Chapter 19 Cole
COLE
While our opponent’s goalie had a tough time of this match-up, my end of the ice had been pretty quiet, allowing me a very quick stop at Parker’s trainer’s table before getting re-dressed into my game day suit and heading up to the suite where I know I have two people waiting on me.
That in itself is mind-blowing.
I have people waiting to see me. To congratulate me on another shutout.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, dragging my shower-damp hair back as I set my sights on the door ahead.
“Are you okay?” Monroe asks beside me. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Yeah, of course. Everything is great. You played a good game tonight.”
At my praise, he lights up like a freaking Christmas tree. “You think?”
“Yeah, Marilyn. I had an easy night thanks to you guys.”
“Well,” he says, his cheeks blazing. “We’re just doing our job.”
Reaching out, I rub my knuckles over his head, messing up his hair.
“Hey,” he complains. “What if there’s a hot girl in there?”
“Any girl in that room is somehow related to your teammates. Probably for the best you’re not looking your best,” I tease.
“Why? Do you think I stand a chance?”
“Christ,” I mutter.
“I’m joking. I don’t want anyone’s sister.”
“Good,” a deep voice grunts from behind us.
Monroe startles, gazing back at Rett like he just hung the moon.
“Great game, man,” I say as we approach the door.
“You really were incredible tonight,” Monroe gushes.
Rett turns to look at him, his brow creasing before he continues forward, throwing the door open and disappearing inside.
“What?” Monroe asks when I continue to stand there, watching him.
“Have you got a crush on Rett?”
Horror covers our rookie’s face. “What? No. Of course I don’t have a crush on him. He has a penis. I’m not…I don’t…fucking hell.” He pauses, seemingly collecting himself. “I just respect him as a player. I’m honored to share the ice with him.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m honored to be beside you, too, Hands.”
“Sure you are. You don’t blush like that when you look at me, though.”
“Sorry, but I don’t want to be a goalie when I grow up. I want to be a D man like Donnelly.”
I smile at him, loving his enthusiasm and commitment to improving his game. I remember what it felt like to be a rookie. To feel like you have everything to prove to ensure you get to keep your place.
“Nah, you want to be a D man like Hayden Monroe. You’re good, kid. Really good.”
His smile widens as he gazes at me, his cheeks still rosy.
“Thank you,” he forces out.
“Come on, let’s see if we can find any hot girls.”
“Whoa,” he teases. “All the girls in there are related to our teammates.”
Not all of them. I know for a fact that one isn’t, although that doesn’t make her any less forbidden.
The instant I step inside, I see her. It’s like no one else in the room exists. She shines like the brightest of stars. With my eyes locked on her, I make my way over.
A few people try to stop me on the way, congratulating me on the game, but I don’t linger. I have my sights set, and nothing will stop me from getting there.
“Hey,” I breathe as I step up to the father–daughter duo.
She smiles up at me, and my heart rate picks up.
“Great game tonight,” she says, and despite having heard it a number of times now, this is the only time it actually means anything.
“It really was fantastic,” a deeper voice says before a hand is thrust in front of me, distracting me from Freya.
“Hi, I’m such a huge fan,” her dad says. I swear his hand is trembling.
“It’s so great to finally meet you, Mr. Price. Freya has told me so much about you.”
“Oh, please, call me Brian,” he says, enthusiastically shaking my hand. “It’s such an honor.”
“Did you enjoy the game?” I ask, my hand still clasped in his.
“Oh yes, and the seats were incredible. Thank you so much. You played a fantastic game. You should have heard this one shouting and screaming for you,” he says, elbowing Freya teasingly. “Anyone would think she knew what she was watching.”
“Dad,” she complains.
“She’s watched hockey with me all these years and barely paid attention. Now look at her. She’s learning all the lingo. Even knows which way we’re meant to be shooting.”
I glance at Freya and take in her bright-red cheeks.
“Stop, please,” she begs, making Brian chuckle.
“Okay, okay, sorry,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I have to thank you though,” he continues, his voice much more serious all of a sudden. “I don’t think you understand how much Freya’s new job means to her.”
“Dad, really?” the woman in question complains.
“Yes, seriously. Her mom and I haven’t seen her smile like she has in the last few weeks for the best part of a year. You’ve given her a new lease on life, and we’ll forever be grateful.”
“I need a drink,” Freya mutters under her breath.
“What would you like?” I ask, more than willing to get one for her and give her a reprieve from her father.
“I’m driving. I’m not sure a soda is going to help me right now.”
“I can take you—”
“No,” Freya says in a rush, her eyes widening in surprise when she registers just how forceful the word comes out. “You’ve had a long night; you don’t need to be driving us home.”
I glance at Brian, unsurprisingly finding a disappointed expression on his face.
“Would you like a beer?” I ask in the hope of cheering him up.
