16. Hux
sixteen
Hux
M y head was heavy, my interrupted sleep making my senses dull. The ache in my ass was delicious. The stretch of my skin where I was covered in cum and the pinch of my pubes that had dried sticky was a reminder of a night I didn’t want to forget.
I wasn't supposed to go there.
I’d promised myself that I wouldn't touch anyone while I was in Australia.
So much for that.
But I couldn’t bring myself to be disappointed or frustrated, because having Cara and Roe was worth it. I already craved more of them.
But that’s what my issue was. I fell hard and fast for people. When I was in, I was all in. Only a few nights ago, I’d literally been kicked out of the bed of a different man, one who I’d been seeing for nearly two years. A shitstorm was still raining down on my head from the fallout. My team was in tatters, our first-line defence and offence ready to throw down because I wasn’t smart enough to keep it professional. I hadn’t thought out the consequences of my actions. I’d jumped in with both feet and landed on the commitment train.
Then I’d been tossed off.
I thought I’d loved them. I thought we’d spend years together. Our future as hockey players was always uncertain—we could be traded at any moment. But I figured that as long as we were both playing for the Seals, we’d be together. I’d been wrong.
So how did that end and this begin within a matter of days? They do say that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. But this didn’t feel like a rebound romance. It wasn’t a way of getting Chris and Kam out of my system.
I’d answered the siren’s call at the airport and looked in Cara’s direction. I’d nearly swallowed my tongue when she’d squeezed in next to me on the bus. Having her curves pressed up against me was a lesson in restraint and I’d been so hard that I could barely grit out the words I’d said to her.
When the tabloids were at the hotel waiting for us, I’d taken the chance to get out of Dodge. But then she’d walked into the building arm in arm with the sexiest silver fox I’d ever seen, and I was gone.
Completely blindsided.
Cara was something else. Sweet and innocent but a vixen in bed. She’d grasped onto the possibility for a threesome with both hands and had jumped in without a moment’s hesitation. I admired her for it.
Sinking into her was like entering nirvana. Paradise. She was hot and tight, and I loved the way her legs wrapped around me and held me in a vise grip. I loved the way her whole body jiggled and her breasts bounced when I slammed into her. The noises she made ramped up my desire so hard that I’d struggled to last longer than thirty seconds.
And then there was Roe. He was something special too. He was everything I was attracted to—a tight, fit body, a deep voice that rumbled over me like melted chocolate, and a short beard that I was desperate to feel against my ass. But he wasn’t just sex on legs. He was kind, and he put others first. He was gentle, yet commanding too. He had presence. I wanted to bask in him—in them , if I was being honest—and that was the most terrifying part.
I was jumping in again with both feet. And I couldn’t.
Cara and Roe were made for each other. I had no business interfering in that, just like I’d had no business getting between Chris and Kamirah. I was going to ruin their relationship before it even started.
My groan was loud in the silence of the room, and even the knowledge that I was fucking up again did nothing to deflate my morning wood. I still couldn’t believe what had gone down last night. Memories flashed through my mind’s eye, and I ground my cock against the sheets, the friction making my eyes roll back. They’d both turned me inside out. They’d driven me crazy. Roe had shown Cara how to suck my cock, even though he’d never done it before himself. They’d kissed and licked me until I was barely hanging on by a thread. Then we’d turned our attention back to Cara, and she’d ended up a cum-soaked quivering mess, much like I’d been at the end of the night.
I hadn’t crashed with them despite Cara asking me to. If I got in that bed, I would have crossed lines that they didn’t even know weren’t meant to be crossed—I was the add-on, not their equal. I was there for the fun time, the fantasy.
But I couldn’t bear to leave either. I wasn’t ready to end the night by walking out that door. So I’d stumbled over to the sofa and passed out. Without the ache I still felt in my ass, I would have thought what happened next was a dream. Roe had fucked me into the sofa, using my body to get off—exactly the way I liked it—and left me completely boneless.
Then he’d gone and been all caring and considerate and invited me into their bed. The temptation to stay was overwhelming. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin what they had the potential to create. Chris and Kam were under the spotlight because of me. I’d learned my lesson—there was no way I could risk a repeat.
