Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
boston
“Are you okay?”
I glance over my shoulder. Forker is watching me with wide, concerned eyes, the kind that people usually aim his way after he gets into a brawl and leaves the ice grinning, blood all over his face.
Okay, maybe I’m being a bit too aggressive in this scrimmage we’ve put together.
I think I took a couple of years off Reno’s life with that last slam against the boards.
Don’t ask me why I’ve started going full tilt on my hits, either.
This shouldn’t be that serious, but I’m still fueled up from last week.
I’m reeling over that conversation with my brother. Lemmy was a bandage, and she did the job. Getting it off my chest with her was what I needed, but I refuse to utilize her more than once for the same situation. We know what this is between us. I won’t abuse my privileges.
“Not in a good mood today,” I bite out.
Forker snorts. “I’d say. You almost decapitated our stupidest left winger.”
Rossi is fine. He shot me a confused look from the floor of the ice, but he’s too scared of me to ever say anything.
I dipped my chin in an apology, acting like I hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, but I saw the concern all over his face—wondering what he had done to deserve that.
I feel a bit bad. He’s like a poorly behaved puppy.
“He’ll live.”
Forker only smirks, but gets back to business just as quickly. We have Took in net, who is nearly as good as Waters, and one of Oz’s buddies on the other side. He’s pretty quick, too. He’s having the time of his life playing with us, and his saves are speaking for themselves.
Fork and I got Lowesy, obviously. The Dream Team sticks together. But that means the other side got Saltzy, and having both of the world’s greatest centers facing off head-to-head is a certified nightmare, even in a scrimmage. Caulfield came by to play on their side, too.
Lowesy wasn’t exaggerating. The guy is good.
I know he coaches now, but he really missed his calling. His face changes when he plays. Darkens. I’d be hesitant to go one-to-one with him, and I find him utterly likable. Caulfield on the ice is a different Caulfield.
“Let’s do this.”
We play until our legs are tired and we’re exhausted. It’s late, but it’s worth it. It got rid of the anger that was sitting in the back of my head like a demon needing to be exorcised. All those feelings? They’re tamed now.
Back in the dressing room, Rossi and Cole are goofing off in the showers, swinging their dicks and making dad jokes that aren’t even close to being funny.
Thankfully, they’re both going home this week.
I need a break from their stupidity. Took was in and out so quickly, I hardly saw him leave.
One by one, everyone heads home until it’s the usual gang.
“Who needs therapy when we can just do that once a week?” Caulfield asks, pulling his jade-green crew neck over his head.
Lowesy smirks, dipping his chin in agreement.
“You really fucked up not going pro, Caulfield,” Forker says from his stall. “You would be a nightmare to play against.”
“Understatement.” Lowesy grunts, with a shake of the head. “He was a fucking terror. I never had to worry about a thing.”
Wyatt smirks, crooked and bashful. “Not my calling.”
Forker snorts. “Wrong.”
Dec dips his chin. “He had scouts up his ass more than I did.”
“Please,” Wyatt scoffs, running a hand over his head, “they were frothing at the mouth for you. I was just a nice, little treat for them to consider on the side.”
Saltzy pulls his gray hoodie on, glancing carefully at Wyatt.
He always does that. Checks his reaction to what is said about it.
When he sees Wyatt is smiling, clearly appreciative of the compliments, his shoulders relax.
He doesn’t add to the conversation, just continues to get his shit on quicker than the rest of us.
“Join us anytime.” I tell him. “Hang up the whistle and get your hands dirty every once in a while.”
Wyatt laughs, leaning back in Oz’s stall. He crosses his arms in front of himself, glancing around the dressing room. “I hadn’t realized how much I miss it. Skating on the lake and fucking around with the boys is one thing. This reminded me why I loved the game so much.”
“Again,” Lowesy says, leaning over to smack his hands on Caulfield’s shoulders. He shakes him, yanking him toward himself. “Join us anytime.”
Saltzy, now fully dressed, glances around the room.
I know he’s itching to leave. I can see it in his body language.
But Caulfield is still only half-dressed.
He’s in his underwear, shooting the shit.
Saltzy can either tell him to hustle or try to relax and be with the boys for a second, the way he said he wanted to.
His eyes slide to mine and I gesture toward his stall, right beside Wyatt. His jaw pulses, and his expression remains stoic and emotionless, but I catch the little dip of his chin. He drops his bag on the bench and takes a seat next to Wy, not speaking, but staying present.
One step at a time, Saltzy.
“What the fuck is that?” Wyatt is staring at Lowesy’s hands.
My brow furrows, but Forker reacts faster. He storms forward, snatching Declan’s hand with a grin already blooming, and he tears the sleeve of his sweater backward.
Sure enough, there’s ink on his right wrist. A cursive tattoo.
