8. Carter
Chapter 8
Carter
S he said it was a mistake she won’t repeat.
The chill in the night air doesn’t bother me because frustration burns in my gut like a furnace. My fists are balled at my sides, and without thinking, I lash out at the nearest wall, a dull thud echoing along the quiet back street.
Behind the massive casinos, there’s access to guest parking and roads for shuttles, buses, taxis, and ride-shares to utilize, so once I found the side entrance, I hightailed it out into dark where I wouldn’t have to face hundreds of nosey witnesses on the main street. My knuckles sting, but it’s nothing compared to the turmoil twisting my stomach.
“Jesus, Carter!” Finn’s voice cuts through my haze of anger. “You’re gonna break your damn hand! What the hell has gotten into you?”
I shake off the pain, flexing my fingers as I turn to face him. “It’s Bree,” I admit, the name bitter on my tongue. “She’s Kitty.”
“Kitty?” Finn’s brow furrows as confusion sparks in his eyes. “As in the chick from that night a couple of week ago? The one you can’t stop thinking about?”
A heavy sigh escapes me. “One and the same.”
Finn steps closer, concern etched on his features. “So, shouldn’t that be a good thing? You’ve been looking for her since that night.”
A humorless laugh breaks free. “You’d think so, right?” My shoulders slump as I lean against the brick wall, the texture scraping through my shirt. "But it's complicated."
“Complicated how?” He squints, trying to read the situation—always the strategist, on and off the ice.
“She’s also Mike’s ex.”
“What?” Recognition dawns and his eyes widen. “Oh shit,” he mutters under his breath. “I didn’t put that together the time or two I met her. Mike always called her Brielle. That’s... messy.”
“Understatement of the year,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
“Damn.” Finn shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair in a mirror image of my frustration. “Well, the player code?—”
“Exactly.” I throw my hands up, exasperated.
“You didn’t let me finish. I don’t think it applies here.”
“Of course it does.” Mike dated her. I’m not supposed to. It’s that simple. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. The whole thing was a mistake. I heard it straight from her lips.”
“Come on, Carter. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Think it through. First, you didn’t know who she was when it happened, right?”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I broke the code. And what about her?” The following words taste like acid. “I was just a rebound for her. She was trying to get back at Mike.”
“Rebound?” Finn tilts his head, studying me closely.
“Her heart was shattered by Mike, and then there’s me—fresh out of a relationship with Mia,” I explain, my voice laced with bitterness.
“Man, you’re spiraling. You think too much.” Finn tries to interject some reason into my self-flagellation.
“She was using me to get over him.” I continue, ignoring his attempt to ground me. “Maybe I was doing the same thing—using her to get over Mia?”
“Hey, look at me.” He grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Even if it started as a rebound, that doesn’t mean it ended that way.”
“Didn’t it?” My voice is barely a whisper now, the question hanging between us like a guillotine blade, ready to sever what little hope I have left. “She left without saying good-bye.”
Finn’s eyes narrow, a hint of exasperation mixing with the concern on his face. “Carter, listen to yourself. You’re making up problems that don’t exist. She didn’t even know who you were when you two met. How could you be a rebound?”
“Isn’t that exactly what a rebound is?” I counter, my chest tightening with every breath.
“Fuck, no,” he snaps, his voice rising slightly. “Rebounds are intentional, and from what Kat told me, Bree’s been a mess since that night with you. She didn’t see ‘Carter Hayes of the Las Vegas High Rollers’. She wanted you, just a man whose name she didn’t know. If she was purely in it to get back at Mike, she would have used your name to taunt him.”
“Kat said that?” The walls around my heart crack, hope seeping through the fissures.
“Yep, miserable,” he confirms with a nod. “Locking herself in her apartment, crying all time. Couldn’t eat or sleep. Like someone stole her damn kitten or something.”
I glance up at him, my brow cocked, holding up my thumb and forefinger about a half inch apart. “I think you’re exaggerating just a tiny bit there now.”
He shrugs and smirks, and I take a moment to appreciate his attempt to lighten my mood.
“Look,” Finn starts again, resting his hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “Forget the unofficial bullshit rule for a second. If there’s something real between you two, don’t screw it up over some code we made up when we were rookies.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, though his words are slicing through the fog in my brain. “You’re not the who broke the code.”
“Codes are made by people, Carter. And they can be unmade. Or hell, re-written. Besides, consider who we’re talking about here. Mike doesn’t ‘date’. He fucks around. While Bree may have considered herself in a relationship with the team man-whore, I can guarantee, he didn’t see it the same.”
“Maybe...” The thought hangs in the air, heavy with possibility. But I can’t forget her words.
“Maybe nothing,” he cuts in. “Go after her if she’s what you want. Screw the code, screw Mike, screw everything else. When was the last time something felt this right?”
I look at him, really look at him, and realize he’s speaking the truth. He’s not just talking about rules; he’s talking about life, about taking chances on and off the ice. Finn has always been the one to charge into the offensive zone without hesitation, and now he’s telling me to do the same with Bree.
I breathe out, a combination of relief and determination settling in. Finn claps me on the back, a knowing grin lighting up his face.
“Now go get her, man.”
Before I can say anything more or do anything, I sense somebody close by. Finn does as well, and we turn our heads sharply. Mike is standing just a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest like steel beams and a gaze that cuts through the night. His dark eyes flicker between us, unreadable.
“Shit,” Finn mutters under his breath.
“Mike, how long have you been standing there?” I ask.
“Long enough,” he replies, his voice deep and unyielding.
Finn looks at me, then at Mike, and I can feel the apprehension radiating off him. We’ve been caught mid-play, and no telling how this will end.
