Chapter 8
HAILEE
Iwake with a start, my eyes flying open as I try to figure out where the hell I am.
With all the travelling I do with the team, it’s not all that unusual.
Nor is the sight of another run-of-the-mill hotel room.
What makes my heart beat at a crazy pace is the weight of someone’s arm wrapped around me, and the feeling of another person pressed against my back.
My eyes fall closed as memories of the night before come back to me.
Why on Earth did I think drinking and then coming to a player’s room in the middle of the night was a good idea?
It was the worst possible idea I could have had.
I attempt to roll onto my front and slip free.
If I can, maybe I can silently leave his room without waking him or having to deal with the inevitable awkwardness.
But he’s got me pinned. Who the hell sleeps holding onto someone in a vise grip like this?
No one I’ve ever shared a bed with before, that’s for sure.
I shake off the lingering resentment that thought leaves me with. It doesn’t matter. None of it does. I just need to get out of bed and get back to my room without anyone discovering that I spent the night in a player’s bed.
Oh God.
My stomach turns over, bile rushing up my throat.
I slept in the same bed as a hockey player.
I squeeze my eyes closed, willing the panic to subside.
It wasn’t like that, a little voice says. You were just being a friend.
But even that has me panicking.
I don’t have friends. I certainly don’t have friends that I share a bed with.
Jesus fucking Christ, Hailee.
I try moving again, but it’s impossible.
I’m going to have to wake him.
“Hayden,” I whisper-hiss.
Nothing.
“Hayden?” It’s a little louder this time, but still, no response.
So much for him not getting a lot of sleep right now.
I know it’s true—the dark circles under his eyes yesterday were evidence enough—and now here I am, trying to drag him from the sleep he’s managed.
But as much as I want him to rest, I can’t lie here for the next…however long waiting for him to wake up. I’ve got things to do.
No, that’s bullshit. I don’t have anything that needs my urgent attention, but that’s not the point. Someone always needs something from me. It’s bad enough that I walked out of my hotel room without my cell last night. I’ve probably got heaps of messages and emails that need dealing with.
Jesus. What was I thinking?
“Hayden,” I call, and my heart jumps into my throat when he stirs.
Please just release me. Let me escape.
“No,” he groans, snuggling even closer, his grip on me tighter. And that’s when I feel it.
“Hayden,” I shriek, giving him little choice but to release me as I wrench myself from his arms, and quickly after, his bed.
“Hailee?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep and full of confusion.
“Just…go back to sleep. Pretend I was never here.”
“B-but—”
“Go back to sleep, Monroe.” I hate how commanding my words sound, but I don’t know what else to do.
Spotting my hotel keycard on the nightstand, I grab it and race around the bed.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep. That…that shouldn't have happened.”
Before he has a chance to say anything, I pull the door open and dart into the hallway, not considering that someone could be out there.
Thankfully, luck is on my side, and as I race toward the elevator, no one appears in either direction, and I make it back to my own room without running into anyone.
“Fucking hell,” I hiss as I fall back against my closed door, my heart racing as if I just ran a marathon.
What the fuck were you thinking?
Shaking my head, I push from the door and march toward the bed, or more specifically, my cell.
“Shit, it’s early,” I mutter when I see the time. No wonder the hallways were deserted.
I scroll through my notifications before throwing it back on the bed in frustration.
I’m irritated with myself, but also, deep down, I know I did the right thing last night. I just fear that I may have done the very opposite this morning.
With a groan, I take myself to the bathroom for a shower. I smell like a hockey player. But not a disgusting, sweaty one that I’m quite often around.
A hot one.
Fuck.
I clip the length of my braid up—I’ll deal with my hair at home—before stripping off and stepping under the hot spray.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I didn’t stop by the buffet last night as I fled the room. Instead, my dinner consisted of a late-night hot chocolate.
Everyone is meeting in the restaurant this morning for breakfast. I told Parker that I’d be there, but right now, it’s the last thing I want to do.
What if Hayden tells them? I can’t…I can’t be known as the PR director who gets into bed with one of our rookies. I just can’t.
Placing my hands on the cool tiles, I hang my head as the regrets pile up.
You did the right thing.
He needed someone last night, and you were there for him.
It’s not my job, though. He has friends and teammates who could have done that.
They weren’t there. You were.
“Fuuuuuck.”
I’m still a mess almost two hours later when I walk into the restaurant. As much as I tried to talk myself out of it, I couldn’t leave when I knew they were expecting me.
“Good morning,” I sing, putting as much pep into my voice as I can when I greet Parker and Linc. “Did you have a good night?”
“Best night of her life, obviously,” Linc deadpans.
“Wasn’t quite what I was going for, Storm,” I mutter as Parker elbows him in the side.
“We did, thank you. Go and take a seat. There are servers taking orders.”
I take two steps before Linc greets their next guest. “Marilyn,” he barks. “Where the fuck did you get to last night?”
