Chapter 62
HAYDEN
The mood in the dressing room is somber despite our hard-earned win. Watching Killer go down like that has more than overshadowed anything we achieved.
“Fucking cunt,” Kodie bellows as he blows into the room, having been caught by Harry the second he stepped off the ice.
It’s not a secret that he and Cooper Nash have history.
I’ve witnessed more than a few fights between them, both as a Viper and from watching games prior to me being signed here.
But despite doing a little Google search, I haven’t managed to figure out the reason for it.
Kodie keeps his private life as hidden as possible, and it seems his past with Nash is included in that.
We’re still waiting for news on Killer’s condition, but he’s already been whisked off to the hospital, and that’s never a good sign.
Kodie paces back and forth across the room as others emerge from the showers. His fists clench and unclench at his sides as he mutters something under his breath.
“We all know he’s a prick,” Linc states. “You should be glad it wasn’t you. You’re usually the one he’s gunning for.”
“I wish it were,” Kodie growls. “Killer has nothing to do with—” He cuts himself off and stops moving.
“I fucking hate him.” He begins pulling his equipment off, throwing it to the floor at his feet like a toddler having a tantrum.
It’s only Coach stepping into the room that forces him to sit his ass down and rein it in.
“Fantastic work out there tonight,” he starts, but it’s really hard to find much positive about the sixty minutes we spent out on that ice when one of our most vital teammates is in the hospital, his future up in the air.
Coach finishes his speech by promising to keep us informed of Killer’s condition, and after making eye contact with each of us and requesting Fletch and Linc’s presence at post-game press, he disappears.
“This is bullshit,” Kodie barks before marching toward the showers.
“Well, Casey is in for one hell of a night,” Rett deadpans.
A ripple of laughter flows around the room, but none of us really feels it.
The atmosphere isn’t that much better when I get up to the friends and family suite to meet my parents.
“Hey, how is he?” Mom asks the second she pulls me in for a hug.
“We don’t know yet,” I say sadly before turning to greet Dad.
“Good game tonight, son,” he says, sending a rush of warmth through me.
“Thanks. It was a great game until the end, huh?”
“Incredible. Can I get you a drink?” Dad offers before heading to the bar to grab me a beer. I could really use something a little stronger, but now that the season has started, there are more important things to focus on than numbing pain with alcohol.
“Are we still going to dinner?” Mom asks.
“Uh…” I think of how much work Killer’s injury is going to put on Hailee. “Yeah, of course. I’m not sure if Hailee will make it, though. She’s going to be fire-fighting all this.”
Mom reaches out and takes my hand, able to see the sadness in my eyes as I explain that. I was so looking forward to introducing her to them. They’re going to love her, I know they are.
“That’s totally understandable. There will be another time.”
I force a smile as Dad reappears and hands me a bottle of beer that I immediately lift to my lips. But it doesn’t matter how cold or fizzy it is; it’s not enough to squash any of the unease bubbling inside me.
Killer’s injury ignites questions about my own place here.
If he’s out for the season, who will replace him?
Something tells me that Brody is probably already writing his acceptance speech so that he can attempt to look humble to Coach.
But while he might think he’s ready, I’m not in agreement.
Putting Brody on the first line would be a mistake. I just hope Coach agrees.
We hang around for almost an hour. My dad is always in his element when he gets to come to games.
He loves fanboying my teammates. I probably should be embarrassed, but honestly, I just love seeing him happy.
Mom always seems to enjoy it too, but for very different reasons, and the less I think about what they are, the better.
I once overheard her talking about our warmups, and if I never hear her speak another word about enjoying them, I’ll be more than happy.
I’m yet to see Hailee—she’s busy somewhere in the building—but she’s messaged me to let me know that she’ll be a while yet and to head to the restaurant without her.
I’m reluctant to leave her here, but I’m also powerless to follow her orders.
“Hailee’s going to meet us there when she can,” I tell my parents as we get ready to head out.
“Please tell her we understand, and that she needs to take care of business first.”
I reply to her with Mom’s words as we head toward the parking garage, and follow Dad’s directions toward the restaurant Mom’s chosen.
She sent me links to more places than I can remember before they made this trip. She’s turning into a bit of a foodie, it seems. Not that I’m complaining; I’m happy to try everything.
“This place is a tapas bar, so food will arrive separately when it’s ready, perfect for Hailee,” Mom says softly from the back seat.
I smile, loving that she’s being so thoughtful.
Once we’ve found a place to park, we head inside the Spanish-style restaurant. It’s clearly been renovated recently, but it’s been designed to look authentically Spanish with its exposed brickwork, white walls, and colorful tiles. Or at least, I assume it is, because I’ve never been to Spain.
“This place is cool,” I mutter as we’re shown to our table.
