20. Ash
I needed to come clean to Olivia about why I’d been so enthusiastic about giving her what she wanted but hedging away when it came to my pleasure. Especially after she’d shared her history with me, something I realized must have been nearly impossible for her.
She wasn’t the problem.
I was.
All the times someone used me. Not just for sex, though that reason was the worst. I wasn’t kidding when I called myself a dick on skates.
Even if Olivia wasn’t using me, no matter how selfish she thought she was being, it hung in the back of my mind, coloring our interactions, reminding me of past rendezvous.
And the possibility of it happening again left me sick. It hadn’t occurred to me until the morning after she stayed over and rushed out, and a million conflicting emotions rushed in like a hurricane.
When she texted me later, I’d nearly collapsed in relief.
All of this was too intense for conditioning because I’d already lost count of my bench press reps twice. Craig, our reserve goalie, stared down at me as I held the loaded barbell suspended in the air.
“Uh, do you know how many reps that was?” I asked.
“Maybe twelve?”
Well, I couldn’t fault the guy for not paying attention if I wasn’t either.
“Let’s call it. You want to go?” I racked the bar and sat up, mopping my face with a towel.
We ran through the rest of the workout, then headed to the equipment room for a gear check. I walked out as Dante walked in.
“Your girl is looking for you.”
I liked the sound of ‘my girl’. “And you know this how?”
“Eww, bro, you are nasty.” He eyed the sweat dripping down my face. “I know ,” Dante rolled his eyes and dodged, avoiding the sweaty towel I threw in his direction. “Because she texted me asking if you were okay. Said you missed a bunch of messages.”
I retrieved my phone from my bag to find my screen covered with texts from Olivia.
Olivia
So
I had the WORST day
Meeting was ABSOLUTE SHIT
But I have a question
Why does Brad think you guys are bros?
Like wtf
Sorry this is a million texts
Oh my God I’m so annoying. Sorry
Barnes, you can text me all you want. I was taping my stick.
Is that a euphemism?
Do you want it to be?
I…don’t know what it would be exactly
Come home with me after my game and we can figure it out together.
Cold shot through my limbs as I realized what I sent her.
It was bound to happen eventually, right?
Sex? Logically, I knew the other things we did equated to sex.
But on some level, despite how much casual sex I’d had in the past, taking one step further with her terrified me.
Because of the connection we shared. Being in Olivia’s orbit left me wanting her with an intensity I’d never experienced, so there was no questioning how explosive sex would be.
And I knew she didn’t care about my past hookups any more than I cared about hers.
So why was I hung up on not crossing the final threshold with her? I wanted to share the final piece I’d reserved with her, but… some sad, broken little shard deep inside me cried to keep her sated physically, and to make it only about her, so she’d stay.
How sad was that? The larger, more logical part of my brain knew better. Knew if she cared, she’d still want to be with me. But a smaller, meaner part screamed louder.
I hated how uncomfortable I got thinking about it, how much I wanted her, but the shades of reluctance still held on.
She wasn’t pressuring me, so why couldn’t I get over myself?
Was it too late to tell Olivia about this? Tell her how despite the persona I created and subsequently wrapped around myself, all those old hurts still lingered like the scent of bad cologne. The fault was not hers, but the wound remained, no matter who caused it.
“Wilder.” Coach Olsen’s voice scraped through my spiral like a skate sharpener.
“Coach?”
“Let’s talk.”
Inside the glass-walled office, Coach sank into the chair and rested his elbows on the desk. The graying hair at his temples and in his bushy mustache caught the light, and a pang shot through me when I realized our fearless leader was aging.
My chest squeezed uncomfortably as Coach considered me silently for a few moments.
“Ash. What’s going on with you?’
“Just trying to keep my head in the game, Coach.”
“Your head is not in the game, and it hasn’t been for a while. So, again, what’s got your laces in a knot?”
The dad joke set my nerves at ease. At least a little. But I didn’t know what to say.
“I haven’t seen you so messed up since the concussion you got from the Bruins three years ago. They clocked you real good.”
“I’m not sure I ever recovered.” I shook my head, rubbing my jaw. Deflect and redirect like it’s a game. Fake out the goalie so they don’t see someone else with the puck. “I’m okay, Coach. Maybe a little… tired.”
“Hmm.” Contemplative, coffee-brown eyes met mine, and I looked away first.
Coach must have realized something else bothered me but wanted me to speak first. When I didn’t, he carried on. “How is Olivia?”
I had to bite my lip to keep my mouth from turning up into a huge, goofy smile. No matter how weird I felt about the physicality between us, at least we had fun. “She’s good. It’s—we’re a thing now. Officially dating I guess?”
“She seems like a smart girl. Keeps you on your toes I bet.”
“More than you know, Coach.”
Coach chuckled. “I know exactly what it’s like, Wilder. Three daughters, and a wife, remember? I have to fight for my life some days.” But he laughed fondly, and I knew the man couldn’t be happier.
Well, maybe if we won the Stanley Cup.
My mood soured again. “Anything else, Coach?”
“Get your head on straight, son. I’m giving the C to Allen for tonight.”
Inside me, a cacophony of conflict churned as I nodded sharply and exited the office.
On one hand, I knew I didn’t deserve to wear the C for the game, but I wanted it.
More than wanted. It was urgent. A need.
Then again, not wearing the C took some of the pressure off, not forcing me to be on my best behavior.
But I didn’t want to be on my best behavior. I wanted to bash someone’s head in, preferably fucking Brad’s.
In truly awful timing, a text came through from Olivia, asking for more tickets for fucking Brad and the C-Suite.
And fuck, fuck , I hated it. Hated remembering that asshole existed and got to spend more time with her than he deserved, more time than I got with her, and all he did was treat her like shit.
And it pissed me the hell off. But I couldn’t say no.
Giving her tickets for those corporate fuckwads would probably help her get the face time with them she wouldn’t get otherwise.
So, I was frustrated for her and for me, and I was fucking helpless .
This was the only way to help her, and I fucking wanted to put my fist through a wall.
Instead, I suited up and got ready to play a game where my girlfriend would be in the stands with a pack of dickheads who ignored her. And the one who tried to kiss her.
So, yeah, I was fucking pissed.