I don’t hang around long enough to hear Hayden’s reply. Instead, I walk toward a table as fast as I can, hoping like hell he doesn’t follow me.
“Is everything okay?” a familiar voice asks as soon as my ass hits a seat. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, everything’s great,” I say in a rush, refusing to look at Bea. How I managed to pick a table that she was sitting at without even looking pretty much sums up how today is going.
“Okay. Do you need coffee?”
I look up in time to see her flag down a server.
“Yes. Coffee. That’s exactly what I need.”
I feel a little better once I’ve ordered an oat latte with an extra shot. That is, until a shadow falls over me.
“Is this seat taken?”
My eyelids fall closed, and I take a deep breath through my nose.
Of course, he followed me.
“Morning,” Bea sings, oblivious to the awkwardness between us. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, actually. Better than I have in weeks.”
“Aw, that’s great. The beds here are incredible. I didn’t once wake up with my hips aching. Can’t remember the last time that happened,” Bea explains while I try to remain calm.
Did Hayden sleep better because of the mattress? The quiet hotel room? Or was it me?
No. It can’t have been me.
“What about you?” Hayden asks, turning his attention to me.
I don’t look over, I can’t, but my face burns red hot.
“Uh, yeah. It was good, thanks. So, what’s good here?” I ask, reaching for the menu and staring down at it.
I don’t see a single word printed before me; all I can think about is the fact that I woke up in Hayden Monroe’s arms, and how he’s apparently not going to let me forget it.
“Oat latte with an extra shot,” a server says, lowering my coffee to the table.
“Thank you,” I mumble before having little choice but to listen to the deep rumble of Hayden’s voice as he places his order.
“An extra shot?” Hayden questions, but thankfully, the server gives me an excuse not to engage.
“Are you ready for food?” she asks, but I don’t realize she’s talking to me until Bea nudges me.
“Hailee, did you want to order food?”
“Oh, um…” I scan the menu again, but I still don’t take it in. “I’ll take the avocado toast, please,” I say before throwing the menu onto the table as if it burned me.
“Would you like to add smoked salmon or a poached egg to that?”
My stomach growls, reminding me just how hungry I am.
“Both would be great. Thank you so much.”
I reach for my coffee and lift it to my lips to take a sip, praying that it’ll help settle me.
Bea orders her breakfast before Rett rushes over and adds his, and the server walks off.
“Hey, Rook, how’s it going?” Rett asks, focusing on Hayden.
“Yeah, things feel a little better today,” Hayden admits. Hearing that perks me up a little.
Maybe it was all worth it.
“Well, obviously. You’re back with all of us.”
“Jesus,” Bea mutters, rolling her eyes at her boyfrie—
“You got engaged,” I suddenly blurt out, remembering that not everything is about me and my stupid actions last night. “Congratulations.”
The smile Bea wears as she holds her hand out for me to see her ring is infectious, and I find myself grinning too.
“Thank you. It was so romantic.”
“So it wasn’t Rett who asked you to marry him?” I deadpan.
“Hey, I can do romance,” the man in question scoffs. “In fact, I think Bea will agree with me when I say I’m actually very good at it.”
I glance at Bea. “He is, actually.”
“And they say that pigs can’t fly,” I tease.
“You know, now that I’m being a good boy and making your life easier, you can be nicer to me.”
“I’m withholding judgment on that until the season starts. You might not be partying, but I still have no idea what’s going to come out of your mouth, and we have plenty of interviews and press releases lined up for the coming weeks.”
“Wonderful,” he mutters.
“Good morning, kids,” Cole booms as he and Freya join us, and soon after Kodie, Casey, and Sutton arrive. They all get swept up into conversations and drag Hayden in with them, leaving me questioning why they’ve all gathered around me.
I’m not a part of their group. I’m just the woman who forces them to do things they don’t want to do.
“Hey, are you okay?” Bea asks quietly, so no one else can hear. “You seem, I don’t know, off.”
My heart sinks. By keeping my distance from everyone, I’d hoped it would mean that no one would notice when I wasn’t myself.
I guess that could be true with the guys; they have more important things to worry about than the mood of the woman who is telling them what they can and can’t say in an interview.
I never banked on Bea. She sees more than the others; she knows more than the others, and I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
I don’t mean for the words to come out so short, and I regret them instantly.
“I’m sorry, that was—”
“It’s okay. I guess weddings and things are hard after…”
My eyes widen in panic, but she doesn’t say the words I was fearing.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” Bea offers.
It’s not the first time she’s done so. It’s also not the first time I’ve brushed her off.
I’ve got a handful of messages on my cell from her trying to organize for us to hang out.
I feel guilty every time I make an excuse.
But if I’m being honest, I’m scared. I’ve worked so hard to carve myself a new life here in LA.
No one here knows about my past, and more importantly, no one is connected to it.
Or at least, that was the case before Bea found her way into our lives.