Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
TANK
F riday rolls around like a gift from the hockey gods.
Four brutal days of camp behind us, one more to go before we get a weekend to recover, and—if all goes according to plan—one lying snake to catch in our trap tonight.
My alarm goes off at 5:30 AM, but I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling of Stephanie’s apartment with my bicep trapped under her head and Mr. Sniffles sprawled across my wrist, pinning it to the covers. And honestly…there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, than here with the woman I love and her fur baby.
But I have to go face the day. At least it will be better than what I’ve been doing since 4:30—lying awake, staring at the fan, thinking of all the ways tonight’s sting operation could play out like I’m reviewing game tape.
Best case: Garcia shows up, takes the bait, we get the whole thing on camera, and I never have to worry about his bullshit again.
Worst case…
Well, there are too many worst cases to count, including Garcia figuring out it’s a setup, the fake “dealer” backing out at the last minute, or—my personal favorite—the recording equipment failing and leaving us with zero proof of what went down.
Steph stirs against me, her warm body shifting closer. I bend my neck, pressing a kiss to the top of the satin cap she wears to bed. I’ve never been much of a cuddler before—too many hard edges, I guess, in every sense of the words—but with her, it’s different.
With her, I want to stay tangled up forever.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she mumbles against my chest, not bothering to open her eyes. “And I can feel your heart racing.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, kissing her forehead this time. “Go back to sleep. I’ll get up.”
“No.” She tightens her arm across my chest, trapping me in place. “First, I have to remind you that it’s all going to be okay. No matter what. Don’t worry. Don’t stress. We’ve all got you.”
“Okay,” I say.
“And don’t stick your toe pick in Garcia’s eye,” she adds. “He can’t take the bait if he’s in the E.R.”
I smile. “Yes, ma’am. See you in class.”
“You sure will.” She smiles, a soft, sleepy curl of her lips that makes my heart squeeze. “I have something special planned. We’re going to do chest openers. Get you all ready to start next week with open hearts and more room for your lungs. Between yoga and making you fuck me like a freight train, I’m going to elevate your cardio game so hard baby.”
I laugh, Mr. Sniffles farts, and just like that Steph and I are both up and out of bed, cursing the pug and his habit of eating anything gross that isn’t nailed down. Last night, it was a rancid-looking buffalo wing he spotted on the ground in the park and pounced on before we could intervene.
In the shower, she stands behind me, working shampoo through my hair with strong, nimble fingers that make me groan. “Trying to put me back to sleep, Teach?”
“Just helping you relax,” she says. “You need to stay loose today. Just focus on your game. Let the rest of us worry about tonight.”
“That’s not how I’m wired, unfortunately.” I’ve been worried about the plan pretty much non-stop since I gave the go ahead on Tuesday. The fact that I’m out of the loop is making me more anxious than if I were the mastermind.
But then, I’m no stranger to control issues…
“I know,” Steph says, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades. “But I also know that people can change. And you’ve already changed a lot.”
She’s right. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have just been “worried” about giving up control, I would have been climbing the fucking walls, tearing out my own hair, giving myself an ulcer. But now, I’m letting Stone and Justin take most of the weight. Not because I’m lazy or don’t care, but because I trust that they have my back and this is the best thing for everyone.
I’m starting to understand that being able to release control sometimes isn’t weakness. It’s strength.
By the time we’re dressed, I take Mr. Sniffles out to purge his ass demons, and Steph has forced one of her green power smoothies down my throat—“It has turmeric. It’s anti-inflammatory!”—I’m feeling as close to good as I can with today’s double-header of challenges ahead.
“Text me updates,” Steph says as I gather my gear. “And remember, you’re just another player having a normal day at camp.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I lean down for a kiss, lingering a bit longer than I should, but unable to help myself. “See you at class, then at Stone’s tonight. Six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock,” she confirms. “You’re going to be great.”
“Love you,” I tell her, the words still new enough that they feel precious each time I say them.
Her face softens. “I love you too, Grunty. Now go show ‘em what you’ve got.”
Camp is grueling, as usual, but with one notable difference: Lauder seems to be watching me more closely. His eyes track my movements during drills with an intensity that’s both unnerving and oddly encouraging.
Maybe Stone was right; maybe my consistent performance is starting to cut through the bullshit Garcia’s been feeding everyone.
Garcia himself is unusually subdued—whether from nerves about tonight’s meeting with “Dan the Big Bad Drug Dealer” or just fatigue from a long week, I can’t tell. But he’s keeping his distance, which is fine by me. The less I have to interact with him, the less likely I am to tip our hand.
During our short lunch break, Stone slides onto the seat next to me in the cafeteria, his voice low.
“Everything’s set,” he murmurs, poking at his chicken and veggies. “Cruise set up the cameras this morning, Dan’s good to go, and I will see you and your lady tonight for a live showing of ‘Catch a Back Stabber.’ I’m making popcorn, and I have plenty of beer and cider, but bring anything else you want to eat. I’m bad at stocking my fridge.”
I nod, taking a bite of my own food even though my stomach is in knots. “Any chance Garcia is planning on backing out?”
“Nah, Justin heard from his source in the junior coaching staff that Hartley had a closed-door meeting with Garcia and Lauder this morning.”
“About what?”
Stone shrugs. “No idea, but Garcia came out looking way too smug for it to be anything but bad for you.”
“Great,” I mutter.
He gives my shoulder a friendly punch. “Hey, today your luck is bad. But tomorrow, we turn the tables.”
“If it works.”
“It’ll work,” Stone says, his confidence seemingly unshakeable. “And even if something does go wrong, we’ve got backups to our backups. Trust the process, man.”
Easy for him to say. His career doesn’t hang in the balance.
But I nod, keeping my doubts to myself as I force down another bite.
The afternoon session is a muscle-brutalizing mix of scrimmages, having our intercostal muscles gently ripped apart by my favorite yoga master, and more of Lauder’s inscrutable stares. By the time we hit the showers, I’m exhausted, my bum shoulder is talking back to me for the first time in a while, and my brain feels like soggy oatmeal.
Garcia is unusually quiet in the locker room, focused on his phone as he texts someone—Dan, maybe, confirming their meeting? I don’t dare stare for too long, though, afraid my expression might give something away.
“Good session, LiBassi,” Lauder calls as I head for the door, newly showered and ready to head to Stone’s.
I nearly trip over my own feet in surprise. “Uh, thanks, Coach.”
His eyes narrow slightly, a calculating look I can’t quite read. “Get some rest this weekend. Next week’s going to be even more intense.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turns away, conversation over, but the brief interaction leaves me unsettled. What game is he playing? Is he playing a game? Maybe he just legitimately thinks I’m doing a good job?
Or does he know something I don’t?
Fuck, this weird energy can’t vanish fast enough. I’ve never liked drama in the locker room, and this is worse than anything I’ve experienced before.
Thankfully, however, I don’t have much of a chance to dwell on it. I have just enough time to pick up the veggie and quinoa bowls I promised I’d grab for dinner for Steph and me before heading to Stone’s place for the main event.