure as hell didn’t act like one back then.”
His brows lift as he gives a slow nod. “Ah, got it. Yeah, I can see how that might feel intimidating.”
“I’m not intimidated,” I say, honestly, “I just don’t want to screw it up. She’s a good person. Really good. Special. And I…”
“You want to treat her right,” Stone finishes. “That’s sweet, Tank.” I’m about to tell him to fuck off, when he hurries to add, “No, seriously, it is. And I agree with you. Stephanie seems like a special person.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “I mean, I’ve only been to a few of her classes, but as far as I can tell, what you see, is what you get with her. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who’s going to play games or expect you to read her mind or any of that shit. If you’re dropping the ball, I’m pretty sure she’ll tell you.”
I nod. “I know she will, but I don’t want her to have to, dude. I don’t want to be that guy. I want to be proactive. I just… I don’t even know how often to text or call. I mean, do people who are exclusive still call each other up out of the blue? Or should I text first to make sure she wants to talk? And how far in advance should I make plans? Is three days good? Should I aim for a week? More? And who makes the plans? Do I suggest something, and then ask her if?—”
“Okay, okay, I get it now,” Stone cuts in, his head bobbing. “But honestly, dude, I don’t know if there are any hard and fast rules about any of that. I think it depends on the person. I mean, I would consider you a monster if you called me without asking, but Stephanie has more inner peace than I do.”
“A monster?” I challenge, arching a brow.
“Yep,” he says. “Or a sociopath.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Fine. How about just the rudest person who ever lived? Calling without texting first is basically bad touch, dude. Every time my phone rings when I’m not expecting a call, I feel violated. So, don’t violate me. Not unless you’re in imminent danger or just saw my dog run into traffic or something.”
I shake my head, my lips hooking up on one side. “Such a drama queen.”
“Such a normal person, you mean,” he corrects. “Trust me, I’m the normal one here. But like I said, Stephanie is less normal. In a nice way. You should just ask her if it’s okay to let your calling-without-texting freak flag fly with her, how far in advance she likes to make plans, etcetera.”
“Ask her.” I chew the inside of my cheek, mulling that over. “That’s not being lazy and expecting her to do all the work? Like when women get mad about having to give their husbands lists of chores instead of the guys looking around, seeing what needs to be done, and just doing it?”
“No. I don’t think so, anyway.” Stone frowns before adding with a sigh, “But I could be wrong. Dating is fraught these days. Women are confusing. And angry.”
I grunt. “Can’t blame them. A lot of men suck. You should have seen the dickhead Stephanie was dating before. Two sentences out of his mouth, and I was ready to punch him.”
“Well, to be fair, you’re a punchy person,” Stone says, continuing after I concede the point with a tip of my head, “But you’re not wrong. The last girl I was with before I swore off pussy said she didn’t date at all anymore. Like…at all. She just hits it and quits it before the guy can disappoint her. She doesn’t even give men her real name or phone number. On the rare occasion she wants to hook up more than once, she has a burner phone just for dick dialing. Like she’s a drug dealer or something.”
“More like she’s in the witness protection program. With a real number, you can find out way too much about a person. She probably doesn’t want creeps knowing where she lives and works and shit.”
He makes a considering noise. “You’re probably right. I should have thought of that before I gave her shit about it. I was just teasing, but still… Maybe I would have gotten on the dick dial list if I’d thought that through a little more.”
“She told you about the dick dial list, but didn’t put you on it?”
He sighs. “Nope.”
“Sounds like maybe you forgot to take care of her health first,” I quip, unable to resist giving Stone some of his own medicine.
He tosses a piece of rice across the table that I dodge easily. “Fuck you, man. I attended to her health like it was my mission in life. I even ran out and got her coffee at five thirty in the morning because she had an early flight and was dreading getting felt up by airport security without caffeine.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” I say, once again using his words again him.
But he only pushes his lips into a pout and sags lower in his chair. “I know. I’m sweet. But it didn’t matter. Once I realized who she was…” He shakes his head. “I can’t even think about dating this woman. Even if I could convince her that not all men are scabs on the face of humanity, it would be pointless.”
I frown. “Why?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about it. Or her. Honestly, I don’t even let myself think about her too much.”
“Are you sure you aren’t blowing this out of proportion?”
“I haven’t jerked off in weeks because I can’t do it without thinking about her,” he announces flatly. “Like…several weeks.”
My brows shoot up.
“Yeah.” He drags a hand down his face as he sits back in his chair. “It’s bad. And it’s only going to get worse…”
“Because…” I prompt, sensing I’m not the only one who needs a little relationship advice.