“I’d love one, but it’s on me. What would you like, young man?”
“Whatever you’re getting for Freya is good with me.”
Brian winks at his daughter, some unspoken words passing between them before he stalks off.
“So your dad really does love me, huh?”
“He loves all hockey players. Don’t let it go to your head.”
A smirk twitches at my lips. “It’s not anyone else's jersey he’s wearing right now, though, is it?”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
“And that leads me to my previous question. Why aren’t you wearing my jersey?”
My stomach flutters with a mixture of nerves and excitement.
“I…um…wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.”
“I see,” I mumble, my eyes dropping to the LA Vipers branding across her chest.
“What’s that meant to mean?” she asks.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to imagine how it might look.”
Freya’s lips part to respond, but she doesn’t get a chance, because Killer bounds up to us and wraps his arm around her shoulders.
“If she’s wearing anyone’s jersey, then we all know it’s gonna be mine.”
Freya giggles.
“Why would you wear this grumpy motherfucker’s when there are other options? Are you and your dad coming out with us?”
“Oh god, no. Please do not invite him to his face. He’ll lose his mind. I promised Mom I’d have him back at a decent time. He has work tomorrow.”
Killer laughs. “Life’s no fun when you follow the rules.”
“You haven’t met my mother when she’s angry,” Freya jokes.
“Terrifying woman,” Brian agrees as he rejoins us. “Why are we making your mother angry?”
“We’re not,” Freya states as she takes her drink from her father and gives Killer a stern glare.
To my surprise, he heeds her warning.
I can’t lie; I’m disappointed. I want Freya to join us for drinks again. Though I must admit, the thought of her date being there again puts me off. It’s probably for the best that she doesn’t come. I’m not sure I can cope with another night watching her with another man.
I’ve hesitantly broached the subject of a second date with her this week, but so far, they haven’t made plans.
Am I hoping they never do? Possibly.
Brian stands between Killer and me with wide, excited eyes as he steers the conversation back to the game.
Freya watches her father with a soft smile.
Leaning closer to her, I whisper, “He’s like a kid in a sweet shop right now.”
“He loves it. And it’s nice to be able to give him something other than stress and gray hair.”
“I’m sure you’ve been the model daughter.”
“Not entirely. Let’s just say they’re happy I’m home and finding myself a life here.”
“They just missed you.”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “I missed them, too.”
“You’re lucky to have them. To have them worrying about you.’
“I know. I’m so grateful for both of them. They’re incredible parents and people.”
“I agree.”
“You haven’t even met my mom,” Freya points out.
“I don’t need to. I know her daughter.”
She smiles up at me. “You can be smooth when you want to be, Cole Hansley.”
“Only with you.”
Her eyes widen, but she chooses to steer the conversation in a different direction. One I’m not overly keen on broaching.
“So, who’s here for you? Family? Friends?” She looks around as if she’s about to spot someone related to me.
“Uh…no. Not today,” I say, hoping it’ll be enough.
“Your family must be so proud of you. You’ve made yourself an incredible career.”
“Yeah,” I muse.
“Bet you terrified your mom when you were little and strapped a pair of skates to your feet.” She laughs as she imagines what it might have been like.
I feel anything but joy.
“Freya,” I start, unsure what I really want to say. “I…um…I didn’t grow up like you did.”
“What do you mean?”
I glance at Brian, laughing with Killer and now Monroe, who’s also joined us.
“My…my parents weren’t like yours.”
Her eyes widen as realization hits her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think. I just—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, Cole. It’s not okay. I just assumed that…
” Her words trail off. I don’t know if that’s because she can sense I don’t want to talk about it or if she’s too busy chastising herself for saying anything in the first place.
Suddenly, she stands a little taller, her shoulders rolling back as if she’s made some big decision. “I’ll be here.”
“You’ll be where?” I ask, confused.
“Here,” she states. “In this arena, for your home games, cheering you on. Waiting for you in this suite whether you win or lose. I’m pretty sure I won’t be the only one, either,” she adds, shooting a glance at her dad.
“Freya, that’s not—”
My breath catches as her warm fingers press against my lips, cutting off the rest of my sentence.
“No arguments. Right now, you’re surrounded by family, and that’s the way it’s going to continue.”
I puff out a breath, staring down at her in complete amazement.
She doesn’t even know the story. Hell, she barely even knows me.
There’s a lost little boy inside me who is shouting and screaming in delight that someone is going out on a whim for him. The problem is, that little boy has trusted others before and been burned over and over.
The man who has taken his place is much more guarded. Much more cynical.
He’s lived through the pain of being abandoned. Of having no one to rely on. No one to help when things got hard.
And he has one question …
For how long?
Saying those words is easy. I’ve heard a million variations of them over the years. But they’ve never stuck.
Everyone always leaves.