Being the gentleman I knew he was, Roe had walked me to my door instead. He hadn’t touched me in the corridor despite there being no one around. I knew he wanted to by the way he hovered close to me, reaching for me more than once but dropping his hands the moment he realized what he was doing. I’d swayed on my feet, my body screaming at me for sleep, and he’d straightened me up and opened my door for me.
His filthy side came out to play when he had me behind closed doors. I’d stumbled in, and he’d turned the bed down and stripped off what clothes he could before I faceplanted. Then he’d done the rest, leaving me naked and sprawled out. He’d run his fingers over the small of my back where his cum had pooled and down over my crack. He would have been able to see the cum stains on my skin—I’d certainly felt them—and I’d spread my legs, inviting him to get inside me. I was hungry for an epic dicking, needy and desperate. It wasn’t even the need to come driving me—I’d already had a couple of orgasms—it was the way I could let go with him and trust that he’d completely own my ass. I needed to be wanted, just for that moment. Everything good came to an end, but at least I’d feel him for days.
Roe had brushed his fingers over my cum-sticky hole, and I’d groaned as zaps of electricity shot through me. My dick was as hard then as it was now. He’d palmed my ass, spread my cheeks, and spat on my hole again, then ordered me to stretch myself out and make myself come. I’d nearly erupted on the spot. His dirty demand was an aphrodisiac. He wanted in my ass. He wanted me.
I’d spread wide, showing him exactly how he could take me, and pressed my fingers in as deep as I could. I’d hit my prostate dead-on, and within moments I was riding the edge. My toes were tingling, my balls had drawn up tight, and my cock was leaking precum everywhere. His hands had never left my ass, kneading my cheeks and watching as I took what I needed. He cleaned me up afterward, using my shirt to wipe up the spunk, and said something in that deep, rumbly voice of his that I was too blissed out to understand. The click of the door closing hadn’t even registered until I’d come down from my high, the warmth of his presence lingering with me.
Exhaustion had pulled me under quickly after that, my body giving in to rest after a few gruelling days of emotional turmoil.
I was about to be traded. I had no doubt that my neck was on the chopping block. My agent had warned me that I could go anywhere given what had gone down. This was supposed to be my chance to prove myself, to focus on hockey and hockey alone.
So at the first opportunity, I hook up again.
I was a lost cause.
I stretched out and enjoyed that well-used feeling. But it couldn’t happen again. I had to focus on my game if I wanted there to be any chance of pulling the W out of the jaws of defeat that almost swallowed our practice whole yesterday.
Trying to ignore the heaviness in my gut, I sat up and sighed. I wanted to keep seeing them. But I couldn’t. I needed to focus. The weight session this morning would be a welcome distraction before the few hours of downtime I had. At least I could catch up on sleep before our warmup skate this afternoon.
Five games.
Scoring in all of them.
Winning all of them.
That’s what I needed to focus on. At least if I did well enough, I had a hope of being traded to a team that wasn’t the bottom dweller of the league.
I needed to cut all ties with Cara and Roe.
I jumped at the bang on my door.
“Hux,” Hewitt called. “Breakfast in five.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I yelled.
“No, you’re with us,” Gauthier called out. “Open the door so we aren’t shouting through it.”
“Gimme a minute. I’m naked in here.” I sighed. Neither one of them would let me wallow, but that was probably a good thing.
***
Skating out onto the ice in front of thousands of screaming fans would never get old. The excitement in the air was worthy of a Stanley Cup game—it didn’t matter that it didn’t count toward our standing. It was electric. The roar of the crowd was louder than the music thumping through the speakers. I looked around the stands, taking it all in.
Cara was right there in the front row at centre ice. I couldn’t help the grin that split my lips, and when she beamed at me, I tipped my head in acknowledgement, tamping down the surge of adrenaline that made me want to beat my chest like a giant silverback gorilla.
Certainty settled in my gut. Like the pieces falling into place, I knew that tonight’s game was going to be something to remember. Seeing Cara and Roe was like a shot of adrenaline, a boost to my system.
