Chapter 29
COLE
“That’s sweet,” Killer muses as he glances at my cell over my shoulder. “I didn’t know you were upgrading.”
He drops down beside me and lays his lunch out before him.
The food at the arena is good. Before Freya’s appearance in my life, I thought it was fantastic, but now, I know different.
I’d happily eat Freya’s cooking over anything.
There’s something about it. I think it might be the love she puts into it that makes it taste that much better than anything else.
She cares so much about making everything as good as it can be, and it bleeds into her meals.
It’s like an extra seasoning, and I’m here for it.
“I’m not,” I mutter as I scroll through the specs my contact at the dealership has sent me.
“So why are you looking?”
Finally, I look up, and I watch as he almost puts a full chicken breast into his mouth in one go.
I raise my brows in shock.
“What?” he mumbles around his food.
“How women throw themselves at you, I’ll never know.”
“Because I’m hot.”
“You’re an animal,” I point out before shooting off a message to get the ball rolling and focusing on my own food.
“As if you’re any better. Don’t forget I share a room with you on the road,” he adds. “I know how loudly you snore and how bad you smell after a game.”
“Fuck off,” I laugh. I may not have grown up with any siblings.
Of course, there were always other kids, whether it was at foster homes or in the kids’ homes, but I never felt a connection with any of them.
Not in the way I do my teammates now. It makes me realize just how right Freya was last night when she pointed out that I do have a family.
It’s just an unconventional one. I guess when I’ve been so focused on what I don’t have, it’s harder to see when it’s right in front of me.
“So the car…” Killer starts, reminding me that he’s waiting for an answer.
“It’s a gift.”
He frowns.
“For who?”
“Uh…” I hesitate.
I know it’s crazy. I know she’s going to be angry and refuse to accept it. But neither of those are good enough reasons not to do it.
It’s just a car. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things.
And really, it’s for me. I need her to be at work on time.
I need to be able to rely on her. My career is at stake.
Okay, that might be taking it a bit far, but I’m more than willing to go there when I no doubt go toe to toe with her over it.
“Handsy,” Killer warns.
“Fine. It’s for Freya. Hers is a piece of shit that broke down on her this morning. I need her in something reliable. I need to know she’s going to turn up to work and—don’t fucking look at me like that.”
“Oh, I’ll look at you however I want.” Movement over my shoulder catches his eye, and before I know what’s happening, he’s called Rett and Monroe over. “If I were to tell you that Handsy here is buying a car for his personal chef, what would you both say?”
“He wants to bang her,” Rett says without missing a beat.
“Freya is going to be mad,” Monroe says, without thinking with his dick. Sometimes, it's really fucking refreshing, talking to our rookie.
I shake my head as the three of them watch me, waiting for a response.
“Yeah, she’ll more than likely be mad. But I’m just trying to be nice. She deserves nice things and—”
“You want to fuck her,” Rett repeats.
“She’s my employee,” I argue.
“So? Who the fuck cares about that? She's hot, and from what I’ve heard, her ex was a douchebag. She’s probably desperate for some good dick. If you’re not interested, I can—”
“Don’t you so much as think about finishing that sentence, asshole,” I warn.
Rett’s only reaction is to grin. And when I look at the other two, I discover matching smiles on their faces as well.
“I don’t want to fuck her,” I argue.
“And that, gentlemen, is what bullshit smells like,” Killer sings.
I shoot him a death glare, willing him to shut the fuck up. I don’t want to talk to them about Freya. I certainly don’t want them talking about the things I may or may not fantasize about when I’m in bed alone at night.
“If you want her, do something about it. Life is too short.”
“Wow,” Monroe muses, staring at Rett in awe.
“What?” Rett asks.
“N-nothing. I just…well, I wish I had your kind of confidence.”
“Don’t listen to him. Have you ever watched him try to pull a woman who isn’t a bunny?” Killer teases.
Rett barks a laugh. “Um…I’m not sure I remember a time when I had to try,” he states, slugging Killer in the upper arm.
“You’ve got plenty of girls interested,” I say to Monroe. I’ve seen them at games, wearing his jersey and screaming his name, just as much as he has.
“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing his rough jaw. “I just…none of them…they’re not what I want.”
“Monroe, are you a bit of a romantic?” I ask, happy to turn the focus away from me.
He huffs as he stabs a carrot with his fork.
“I don’t want to be,” he confesses quietly. “I want to be wild and…and well, like you guys.”
“You don’t need to be like anyone else. You’re you, not us, Hayden,” Killer says, sounding a little too wise for my liking.
“I just…the girls I like always want to be my friend. I think it’s because of my sister. We’ve grown up so close. I always feel like the gay best friend. The girls want to make me their BFF, not fuck me.”
