Chapter 11
11
Elle
“ W hat was all of that about?” Audrey asks when she walks out of the back. No doubt she was hiding while Preston and I argued.
It didn’t feel like a fake argument for a fake relationship, either.
“I wish I knew,” I admit as I stare out the glass where he just disappeared down the sidewalk. “He’s so…confusing.”
“No kidding. But your cut and shave made him like ten times hotter.”
Grinning, I tell her, “He has a nice face. It shouldn’t be hiding under layers of hair.”
“Agreed.”
“Ugh, damn these handsome hockey players!”
“You’re worried he’s just like Christian?”
“He’s nothing like Christian,” I say confidently. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t find a way to break my heart too if given half a chance.”
“Your fake relationship got awfully serious fast, didn’t it?”
“Right?” I agree. I rub my temples. “My head is just all over the place. It’s telling me to call this whole thing off with Preston and avoid all things hockey until next season.”
“But?” Audrey correctly guesses there’s more to it.
“But my gut seems to like Preston and wants me to keep helping him keep his temper in check on the ice. I want to trust him, to keep doing…whatever this is that we’re doing for some crazy reason.”
“Maybe because he’s a nice distraction from missing Christian?”
“Yeah. Maybe. How ironic is it that I need a distraction, and Preston is all about avoiding them in his career? That’s why he never dates.”
“There’s definitely more than meets the surface with the slightly less woolly mammoth.”
Unable to help my smile, I tell her, “Stop calling him that.”
“How about caveman? He’s awfully jealous for a fake boyfriend. I think deep down he wants to throw you over his shoulder, take you back to his cave, and have his way with you.”
“I don’t know. He called me cupcake when we first met.”
“Cute.”
“No, he didn’t mean it in a good way. He said I might look cute and sweet but that he wouldn’t be tempted for a taste.”
“Yeah, right,” Audrey says with a roll of her eyes. “He’s a man. Sex is all most of them want.”
“Only until they find someone new and better to have their way with.”
“Christian did a number on you, girl. Don’t let that arrogant asshole hold you back from anything or anyone. He’s like the worst of the worst players.”
“You knew that from the beginning, didn’t you?” I ask her.
“Of course I did! You knew it too. And yet, you couldn’t resist his perfect athletic body, gorgeous face, or rapt attention.”
“I only had his attention when he was in town. When he got lonely or horny every night.”
“But he made you feel special. I get it. Sometimes we need that feeling more than we need to be smart and protect our hearts.”
“I really did think it was just fun and flattering with Christian at the beginning,” I admit. “But after the first month when he kept wanting to see me, I thought it could be more.”
“So did I. And I do think it was more. As much as he was capable of offering himself. Christian Riley still has some growing up to do. Preston though…”
“What about Preston?”
“He is a grown-ass man. I think he’s the type to go after what he wants and stick with it, you know? Not squander it away with an eye always looking for something else on the side.”
“That’s exactly what Christian was doing! Looking for someone better while stringing me along.”
“I didn’t say someone better. Just someone else because he hasn’t figured out what the hell he wants.”
“And you think Preston has figured out what he wants?”
“Yes, I do. He doesn’t date and yet he’s willing to go along with this scheme with you.”
“Only to make Christian angry, to avoid hitting him so he doesn’t get thrown out of a game. Preston’s main goal is to get his contract renewed.”
“And the plan is working. But I think it’s also a little more than all of that.”
“I don’t.”
I think the reason that Preston hates Christian goes way deeper than the two of us can even imagine.
Nobody holds a grudge like that without a damn good reason.
Preston
I feel like crap for how I lashed out and treated Elle earlier when she’s been trying to help me. And while I apologized, I wish there was more I could do for her. She’s already putting up with enough shit from Bobcat fans as it is. Then I had to go and pile more shit on her to make her feel bad.
Pulling up the photos we were tagged in by sports sites online, there are tons of rude comments about Elle and Christian. I guess a lot of people knew about them being seen occasionally together for months, while I didn’t have a clue.
Too bad there isn’t a way for me to delete that crap from sites and other people’s Insta, but I can’t.
Maybe there is something I could try to do to help.
Pro athletes get way too much attention whenever they speak out, even when they have nothing important to say.
After avoiding it for so long, here’s hoping I can get some of that attention too…
Spencer Williams is staying in the hotel room next to mine, so I knock on his door first to ask for his help.
“What’s up?” the short, stocky backup goalie asks. Then his eyes bulge. “Holy shit, you cut your hair and your beard? During the championships? Are you insane?”
“It’s just hair,” I assure him as I rub my hand over the closely shaved beard along my jaw. “Could you help me record a video?”
“Ah, sure. What’s it for?”
“To call pricks out for being assholes.”
“Ah. Sounds fun.” I offer him my phone that he takes gingerly, holding it like it’s made of glass. “So, just record you?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, tell me when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
Once he gives me a nod, I stand there and launch into what I would like to say to each and every asshole out there.