Except that I couldn’t see Roe. The seats on either side of Cara were full—she was sandwiched between two women, not our sexy silver fox.
Urgh, so much for cutting ties.
I shifted my weight from skate to skate and ran my fingers along the tape wrapped around my stick. The chill of the ice burned my lungs when I breathed it in—the scent of frozen ozone so familiar that it grounded me. I’d grown up on the ice. I’d had all my greatest moments in a hockey rink. It was where I belonged.
The crowds went nuts as the music died down, and the woman who would be singing the Australian national anthem was introduced. She walked out onto the red carpet laid across the ice and waited for the music to start. As the first notes played through the speakers, she sang. Her voice was incredible, but I blocked it out. I took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, zeroing in my focus. I mapped out the game in my head. I imagined the plays—the passes, the interceptions—and the goals. I was as superstitious as any hockey player. Routine was everything. But I couldn’t let a different anthem being played trip me up.
Coach had walked us through strategy before we’d hit the ice for our warmup—play fast, clean passes, strong defence, and watch our backs. Losing Mironov put us at a disadvantage despite it being a welcome relief for me. Minns was paired with Cohen, but they didn’t work together as well as he and Mironov did.
The Kings would also be out for blood—the last time we’d gone up against them, we’d won in a shutout.
Another singer was introduced, and the crowd went wild again. He sang “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and I relaxed, letting the words wash over me. I closed my eyes and tipped my head up to the domed roof of the arena. I got into the zone, blocking out every distraction. I zeroed in on the ice, the puck, my teammates, and the net. I soaked in the words and shook my arms out when the roar of the crowd pierced my ears again.
This—hockey, the game, the love of it—was everything to me.
The puck dropped.
We were on.
Gauthier shot forward and swiped the puck away.
He fired it straight to Hewitt.
A quick pass to Minns.
He shot it back to Hewitt as he cleared the Kings’ defenders. I darted in and out, distracting the Kings and making a nuisance of myself. But it worked. I distracted one of the Kings’ defence and it opened Gauthier up.
Hewitt didn’t hesitate. He slapped the puck to Gauthier.
He deked and fired straight at the net.
The puck shot between the goalie’s legs. The lamp lit up.
The buzzer sounded. We’d done it. Less than thirty seconds on the clock and we were on the board.
Our goal song thumped through the arena, and I piled onto Gauthier, hugging him hard.
We were back in play in mere moments. Gauthier got the puck again. He fired it off to me.
My first touch of the game, and the puck met my tape like the two were magnetized.
I took it up the ice, flying as fast as I could.
The Kings’ defenders were gaining on me. But I still had a split second.
I crossed the blue line and fired straight to Hewitt.
Time slowed, and I could see the hit before it came.
The Kings’ right defence changed direction on a dime and dropped his shoulder, slamming into Hewitt like he was a bull charging a matador.
Hewitt bounced off him. He hit the ice hard. But he tucked his head in, protecting it, and slid across the surface. His stick spun away from him.
Gauthier scooped up the puck and passed to me.
Hewitt scrambled up to retrieve his stick.
My elbow high, I fired at the net.
Pads met the puck, and the Kings’ centre took the rebound from their goalie. He tore up the ice.
But Minns was there, intercepting him.
He dropped down onto a knee and hit their centre head-on. There was no way to avoid the collision.
The Kings’ centre somersaulted, and Minns caught the puck with the edge of his blade.
He passed to Cohen. Cohen hit it back to me.
We were pulled from the ice, our second line over the boards barely a second after we’d crossed.
LA got the puck, and a few mistimed moves by Minns and Cohen had me holding my breath.
“Come on, Minns,” I yelled in encouragement, even though he’d never hear it over the roar of the crowd.
Their left forward slapped a high shot at goal, and Rune effortlessly batted it away.
Kuznetsov—Kuzie—was having a killer night. He, Rossi, and Dupont on our third line were dominating the Kings’ defencemen. Their passes were perfection, and within seconds they had the puck over the blue line and were edging closer to the net.
Dupont fired a bullet at Rossi.
He passed to Kuzie.