“It’s all over Instagram,” Mom explains, making me chuckle.
I remember as a kid that she was adamant she wasn’t buying into the social media “fad.” But it seems those days are long gone now.
We’re handed menus, and the second I look down, my eyes widen at the choices.
“Uh…where do you even start?”
“Well,” Mom begins as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a small notebook. “I wrote down some recommendations.”
She flips it open, showing off a list almost as long as the menu itself.
“Feeling hungry?” I tease while Dad chuckles beside her.
“I know how much it takes to feed you after a game. We’ll probably need seconds.”
I want to argue, but really, she isn’t wrong.
When our server returns with sangrias for us, Mom orders everything on her list, but explains that we’re not in a rush because we’re waiting for someone.
I love spending time with my parents. They’re fantastic, but that empty fourth chair haunts me.
Not only are we missing Rylee, but Hailee, too.
She messages me every thirty minutes apologizing and saying she won’t be long. But as of yet, she’s not here. Sadness nags at me. I don’t mean for it to get to me. I understand why she’s not here. It’s where she needs to be while dealing with all of this. But selfishly, I want her by my side.
We devour the first few dishes that arrive. With each one Mom tastes, she declares that it’s her favorite. I understand her issues; they’re all delicious.
“Any news?” Dad asks once the server clears away more empty plates, promising that more will arrive soon.
“No,” I say, trying and failing to hide my disappointment.
“Aw, sweetie,” Mom says softly, but I don’t get a chance to respond because more food arrives.
Damn, I could get used to this style of eating.
The conversation turns to Dad’s work, and I try to lose myself in tales of his colleagues that I’ve known for as long as I can remember.
Once the next round of plates has been cleared, I excuse myself to the bathroom.
I hate the look in my eyes when I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m having the best time with my parents, but it’s not enough.
The high of tonight’s win, the low of watching as Killer went down and then was rolled in agony onto a stretcher…I need her.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I reread her last message. It was sent almost an hour ago now, and there’s been no word from her since.
She’s busy dealing with a crisis. Leave her alone. But no matter how many times I tell myself that, I can’t stop myself from hitting call and lifting my cell to my ear.
It rings and rings, and when it eventually goes to voicemail, I cut it off, hating myself for being weak when she’s busy.
Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back and prepare to walk back toward my parents.
The second I pull the door open, I practically mow down a teenage boy.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching out to steady him.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, staring up at me with wide eyes. “You’re…you’re…you’re Hayden M-Monroe.”
A smile pulls at my lips. I see this happen to the others a lot. They’ve been in the league longer than me, on more billboards and in social media campaigns. So on the few occasions I’m recognized when I’m out, it blows me away.
“Hey, yeah. Did you watch the game tonight?” I ask, assuming he did, considering he’s wearing a jersey.
Wait.
He’s not just wearing any jersey.
He’s wearing my jersey.
“Yeah, I did. Incredible win. You were amazing. As always,” he adds before his face turns beet red.
“Oh wow. Thanks, man. I really appreciate that.”
“Any news on Killer?” he asks, concern evident in his eyes.
“Nah, not yet,” I say, anxiously rubbing the back of my neck. “But he’ll be fine. He’s strong.”
“Yeah, he is. You’re going to be on the first line next game.”
“W-what?” I stutter.
“You and Rett Donnelly. You’d make one hell of a team.”
“Uh…Rett is a fantastic player. It’s always an honor to get on the ice with him.”
“Next game, you’ll be standing beside him.”
I nod, not believing a word of it. There are so many other defensemen worthy of that position. I appreciate the optimism though.
“Could you…could you sign my shirt?”
“Of course. Do you have a pen?”
“Uh…”
“Tell you what, swing by my table once you’re finished here. I’m having dinner with my parents. My mom will have a pen. I’ll do it then.”
“Yeah, okay. That’s…amazing. Oh my god. Thank you.”
He takes off with the biggest smile on his face, and I walk back toward our table feeling a hell of a lot lighter. And it only gets better when I look up and see someone sitting in the seat next to mine.
My breath catches, and emotion clogs my throat at the sight of my girl laughing with my parents as if they’ve known each other all their lives.
I freeze and stand right there in the middle of the restaurant, unable to force my legs to move.
As if she senses me looking, Hailee drags her eyes away from my mom and looks over.
I’m pretty sure my heart restarts the moment our gazes lock.
Her smile is everything, and without instruction, my legs carry me to her.
“You’re here,” I breathe, ignoring the burning stares coming from my parents.
“I said I’d be here,” she says softly, slipping her hands into mine. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I’m just sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to—how is he?”
I don’t need Hailee’s words; I can read enough from her expression.
“Suspected torn ACL.”
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Pretty sure he’s gonna miss the rest of the season.”