“Go back inside and check on the girls, Finn,” I tell him, my tone just as unwavering as Mike’s. “I got this.”
Finn is clearly conflicted, his gaze darting back and forth between us. “Carter, man, I don’t think?—”
Mike chimes in, his voice cutting through the friction. He gestures toward the club’s entrance with a nod. “Just need a minute with Hayes here.”
Finn is torn, but after a moment, he relents, throwing me a look of caution. With a final glance at Mike, he heads back inside, the door closing behind him with a clunk.
Mike slowly approaches, his imposing frame casting a shadow under the dim lighting. The man is enormous. Stick skates on his feet, and he towers over just about every player in the league. He protects our goalie well because everybody’s scared shitless of him. But I live with the man. He’s mostly talk. Mostly .
“You have feelings for Brielle, huh.” he asks, the words more a statement than a question. “After just one night? You didn’t even know her name until tonight.”
“Look, Mike,” I start, shoving my hands into my pockets as I struggle to articulate something that’s all instinct and no logic. “I can’t explain it, alright? Something about her just... clicks.”
He pushes his right fist into the palm of his left hand and swivels his wrist, arm muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt. “You sure about that? Because you don’t even know her, Carter.”
“Maybe not,” I admit, irritation threading through my voice. “But it doesn’t change how I feel. And it’s killing me.” Especially if she doesn’t reciprocate the feelings. How could I have been so wrong?
“Is it really just about her, or is this some kind of competition because she’s my ex?” Mike’s words slice through the night, sharp and probing.
“Competition?” I scoff, shaking my head. My pulse is racing, and my own defensiveness surprises me. “This isn’t a game, Mike. I don’t need to compete with you over women. But this is Bree. And she’s—she’s different than other women.” It only took me one night to know she was different from all the other women I dated. It doesn’t make sense, but there you have it. My gut. I’m going with my gut.
“Something else,” he echoes, skepticism lining his tone. There’s a glint in his eye, a hint that he’s measuring my words, weighing them for truth. “Not a rebound thing then after Mia?”
“Fuck, no,” I say, more vehemently than I intend. At least not for me. “Granted, I don’t think either of us thought beyond one night.” But it wasn’t that simple. Not really. “She got under my skin.”
Mike watches me closely, his expression unreadable. But there’s a softening around the edges, the slightest downturn of his lips that suggests maybe, just maybe, he understands what I’m grappling with more than he lets on. But then again, it’s Mike. Mike doesn’t do relationships.
“Under your skin, huh?” he finally says, and there’s a trace of humor there now, easing the rigid set of his shoulders. “Well, Carter, if you’re so hung up on my ex that you’re punching walls and spilling your guts behind a casino, then maybe you should figure out what the hell you’re going to do about it.”
A quick tour of the club reveals Bree and the others have left. All I find is Finn nursing a beer at the table.
“Did everyone leave?” I slip into the chair opposite him.
Finn takes hold of the rim and twirls the bottle on the table, smearing the circle of condensation. “Yup. The mood was sorta killed.”
“What you are you still doing here?”
He shrugs. “Thought I’d wait to see if you had a plan. Or to stop a fight between you and Ike if it came down to that.”
“We just talked.”
“Good to know. So, what’s the plan?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “I guess we go home, and I go to bed.”
“I meant with Bree?”
“No plan. She doesn’t want to see me.”
“Did you guys have a conversation or something? I thought you were talking to Mike.”
“No, but I heard her well enough.”
“Not everything you hear is what it seems, Carter.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you should call her.”
I don’t think that will solve anything except make me more miserable.
“When they left here, she seemed upset about her conversation with Mike. I got the distinct feeling she said some things she didn’t mean.”
Now I’m more confused. And while I know it’s easier to just walk away, a part of me needs answers, or at least closure. Regardless of how she feels about me, I want her to know I enjoyed our night together, that it meant something to me, and it wasn’t a rebound as far as I’m concerned.
“I guess I’ll call her. Talk to her.” Damn it, I don’t have her number.
“Kat told me she doesn’t date hockey players.”
That might be a problem.
“But I had Kat give me Bree’s number in case you wanted to try anyway.”
And that’s why Finn is my friend and a great hockey player. He’s always two steps ahead.
We grab a cab, and I contemplate what to say to Bree during the ride back to our place. Every fiber of my being wants to rush to her, hold her, and prove to the both of us that this isn’t some rebound fling—it could be the real deal, as terrifying and exhilarating as a breakaway goal in overtime. I want to see where this goes. I can’t promise there won’t be bumps, but I hope she’ll give me a shot.
My thumb hovers over my phone screen, uncertain of what to type.
Hey Bree.
I quickly erase it. It’s too casual.
Brielle, we need to talk.
Sounds too formal.
How do I describe the chaotic mix of emotions that consumes me when I think about her? How can I convey all my feelings in a simple text message?
Can we talk?
Finally, something simple. Something that carries all the weight of my intentions without the baggage of overthought words. I hit send before I can second-guess myself, but my heart hammers against my ribs, waiting for a response.
When I see the bubbles moving, indicating a response is coming already, I hold my breath.
brEE:
Carter?
Idiot. I should have started with my name because, of course, she won’t recognize the number.
Yes. Sorry. Should have said it was me. Can we talk?
Sure.
When’s a good time?
I’m home now.
I wasn’t expecting that, but I won’t turn down the opportunity. I ask for her address and give it to the cabbie so he can drop Finn off and then take me to Bree’s place.
Finn wishes me luck as he exits the car, and then I sit back with a sigh.
“Shit,” I exhale, a laugh bubbling up despite the nerves. This is it. I may have spent only one amazing night with her. But, with luck, and if the odds are in my favor, it will be the first of many.