Our left wing deked it, and he saw nothing but net.
I held my arms up and screamed, cheering for my teammates. The buzzer went, and it shook the stands, the noise so loud, my ears rang.
They’d done it. We were up by two.
Our third line came off, and we were back on, skating as if our lives depended on it. The rest of the first period was the same —hard hits, plenty of chances to score for both teams, but not a single one of theirs found the net. Rune, our goalie, was on fire.
But our two-point lead wasn’t enough.
The Kings were playing dirty, taking every chance to hit deep. Their defence was brutal, smashing us against the boards whenever they could. We were all breathing hard when the buzzer for the first period went and we skated off the ice.
Coach changed things around after that, dropping Minns to third line and putting Cohen back with Agosta. They were a team, as close-knit as they came, and we needed the strength out there. It wasn’t that Minns wasn’t good enough, but losing Mironov and the almost telepathic communication they had was leaving us too exposed.
The puck drop for the second period was almost the exact opposite to the first. Gauthier lost the scramble, and the Kings’ centre passed back to their defender. Their passes were lightning fast, and we raced to keep up. Cohen and Agosta were pushing hard, but they were struggling against the Kings’ starting line.
Rune took a puck to the pads within the first few seconds of the period. Coach had been right—the Kings were stepping up their attacks.
They were relentless.
But we wanted the W.
They scored twice, evening the score before we even had a look in.
Fuck that. They weren’t winning this.
Gauthier slipped past the Kings’ centre, stealing the puck from his tape.
He powered forward on a breakaway.
Flying past the blue line, he slapped a shot on goal.
His fingers stretched to their limit, the Kings’ goalie deflected it.
The puck ricochetted off the net and smashed against the boards.
Hewitt did a wraparound, shooting through the narrow gap behind the net like a bullet. He intercepted the puck.
Hewitt passed, aiming his shot straight at me.
I spun, avoiding the Kings’ defencemen.
I intercepted the puck, but my angle was off. But I wasn’t going to waste the first touch. I lifted my leg.
I fired hard.
The puck shot between my skates.
Straight at the net.
It wasn’t an elegant shot, more an attempt to keep it away from the Kings’ defence than anything else.
Their goalie dropped to his knees, using his leg to block it.
The puck bounced off his pad and teetered up and over it.
He reached for it.
Fumbled it.
He missed.
The lamp lit up.
The siren blasted through the arena, shaking the stands.
My breath hitched, and I choked out a disbelieving laugh. How the hell had I pulled that off?
Elation filled me. We’d done it. We were in the lead again. Gauthier and Hewitt wrapped me in a bear hug, their crooked mouthguard-filled grins matching my own.
We were subbed off and on, the game clock ticking down. Both teams scored tit for tat—every time the Kings evened the points, we put another one in the net, holding the narrow lead throughout the second.
With less than a minute left in the second period, the Kings had the puck. Agosta was closest, making a move on their centre. Our man shouldered him, pushing him off his line and straight into the boards.
The puck spun away, and I was there to scoop it up.
My focus narrowed.
Time slowed.
I skated hard, tearing toward the goal with the puck glued to my stick.
The Kings’ defence were on my tail.
They were breathing down my neck.
I pushed closer, coming within a foot of the goal, and I wristed it, sending the puck sailing high and tight over the goalie’s leg. It was in exactly the same spot I’d scored one on him earlier.
We were up by one.
The buzzer sounded. Music filled the stadium, our goal song thumping through the stands.
My heart thundered. Heat radiated off me, steam rising from under my pads. My muscles had that well-used ache that came after a hard-fought period. We were close. We had the win in the bag if we could hold them off for the final twenty minutes of the game.
Anything could happen.
The third period dragged. It was a high-scoring game, 7–to–5 with just under five minutes to go. There was too much time left to run down the clock. We also had a point to prove. Novotny was out for the rest of the game, and even though it had been a dirty hit, the refs missed it. We not only wanted the win, but to kick their asses too.
Coach waved us out, and Gauthier, Hewitt and I clambered over the boards, hitting the ice hard. I got into the fray and duked it out to get the puck.