He leans back in, bracing his forearms on the table as he murmurs beneath his breath, “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course.”
“No, seriously, man,” he says. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. Not a soul. We’re both new on the team, and you know how important it is to make a good first impression.”
“Okay. I’m confused, what…” My eyes widen as I connect the dots. “Oh, shit. Does she have an ex on the team already?”
“Worse,” he says, looking truly miserable as he adds, “She has a family member with the Badgers.” I curse, and he nods. “Yeah, and not just any family member. It’s Remy fucking Lauder. He’s her fucking dad.”
I nearly choke on my beer as I sputter, “Shit. You hooked up with the new head coach’s daughter?”
Stone grimaces. “Yep.”
I let out a soft, low whistle. “That’s...”
“Complicated? Bad form? Career suicide?” Stone supplies. “Yeah, I know.”
Lauder isn’t just any coach. He’s a legend in the league, respected and feared in equal measure, and I’m pretty sure Badger management had to sacrifice a virgin to get him to sign a three-year contract. He gets results, but he’s a militant son of a bitch. The man once benched a star forward for “looking too happy” during practice and allegedly makes rookies cry just by staring at them too long. His idea of a team-building exercise is making his athletes hold plank until at least one person throws up. Players swear his whistle was sent to earth because the devil couldn’t reach them, causes long-term hearing damage, and is pitched specifically to trigger PTSD flashbacks.
Basically, he’s my kind of guy, and I expect we’ll get along fine.
But I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be caught messing around with his daughter.
Or standing too close to his daughter.
Or making eye contact with his daughter as I passed her in the hall, which could happen at any time. She works in the Badger’s administrative office, a job she landed a few months before her dad was hired on to “take the Badgers to new heights,” so it isn’t a nepotism thing. She apparently just loves hockey, too. I’ve heard she even coaches a women’s competitive rec team in her spare time.
“Yeah, you can’t date Remy,” I finally say, shaking my head. “You should just forget you ever met her. She seems cool, and I wish I could tell you to follow your heart or your dick or whatever, but?—”
“I know,” Stone cuts in, reaching for his beer. “Believe me, I know. I’ll just have to avoid eye contact and pretend I’ve developed a case of amnesia if I run into her around the complex.”
I huff. “Oh, you’re going to run into her. I’m surprised you haven’t already. She’s the one who took my prints and ran my background check before I signed my contract.”
Stone sinks lower in his chair. “I had a current background check on file in Seattle before I took the transfer, so they just used that one. But she has to know I’ve joined the team, right? I seriously doubt she’s been getting everything ready for camp and not noticed my name on the roster. But she hasn’t texted or emailed or…anything.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I say gently. “Maybe it means that she understands how complicated this could be for you and plans to keep your connection on the downlow.”
“There is no connection,” Stone says. “It was just a two-night stand. Just a long weekend with a pretty girl. I shouldn’t still be thinking about her, let alone dreaming about her.” His jaw clenches. “But I do. All the time.”
I grunt.
He grunts.
I grunt again, and finally, he smiles. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just a case of wanting what I can’t have. I’ll keep pretending it never happened. Eventually, my subconscious will get the message. And soon, we’ll be busting our asses so hard, we won’t have any energy for dreaming.” He arches a brow. “Speaking of, you feeling okay about juggling camp and a new lady at the same time? I know you’re usually a one-track-mind kind of guy.”
“I am,” I acknowledge. “But I don’t know if that’s really been serving me. It might be time to let that go. Open my mind a little.”
Stone’s eyes flicker with mischief again, signaling the end of the serious portion of our discussion. “Been serving you… Look at you, Cranky Tanky. You’re starting to sound like a yoga guru already.” Mimicking Stephanie’s soothing “yoga” voice with eerie accuracy he adds, “Exhale and release what doesn’t serve. Inhale possibility. Exhale limitations. Namaste.”
I grin. “Not bad. If the star forward thing doesn’t work out, you could teach yoga. Or start one of those podcasts people listen to when they’re trying to go to sleep.”
He groans. “Dude, I love those. How did I sleep before Sleepy Time with Sylvia? Have you listened to that one? Her voice is magic.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I sleep just fine. I’m out the second my head hits the pillow. Especially lately. The yoga really is helping. I’ve been sleeping great, the pain in my shoulder is better…” I shrug. “I mean, I haven’t checked my blood pressure since the doc did, but it feels better. So far, I have zero complaints.”
