Chapter 19
Connor
The clang of metal against metal echoes through the university gym as I slide a forty-five-pound plate onto the barbell, then another. The place is mostly empty, just a couple of soccer players on the treadmills and some guy doing curls who keeps grunting like he's giving birth.
Glad to be back doing something. Nieminen and Harper wouldn't allow me to practice for a week. Wanted me to take the time and heal, which pissed me the fuck off. So I tried to run on the treadmill. Got winded five minutes in, throat burning like I'd been breathing fire.
Hated those fuckers were right, hated I had to sit around and do nothing.
All because of my fucking piece of shit father.
Zach slides the collar into place with a sharp click. “Neck’s healing?”
I nod.
Bruises have faded, more greenish-yellow than purple, and my voice is back to normal. It still hurts a bit if I stretch it too far.
Zach adjusts to spot me. “Why’d he show up? He’s never come to a game before.”
“Merger's dead. Callahans found another deal.” I lay flat on the bench and grip the bar, the knurling biting into my palm. I lift it off the rack, bring it down to my chest, then push up.
One.
Two.
Three.
Zach’s hands are just under the bar, ready to help if needed. “Thought Henneman was going to kill your father.”
“Me too.” After the eighth rep, I rerack the bar and switch places with Zach. “Thanks for grabbing my stuff.”
He lies back but looks up, the corner of his mouth curled up. “Reed said Henneman threw you over his shoulder.”
“Want me to drop the bar on you?”
“My little scorpion will slit your throat if you do.” Zach's tone is flat, matter-of-fact.
I snort, then focus on spotting him as he completes his reps. I’d left all my stuff at the rink that night, phone included. Didn’t get Jackson’s texts until the next day.
Fucking entire Serpents team saw Ryan carrying me like a sack of potatoes. Jackson even took a picture and sent it to our group chat.
None of them have cracked a joke about it yet. I know they’re being cautious because of what my father did. I fucking hate it.
But I do need to reach out to Jackson.
He’d mentioned someone watching me. The description fits Blake. I wouldn’t be surprised if my father had his head of security stalking me.
My jaw clenches. If that motherfucker is following Ryan, he’s dead.
Zach finishes his last rep, then sits up. “What did Harper want earlier?”
I huff, wanting this conversation over with. “Asked if I wanted to press charges against my father.”
“And?”
“I told him to fuck off. The cops won’t do anything. My father owns them. So, it’ll just piss him off more.”
Plus, Patrick Callahan’s new deal was announced in the papers yesterday, along with Veronica’s engagement. My father must be losing his shit.
Zach grunts and shakes his head as we switch places again. “No need to be married anymore.”
Straight to the point, like always.
My grip falters, but Zach pushes up on the bar, helping me raise it. “I need to give it some time. Let my father cool off a bit.”
My friend doesn’t say anything.
Also, now’s not the time to bring up getting divorced again, not after what Ryan shared. He’d think I’m filing because of what happened to him.
My fingers tighten around the knurling, as if I’m trying to strangle the goddamn bar. I need to focus on something else, anything other than ripping the throats out of faceless men.
Men I will put in the ground once this shit with my family is over.
Zach and I move to the dumbbells, having finished chest presses. I grab a pair and find an empty bench. “Can’t believe you fucks didn’t tell me about Reed.”
“Reed wanted to surprise us.” He sits on a bench beside me. “But Blackwell got drunk and told us.” He huffs a laugh. “You can guess how that ended.”
I shake my head. “Who won?”
“Fuck if I know. Not that it matters to them.” He takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “Buckland really fucked Reed up.”
“Is that why he didn’t go to Winnipeg? Thought maybe it had something to do with Blackwell.”
Killian Blackwell would be the type to get all emotional about being too far away from his boyfriend. So, I figured if either of them was going to give up their shot at playing in the NHL, it would’ve been him.
Zach stares at me, his gaze intense, eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s good he found something else, but none of us are happy with why he made the decision. Not even Blackwell.”
“Let me guess, I would’ve known that if I was in Vienna?”
He grunts as he lies flat on the bench and does a set of flies.
I do the same, the stretch pulling at my chest, and my throat. “What about you? You gave it up too.”
“I made a choice for me and Merci.”
Still can’t believe he’s been playing with brain damage all this time. Part of me wants to tell Ryan, have him back Zach up, but it’s not my place.
I clear my throat. “Not sure if it’s what I want.”
He sits up, dropping the weights. “Hockey?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Not sure if it’s what I really want. Like was it really my dream or something my parents decided. But I’m also not sure if I’m doubting everything because of them either.”
He grunts. “Take your time. Figure it out.”
“No shit, asshole.”
After finishing my last set, I put the dumbbells back. “So, I need your help with my contracts class. The latest fucking assignment is killing me.”
“Only if you don't fuck around like Reed used to.”
I laugh. Had one class with Jackson two years ago. He talked the whole goddamn time and never took notes. Swear, I have no idea how he passed. But he did.
With a high grade.
Zach looks at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers.
“It’s still bothering you?”
He shakes it out. “Hasn’t gotten worse. Been doing those exercises Harper’s brother taught me.”
“What’s he like?”
“Colder than Coach. More dominant. I can’t see him dealing with Viktor's shit.” Zach leans against the dumbbell rack. “What’s going on with you and Henneman?”
“Nothing worth discussing.”
Big fucking lie.
“Something happened.”
Lying to Zach is pointless. “Yes.”
“And?”
Ryan’s business is not for anyone else to know.
We haven’t done anything sexual in the past three days.
But last night he fell asleep curled up against me, his head resting on my shoulder.
Considering he can barely handle being touched, that's .
. . Fuck. I exhale harder than I mean to, my heart giving an extra thump.
Zach’s staring at me, waiting.
I scrub my hands over my face. “I like men. Or dick. Whatever.”
His eyes narrow.
“What?”
“You say it like you hate it.”
“That's not it.” I take a deep breath, then exhale hard. “I have fucking feelings for him.”
Stronger ones than I want. The destroy-anyone-who-hurts-him kind. The kind that make me want to keep him even when I shouldn't.
The kind that weren't supposed to happen.
And yet . . . here we fucking are.