We were back and forth, in and out of each other’s attack zones, the game fast moving but slow at the same time.
Rune was on alert. He was in constant motion, guarding the net.
We were in our defensive zone, the Kings trying to get another one in.
Hewitt skated in close and stretched, reaching for the puck.
He got the barest touch.
But it was enough.
He passed it to Gauthier.
Our captain charged forward, mowing down the yards to the blue line.
He fired off a bullet to Cohen.
I dodged away from the Kings’ defence, getting ready to receive.
Cohen flicked a wrister.
It was the perfect pass.
My tape kissed the puck.
I slapped it at the goal.
Nothing but net.
I blinked. Three goals. A hat trick.
A sea of purple, silver and black converged on me. My teammates tackled me, wrapping me up in their arms, Gauthier lifted me straight off the ice, spinning me as a shower of back slaps and thumps on my helmet rained down on me. My cheeks hurt with the grin stretched wide across my mouth and I shouted out, holding my stick above my head, my arms raised high. Elation filled me and I floated on an endorphin rush until I was in the clouds. After everything that had gone down, all the angst and damage that the implosion of my fling with Minns had caused, this was a weight lifted off me.
I focussed on the crowd. We were in a different country, in an unfamiliar arena, but the fans knew just how big a deal this was. Ball caps littered the ice and others floated down. Flags with our famous seal were being waved and everyone was on their feet.
Music blasted through the speakers and the stadium shook. The sound of stomping feet almost drowned out the heavy bass and the crowd roared louder when I acknowledged them with a pump of my arms.
Gauthier put me down and my head was back in the game.
Three up. 8–to–5.
The win was in our hands.
Now all we needed to do was run down the clock until—
The klaxon wailed. It was over.
We’d done it.
Pride swelled through me, the high of the crowd making me soar.
I looked over my shoulder at the spot where Cara was sitting. She was on her feet, screaming with her arms up in the air. She waved, and I grinned.
I skated over to her, ignoring my earlier decision to leave her and Roe alone. I looked over at the woman she was with. They looked alike, so much so that I’d be surprised if they weren’t sisters or cousins.
“Oh my goodness, that was incredible,” Cara gushed, and I directed my attention back to her. Her smile stretched wide, and her cheeks were flushed. She was beaming.
I knew exactly how far down that pretty pink staining her cheeks went. My dick perked up, getting strangled in my cup.
I bowed and laughed. “Thank you.”
Cara gestured to the woman I’d noticed at her left, and she yelled over the cheers of the crowd, “Alec, this is my mum, Carina. Mum, Alec Huxley, the team’s left wing.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, but my lungs squeezed tight. Spots appeared in my vision. My ears rang, and my mouth was immediately as dry as a desert.
That was her mother ?
I pulled my jersey away from my neck, hating the way it suddenly strangled me. My stomach flipped, and not in a good way.
She smiled, and I wanted to puke.
I hadn’t been introduced to anyone’s parents in a long time. Especially not the parents of a person I’d slept with. The last time that had happened was with my high-school boyfriend, and that had changed my life. In some ways it was for the better—I got to live with Nan to finish out high school, and there was no one better than her—but the way my parents had abandoned me still cut deep.
They’d walked in on Trace and me getting hot and heavy. Mum had demanded his parents’ number, called them, and explained in stilted detail what they’d seen us doing. His parents were okay about it, but mine were so horrified that they kicked Trace out and put me on the next flight to Clearwater, Florida.
They’d never paid me much notice before then. I was the classic child of rich absentee parents—they largely ignored me, provided I was quiet. Their real babies—the high-rise buildings they erected over demolished working-class neighbourhoods—received far more of their attention.
If you asked them, they’d take credit for my love of hockey, but all they did was throw money at me, my coaches, and the camps they sent me to. Most of the time, they didn’t even bother running me to and from practice. I could count on one hand the number of games they’d watched.
Then they found Trace and me together, and it all changed. My sexuality was enough of a sin that they wanted nothing more to do with me. But they weren’t stupid either. Everything was done on the DL. They didn’t want negative publicity from shunning their only child. So they made up some bullshit about how there were more opportunities for hockey in Florida than Chicago. As if anyone would believe that trash.