“So, I’ve seen and had to delete some comments from my girl Elle’s page that really piss me off. That’s why I’m saying knock it off before I start knocking out some of ya’lls teeth. Stop this shit and leave Elle alone. Say whatever the hell you want about me, I don’t care. Just leave my beautiful girl out of it from now on. Thanks.”
I slice my finger across my neck for Spence to stop recording. “Did you get it?”
“Yeah, man. I got it,” he says when he hands the phone back to me. “And I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in years,” he remarks.
“I don’t like to run my mouth unless it’s important.”
“Like telling us all how much we suck in drills?”
“Some of ya’ll have been slacking off at practice and you know it, staying up too late, partying. We’re professionals. The few lucky SOBs that get paid to play a game we love. But our job is still to show up and train hard so we can win games.”
“Right. Yeah. But some of us like having a life outside of the arena.”
“I have a life outside of hockey,” I huff.
“You do?” he asks, not sarcastically, but as if he’s genuinely asking. “You come to practice, games, then leave. Last night was the first time you even attempted to hang out with us, and you left as soon as that girl did.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So, give the guys a break. Everyone handles the pressure of the game differently. Some drink, some fuck, or some, like you, are all work and no play. That’s a good way to burn out.”
“I’m not even close to getting burnt out,” I tell him. “That will never happen.”
“Hopefully not. Will you at least go easy after we take the trophy home?”
“I’ve already won a championship with Wisconsin,” I remind him.
“Well, other than Nick, the rest of us haven’t, jackass!”
My eyes narrow, jaw and fists clenching at the insult.
Spence puts up both of his palms in front of his face and says, “Hit me if you want, but it’s the truth. You act like you’re the only one on the ice who has people counting on you. The first thing I bought when I signed last year was a house for my mom. She stands around for twelve hours a day in a fucking nasty ass poultry plant, six days a week. If I could become a starter, maybe she could finally leave that damn place behind.”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
“That’s right, Pres, you don’t know what the rest of us have riding on us to succeed, especially the backups. You were lucky enough to become a starter your first season. You don’t know what it’s like wishing and hoping for a chance to prove yourself, and feeling like shit because you know the only way you’ll probably get a chance in the spotlight is if another teammate gets hurt.”
“The spotlight isn’t all you think it is,” I mutter.
“At least you’ve experienced it. Most of us haven’t. Only you and Nick have ever held that damn trophy we’ve only dreamed of. The rest of us want our chance just as much as you do, if not more.”
“I get it,” I tell him. “I’ll…try not to be such a dick.”
“Seriously?” he asks, blinking at me in surprise. “Are you just saying that shit to get me to lower my guard so you can hit me?”
“No. Although, your face came close to meeting my fist when you called me a jackass.”
“I get why you’re the way you are, man,” Spencer remarks. “You want us to all to play our best. That’s what we want too. But it’s damn hard to find the determination to do that if all we hear is how much we suck or are riding the bench because you knocked us on our asses.”
I’m suddenly reminded of what Elle said earlier, about how it takes a dozen positive comments to negate one negative one, and realize I may be the jackass Spencer thinks I am.
Coach Ramsey can be a hardnosed jackass, making us bust our asses, but he always gives two compliments for every criticism, like, “ Nice check, Lawrence, but let’s try to keep our men’s brains all in their heads. God knows they need every bit of it. Drive your shoulder into our opponents’ backs with that kind of momentum, and the fuckers will leave the puck to run in the other direction the next time you come barreling into them. ”
“Thanks for the feedback,” I tell Spencer who lifts his brow in shock. “Keep it up, since you’re the only one who isn’t afraid to get shit off your chest.”
“Yeah. Okay,” he replies, swallowing so hard it’s audible.
“And don’t give up on starting. Keep practicing. It won’t necessarily be an injury that takes Vincent out of the game. His reflexes could slow.”
“Great, so I should hope for my teammate’s injury or failure in order to get a shot?”
“Not hope for it. Just be prepared to step up if either of those things happen, and not be a shit goalie.”
“Right. Okay.”
I turn around to leave, but add over my shoulder add, “Don’t tell Vincent what I said. I don’t want him getting the y-i-p-s when we’re so close to the trophy.”
“Get the hell out of here with that godforsaken word! It’s fucked up to even spell it out loud, man! You fucking know that!” Spencer says as he shoos me out of his room before I jinx our goalie with the Y-word. “And find yourself some joy, Pres, from something other than hockey. Like that hot blonde…”
“Don’t even start,” I growl the warning at him before I walk out into the hallway. “You don’t talk about her, and I won’t use the Y-word ever again.”
“Deal,” he says with a grin when he sticks his head out as I walk to my hotel room. “It was awesome seeing Riley flail last night. He looked like a terrified little rookie instead of a hot shot MVP.”
“He was definitely off his game. Here’s hoping he doesn’t find his balls before game four,” I reply.