“Especially about your hot teacher,” he says, wagging his brows again. “Maybe I should try a private lesson, if they’re that helpful.”
“Maybe you should,” I say, refusing to give him the satisfaction of threatening to punch him again. “Steph’s got a gift for knowing what’s wrong with a body and how to fix it.”
“How to fix a body…” Stone hesitates before adding with a bat of his lashes, “And how to fix a Cranky Tanky heart.”
I snort, but I’m laughing as I tell him to go fuck himself.
We head for the door, Stone singing “Cranky Tanky Heart” to the tune of “Achy Breaky Heart” beneath his breath as I roll my eyes.
But after we’ve said our goodbyes, and I’m walking back to where I parked my bike behind the practice rink, I can’t help thinking that maybe he’s right. And maybe I need to trust that that my heart knows what it’s doing.
Before I second guess the instinct, I pull out my cell, calling the woman who’s been living rent free in my head since the first time she guided me into downward facing dog.
Steph answers on the second ring with a husky, “Hello, mister. I was just thinking of you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, spirits lifting simply from hearing her voice. “Good things, I hope.”
“Very good,” she murmurs. “I’m in the bath, actually. With some candles. And some…impure thoughts.”
“I can be over in five minutes,” I rumble, making her laugh.
“A part of me would love that,” she says, pausing a beat before she adds, “but a part of me wants to take things slow, if that’s okay?”
“No rush,” I assure her. “And no pressure from me.”
“I know,” she says. “You’re not a pressuring kind of guy. So, what have you been up to tonight?”
“Just dinner with a friend,” I say. “And thinking of you. I was wondering if you might be able to get away on Saturday afternoon. I know you have classes, but there’s a thing I’d like to take you to.”
“A thing?” she echoes.
“A fun thing,” I add. “A thing I think you’ll enjoy, but it’s an hour south and only from noon to six on Saturday.”
“I’m intrigued, and I like fun things. How about I get a sub for my afternoon classes and you can pick me up at the studio at eleven fifteen?”
My heart lifts again. “Sounds good. See you then.”
“Hopefully, I’ll see you before then, too,” she says. “For class tomorrow night and maybe lunch on Thursday? My treat? Mr. Sniffles wants to take you to his favorite taco hut before they close for the summer.”
“Tell Mr. Sniffles I’d love that,” I say, my smile clear in my voice.
“Yay, he’ll be thrilled,” she says. “Good night, Theodore. Excited to see you tomorrow.”
“Me, too,” I say. “Goodnight, Teach.”
Hanging up, I pocket my phone and take a deep breath of the evening air. It’s been a helluva week and a half—from being trapped in that equipment room and my rigid status quo to a kind of flow and ease I haven’t felt in years. For the first time in a long time, I’m not overthinking every move. I’m just here. Now. Looking forward to whatever comes next.
As I round the corner to the parking lot, my step is light. I’m not expecting anything negative. I certainly don’t expect to find a weasel cooking up a scheme to stab me in the back.
I don’t know for sure that Garcia is scheming about me , but he’s definitely scheming. And he’s absolutely a weasel. I suppose there could be an innocent explanation for the furtive-looking conversation he’s having near the arena exit with Jim Hartley, assistant to the GM, but I can’t imagine one.
And I already know Jim isn’t my biggest fan.
Jim doesn’t believe in “leopards changing their spots,” a fact he made sure to share with me after I was offered a contract against his advice. He pretended he was open to being pleasantly surprised, but he’s not fooling anyone, especially me.
Watching them from the corner of my eye as I cross to my bike, I tell myself this could be nothing, but the intensity of the conversation says otherwise. Garcia looks like he’s in the middle of a hard sell.
Selling himself as starting goalie, perhaps?
A beat later, Hartley nods, looking impressed, and reaches out to shake Garcia’s hand.
My good mood cools, replaced by that familiar edge I’ve carried with me for years—the knowledge that nothing comes easy, not in this world, not in this game.
Not for men like me.
But I’ve worked too hard to get back to the NHL, pushed through too much pain and regret to let some status-hungry kid derail me now. My thoughts drift briefly to Stephanie, to a wise thing she said in class about not getting sucked into a story without evidence, before snapping back to the scene in front of me.
This isn’t a story.
This is my life, my future
As if sensing my gaze, Garcia looks up. For a moment, our eyes meet across the lot, his expression shifting from eager to smug, before he lifts a hand in greeting.
I play along, offering my own warm wave, but the reality of what’s happening here is crystal clear.
And the reality is: Game on.