I hadn’t heard a word from them since getting my full-ride scholarship to St Bernadete’s.
Nan had opened her home and her heart to me, and to this day, she was the only person who loved me without reservation. But my memories were bittersweet. I lost her the day before I was drafted to the Seals. She never knew that I’d achieved my dreams. She’d never seen me play professionally. She didn’t even know that all our hard work had paid off.
Gauthier slapped his hand down on my shoulder, ripping me from my walk down memory lane. I blinked and flicked my gaze between Cara and her mum and swallowed. Their brows were furrowed and mouths turned down in concern. Maybe I’d been standing there longer than I thought. Way to make things awkward.
The weight of Gauthier’s grip was like a life raft. It was something to cling to—a welcome safe harbour from the sudden maelstrom in my head.
“Carina, you made it,” Gauthier bellowed. He’d pulled his mouthguard out, and his smile was the most genuine I’d seen it in a while—ever since the team-destroying clusterfuck of my breakup with Minns, to be exact. His attention was locked on Cara’s mother, and I could see exactly where Cara got her shy side from. Her mum blushed to her roots, and she laughed in that same self-conscious way that Cara had. Gauthier preened, and his smile turned into a smirk that was downright filthy.
“The team is going out to celebrate. You should join us,” Gauthier said. He was inviting them both, but his request was directed squarely at Cara’s mum.
“You and Roe should come too,” I added, finally giving in to temptation. I wanted both of them there, and damn it, I was going to ask.
Cara pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m not really into that scene, and I’m not sure where Roe is. He went home this morning.”
Her words were like a punch to the gut. I’d wanted to distance myself from them, but I was like a moth to a flame. I didn’t care whether they came out—I was equally happy chilling in the hotel and nursing my bruises with ice packs, as long as I was with them. But if he wasn’t with us, then what? Would Cara even want to see me again?
This was why I shouldn’t have even been asking the questions. I should have stuck to my guns and walked away from them.
So why couldn’t I?
“Is he coming back?” I asked.
She nodded. “It’s the winter solstice,” she explained, but that didn’t make a lick of sense to me. She added, “It’s a hard day for him. He might be staying with Zali tonight, but he’s definitely flying out with us tomorrow.”
A confusing mix of disappointment and unreasonable happiness surged through me. I wanted to see him, but knowing that he would be back in the morning allayed my fears.
Fears that I had no right experiencing.
***
Cara skipped the bar but insisted that Gauthier show me what it was like. We ended up in a part of the city that was old and comfortable, filled with dark corners and loud music. The two-storey building had to have been a hundred years old, with a wraparound balcony and intricate ironwork on the railing. But it was the round cage on the floor and the TV screens lining the walls that held everyone’s attention.
In the centre of the cage was a crate attached to a pulley. Inside it was a mass of hopping, slimy, gross-looking frogs clambering over one another to get free. The volume of the music dropped, and an MC who sounded nothing like Michael Buffer crowed, “Let’s get ready to rumble!”
Cheers erupted, and I looked across to Gauthier, who was nursing a beer.
“Just watch.” He gestured to the screens.
The announcer explained, “All entries are closed. Get your tickets ready, and cheer on your cane toad.”
A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd, and he yanked on the pulley. The crate was lifted up. The entire bar erupted, cheers and screams echoing around the room. Toads hopped every which way, and the MC turned horse racing announcer gave a rapid-fire commentary on every toad’s trek.
Gauthier explained, “Whichever toad gets to the side of the cage first wins. There are ten tickets for each toad, and whoever picks the winning toad gets free food vouchers.”
“Oh,” I responded with a shudder. “That’s fucking gross.”
“Isn’t it?” he quipped with a grin. “They’re pests here. They were introduced to kill the cane beetle and have multiplied into the hundreds of millions. They don’t really have any predators here because they’re poisonous to all the wildlife. Humans too. Once the races are over, they’ll probably go into the freezer so they can be disposed of. The pub only does these races when it’s been raining and they can catch the toads.”