“Am I hearing that Monroe has woman problems?” Linc asks as he joins us.
“I’m not sure it can be classed as women problems if there is no woman,” Monroe mutters as he focuses on his food.
“There are always women, Monroe. Did you wake up this morning and forget who you are? You’re Hayden Fucking Monroe, the LA Vipers’ rookie D man. You step out onto that ice multiple times a week with women screaming your name and begging for you to take them home.”
Monroe hmphs but doesn’t say anything.
“Wait…” Linc says, studying our rookie closely. “Are we talking about women in general, or is there one woman who’s causing you issues?”
“Oh, listen to Storm. He settles himself down, and now he’s the expert,” Killer teases.
“Parker will confidently tell you that I’m no expert,” Linc confesses before turning back to Monroe.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid anyway. I don’t have time for a woman, casual or not.”
“Bro, there is always time for women. Depending on your skill level, you might only need ten minutes,” Rett deadpans.
Killer scoffs. “Ten minutes. How much are you paying these women to sell the stories they do if you only last that long?”
“Fuck off. I’m not talking about myself. But how old is our rookie? He can’t last much longer than that.”
I glance at Monroe to find his cheeks are glowing almost as bright as Freya’s do when she speaks before she thinks and says something entirely inappropriate but totally endearing.
Their questionable advice and banter continue as we eat our lunch, and as time goes on, Monroe relaxes a little.
I can’t help but think that Linc is onto something.
This seems bigger than figuring out how to hook up with a bunny.
There’s a woman. Our little rookie has a crush.
If I didn’t have enough of my own shit to think about, I might attempt to figure out who it is.
Because I have no doubt it’s someone we all know.
None of us spends enough time anywhere else to be twisted up as much as he seems to be.
My cell buzzes on the table, and I tune them all out and wake it up. The second I see a message from Freya, my surroundings vanish as I quickly tap on the notification.
A laugh spills out of me at the video of a dog who appears to be talking.
“I’m sorry, are we boring you?” Rett asks.
I don’t look up immediately, but I don’t have a choice when Killer kicks me under the table.
“Please ignore him; he’s talking to Freya.”
“Oooh,” Linc sings like an asshole. “That’s all going well then, I take it.”
“He’s buying her a car,” Killer shares. “I think it might be going a bit too well.”
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” I bark.
“Buying her a car? That’s serious,” Linc points out.
“It’s not a diamond ring.” I scoff. “It’s a car to ensure she can get to work on time.”
“Uh-huh,” Rett mumbles.
“Whatever,” I mutter, before shoving my chair back, gathering up my empty plates, and stalking away.
“He really needs to fuck her,” I hear Rett say before I’m out of earshot. My grip on my tray tenses with my need to go back and show him what I really think of his comments. But I know it’ll only make this situation worse.
This morning’s rain is long gone when we step out of the arena later that day. The sun is just beginning to set as I climb into Killer’s car and he heads out.
Freya and I have sent videos and memes back and forth throughout the day, but we haven’t talked. And I certainly haven’t told her about the car. I need to do that in person, and at a time when she’s unable to refuse when I hand her the key. Much like I did this morning.
I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that she’d have used it.
But I didn’t like the thought of her stuck there and being forced to call an Uber should she decide to go somewhere.
I don’t want her in the back of some asshole’s car.
I want her safe. She’s already been hurt enough by men; I won’t risk anyone else battering her confidence when she’s finally rediscovering who she is.
Am I being too overprotective of a woman who isn’t mine to protect? Yes, probably. But do I care? Nope. Not even a little bit.
“You’ve cheered up,” Killer points out once we’ve left the parking garage beneath the arena.
“You would have as well if you had the session I just did..”
“Nice try,” he deadpans, aware that my mood has nothing to do with my session with our goalie coach being over.
“What? Your training is a walk in the park compared to mine, and you know it.”
I’m baiting him, but I don’t care. Anything to keep him away from the topic of Freya.
“Fuck right off, man. Who do you think are the ones protecting your ass out there?”
This kind of banter comes as naturally to us as breathing.
Family.
The word floats around my head again.
“I’m grateful, you know,” I confess.
“For what?”
“Having your kick-ass skills in front of me. I’m good, but I’m better with you guys protecting the crease.”
“Don’t we fucking know it. What’s with the heartfelt shit?”
I shrug despite the fact that he’s too focused on the road ahead to see.
“Dunno. Just wanted you to know that I appreciate you.”
“Holy shit, Hands. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her.”
“What? No. Don’t be crazy. She’s my chef.”
“No. She’s your friend. A friend you want to—”
“Stop, just stop,” I beg, terrified he’s touching a little too close to the truth.