“Shut the fuck up,” Wyatt says in quiet astonishment. “Does she know?”
Forker is full on beaming now. Like the tattoo is for him.
“What’s it say?” Saltzy asks, leaning forward to catch a glimpse.
“Lucky,” Forker answers, glancing at us. He twists Lowesy’s arm so that we can see, making him wince at the unnatural position before he smacks his hands off his body.
“You branded yourself with her name?” Saltzy asks, monotone, but somehow still disapproving.
“If there are days she can’t be here, she’ll still be here.
On my arm,” he says, holding his chin up and serving us all with a glare, daring us to say something about it.
Lowesy and his fucking superstitions. He needs his lucky Penny.
“And yes, she knows. She smacked the back of my neck but proceeded to give me a very nice reward, so I think she likes it.”
“A blowie?” Forker asks immediately.
“Jesus,” Caulfield mutters.
“He’s not going to answer that,” I grumble, but Forker’s still staring at the tattoo like it’s made of magic. “He’s got common decency, unlike some people.”
“Hey, I don’t kiss and tell either,” he says, and that’s a fucking lie.
The room bursts into laughter.
Fork doesn’t do it out of malice or disrespect.
Fork does it because he gets too excited and speaks before he thinks.
I know far too much about this man. About where his dick has been.
If the roles were reversed, he would have just announced that Arden dropped to her knees after her anger subsided because it was a part of the story, and only realized that he probably shouldn’t be sharing those details with us once the damage was done.
“That’s a crazy decision,” Saltzy mutters, shaking his head.
Wy’s gaze snaps toward him. “Then it’s a good thing it’s not your body.”
Saltzy’s eyes flicker upward. A moment passes, and he gets the same lesson that we’ve all gotten at one point or another. Don’t fuck with their crew. Ever. Save your opinions for someone who isn’t a member of their little club.
Even boyfriends don’t get a pass.
“You’re right.” He agrees, and Wy reaches over, sliding his hand to the back of his neck. He gives him a little squeeze, which makes Cal relax a bit, a gentle smile hitting his mouth.
Wyatt’s eyes dart down to his lips.
I look away.
“If you don’t like that, you’re going to lose your shit about this,” Lowesy continues.
Cal’s going to have a fucking heart attack soon.
Forker is practically a dog begging for a treat now, tongue hanging out, bouncing on his feet.
Lowesy raises his other hand, the left one, and flashes us his palm. I have to lean forward and squint again.
Fork lets out a little noise of excitement and his face lights the fuck up, so I know it’s good.
On Lowesy’s wedding finger, there is a four leaf clover. For Penny.
“One wasn’t enough?” Wy asks.
“This one is so that I’ll always be wearing my wedding ring, even when I’m playing.”
They aren’t even married yet.
“That’s cute as shit,” Forker declares, nodding with approval.
Saltzy, wisely, says nothing.
It’s a sweet gesture. If it all goes down in flames, I’m sure he could remove it easily, anyway.
Not that I’m hoping for that. I’m just…realistic.
Marriages and all that shit are usually more hellfire than they are fun.
Penny and Declan know that. They almost tore each other to shreds before they admitted how they felt about each other.
“Why on that side of your hand?” Fork asks.
“She likes tracing patterns on my hand when we’re laying around, so I wanted it to be somewhere she’d always see it. So she remembers, you know?”
“Remembers?” I ask.
Lowesy’s hazel eyes meet mine. His neck gets a little red, those dimples popping out of his cheeks. He shrugs. “That I love her in the permanent kind of way.”
Wyatt’s grin grows tenfold, he nudges Lowesy’s leg with his own.
Dec glances at him—his own smile widening.
They both adore that girl. In different ways, obviously.
They’ve been through the trenches with her.
I’ve learned a lot about Penny over the years, and I know how badly her ex messed with her head.
Lowesy’s ability to understand her and to love her in the way she needs it gives me hope that he’ll never need to remove those tattoos.
Don’t start calling me a romantic or anything. I just think they might be one of the rare ones that last.
He fixed a lot of shit that her ex broke in her. He still does it, I think. Actively. Still don’t know the guy’s name, though. Declan has called him everything from Greg to Galapagos Island. The only thing I’m certain of is that he exists, he’s a dick, and his name probably starts with ‘G.’
When we finally leave the arena, I feel hundreds of pounds lighter. My parents are no longer missing. My relationships with my brothers remain fucked up, but I feel a twinge of hope that things can be different. I can breathe again. The worst is over. I’ll survive the rest of it.
I’m being tormented by the desire for more for the first time since I was a kid, and I can’t begin to make sense of those feelings. But it’s okay. I have my boys. I have the sport that saved my life. I have my farm and my solitude.
I’ll be okay.