“I’m going to—” I gestured to the bathrooms with a grimace. “—go wash my hands. That’s…. No—just no.”
Gauthier barked out a laugh as I pushed away my half-finished beer.
I heaved myself up and walked to the men’s room. Minns stepped out in front of me. I side-stepped him, but he used his bulk and shoved me into the corner. It was dark, shadows falling over us. Still, it was a risky move for someone so deep in the closet to be seen cosying up with another man, though I didn’t think he’d get physical with me.
“What do you want?” I asked, already bored of him. I missed him a lot less than I expected to—and that wasn’t even because of Cara and Roe.
“I saw you cheering for me out there.” He licked his lips and stepped closer, pressing his hips against mine. He was half hard, but while it had once turned me on, my skin crawled at the contact, even through the layers of clothing separating us. I shoved against his chest, pushing him off me and moved out of the corner, needing to get away from him.
He frowned as if he didn’t understand why I wanted him off me. I didn’t back down. The tension between us was so thick, it could be cut with a knife.
But I did need to think about the team. I’d put them through enough already. I’d fucked up enough too. I needed to diffuse this awkwardness if I had any hope of avoiding a trade.
“I was cheering for the team, not you.” There was no heat behind my words. They were matter-of-fact. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall, waiting him out.
Chris shrugged and took a keycard out of his wallet. He slipped it into my suit jacket pocket. “Room 1005. Why don’t you head back there and get ready?”
He may have asked it as a question, but his tone suggested anything but that. He actually believed that I’d agree. What the fuck?
“I’ll leave in ten, and we can celebrate the win how you like it.”
I couldn’t help the bark of disbelieving laughter that bubbled up my throat.
Minns’s eyes lit up and a smile curled his lips. “I’m glad that we could work things out,” he added.
“Are you fucking delusional?” I plucked the card out of my pocket and let it fall to the floor. I didn’t even want to touch it, but there was no way I was keeping that poison pill. “No. No chance. Not a hope in fucking hell.”
I turned on my heel and walked straight out of there. Gauthier wouldn’t miss me. Half the team and a bunch of fans, including one who looked a lot like Cara’s mum, had converged on him the moment I walked away.
According to Maps, the hotel was a short walk away, and it wasn’t late. Our curfews were relaxed given we weren’t playing for standing, but Coach didn’t want us too messy when we had a game schedule like it was the middle of the season.
I entered the lobby and headed toward the elevators.
But three steps in and I stopped in my tracks. Roe was there, sitting with another man. His shoulders were slumped, his blue eyes dim. His clothes were rumpled, and sadness radiated off him. He looked like he’d had a rough day. Cara had said that today was difficult for him, but I’d underestimated just how much. He looked wrecked, emotionally drained, and a husk of the man he’d been when he’d left my room the night before.
I looked at the man with him. He was gorgeous, like he’d walked straight off the catwalk and dropped down next to Roe. He had caramel-coloured hair and brown eyes with golden skin and just the right amount of stubble to make him irresistibly sexy. But as lickable as he was, I hated him on sight.
I hated the possessive arm he had slung around Roe’s shoulders.
I hated how close they sat.
I hated the way he was so familiar with Roe.
I wanted to fucking rip his arm off and shove him away.
Jealousy flared inside me, burning as bright as the sun.
I changed directions and headed straight for them.
Roe’s friend locked eyes with me and lifted his chin, practically daring me to say something.
But I wasn’t there to shout accusations. The need inside me to stake a claim on Roe was stronger than anything I’d ever experienced. I’d literally known Roe and Cara for only a few days, yet there was a rightness that settled into my bones when I thought about them.
I needed to be the one to comfort Roe and be there for him when he was down. I wasn’t deluded enough to think I was worthy of him giving me that, but he needed to know I wanted to be it for him, and that Cara would want it too.
I wasn’t worthy of either of them, never mind both. My parents and Chris and Kam had all shown me exactly what I was worth—nothing. I was a throwaway. It was no different this time. I was a way to get off for both of them. But I couldn’t deny wanting more.
There I went, jumping on the commitment train again. I groaned. I was in for a world of hurt. Again.
I was a fucking idiot.
But no one ever said hockey players were smart.
Still, even against my better judgement, I didn’t back down.
“Hey.” I sat on the armchair next to Roe and rested my hand close enough that he could grasp it if he wanted. I wasn’t about to put Roe in the shit with whoever this was. If he was a boyfriend, I wanted to keep my face.
“Do you mind? This is a private conversation,” the other man said by way of greeting. His annoyance was obvious, his body rigid and his deep voice holding a don’t-fuck-with-me edge to it that I appreciated. Whoever he was, he was protective of Roe.
“It’s okay,” Roe rasped. “Ez, this is Alec. Alec, my best mate, Ezra.”
“Are you okay?” I asked gently.
Roe sucked in a wobbly breath and exhaled slowly before he pressed his lips in a straight line and gave a slow shake of his head. “But I will be. Sorry I missed the game. I wanted to be there, but—”
“I get it. Important things.”
Roe looked at me, and the utter devastation in his eyes crushed me. I wanted to take away that hurt, to banish it from his memories. I didn’t know what had caused it, but I’d do just about anything to get rid of it for him.
My heart clenched, and it hit me. I was falling for Roe and Cara. I was already on that slippery slope. I had no hope of stepping off at the station now.
Seeing Cara watching me in the stands had made me feel invincible. I’d never had a game like it. It was the first hat trick I’d ever scored. The closest I’d come before was getting two goals and two assists. And seeing Roe here needing comfort and being unable to give it to him tore me to shreds.
“You’re Alec Huxley?” Ezra asked. “I read about you—”
“How do you two know each other?” I interrupted, gesturing between them. The sooner he dropped me being in the news, the better.
Roe lifted one side of his lips up in a half-smile and huffed out a laugh. “Ezra tried to arrest me.” My eyes bugged out and Roe’s smile turned more genuine. “I was having a tough time getting my ex’s name off our telephone bill. Someone allegedly hacked into the telecommunication provider’s system and shut them down. Ezra tracked the hack to my IP address and came to arrest me. When he realized that my talent for computers extended to logging into my emails, he took my daughter under his wing, and we became friends.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Opened it again. “Your daughter shut down a telecommunications provider?”
“Allegedly. It was never proven.”
“And it never will be,” Ezra confirmed, his voice taking on that same hard tone.
“So, you’re a police officer?” I asked Ezra.
“I was a federal copper, but I’m not anymore. I work with Zali, Roe’s daughter, and our partners in our charity now.”
“Ez is one of Zali’s boyfriends,” Roe explained and nudged his shoulder into Ezra’s.
“One of?” I asked. I wanted to know everything about Roe and his family.
Ezra smiled, his eyes lighting up. The love in them stole my breath. “Zali, myself, and our partners Tristan, Flynn, and Ryder are all together.”
“Cool,” I breathed, my chest tight with want. I couldn’t even fathom having that many people who loved me. It must be nice.
We sat in silence for a moment. Ezra was younger than Roe, but he was older than me. I knew that Zali and Cara were only a couple of years apart, too, so that meant there was a decent age gap between Zali and the little boy Roe carried a picture of in his wallet.
“Is that your son in the picture in your wallet?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “Is there a big age gap between him and Zali?”
Roe looked away, drawing into himself, and panic filled me. Ezra’s gaze shot to mine, and the tension that appeared around his eyes begged me to stop. I snapped my mouth closed and kicked myself. Why hadn’t I just shut my mouth?
“That’s Asher, and no, not much difference at all.”
“Oh, old photo,” I said, relieved that I hadn’t put my foot in it too badly.
“Something like that,” Roe whispered. “Ez, ah, I might—” Roe gestured to the elevators, and Ez nodded.
“I need to head off anyway.” He stood up and held out his hand to shake mine. His grip was firm. “Good to meet you, Alec.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Roe shoved his hands in his pockets, and Ezra squeezed his shoulder. “Call me anytime.”
“Thanks, man. I’m just gonna crash.” I watched him go, torn between chasing after him to make sure he was okay and giving him the space he seemed to need.