Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
Dawson
We take turns shooting on Odder, going through two buckets before we break to gather pucks.
Once they’re back in the buckets, we head to the bench to rehydrate.
I’m breathing heavily as I guzzle my Gatorade.
Odder isn’t the least bit winded, leaning on the boards as Louis sits beside me, checking his phone.
I push my shoulder into his. “Texting Jen?”
He gives me a sheepish smile and nods. “Yeah. He has a meeting with some executives today. I want to wish him luck.”
I return the smile, proud of him and Jennings.
No matter how much shit they got for being together because of the sport Louis plays, their love is strong.
I would have fought for Louis, no matter what, but knowing how in love and how dedicated the two of them are to each other only pushed me to fight harder.
It’s kind of crazy how much I love seeing my brother in love, but I don’t have the same thing.
I don’t want it. I don’t have time for it, nor has anyone ever made me want to have what Jennings and Louis have.
I know what the student body thinks of me.
Hell, I know what my family thinks.
While I’m nowhere near as bad as I was my freshman year, I don’t have the best reputation.
I don’t date, nor do I come back a second time.
To some, it’s weird and only furthers my mom’s point about my commitment issues, but for me, I’m committed to hockey and football.
My life has always been surrounded by ice and turf.
I’m sure someone will come along who catches my eye and keeps it for longer than it takes for her to get me off, but I’m not holding my breath.
Or looking for her.
But when it comes to Louis and Jennings, I’m a supporter.
“He’s got this,” I say, because I know he does. Jennings is going places in the songwriting world. He learned from my aunt, and she’s written with some really big names.
Louis beams up at me, and I smile back. I’ve always been really close to Louis, but after he came out, I feel like we got closer. Like he exposed himself to me, and it’s my job to protect who he is. I love the dude, and by extension, I love Jennings. “I told him you said that.”
Just then, Odder pulls my attention. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
I bring in my brows, more than likely developing the same divot my dad has between his eyes. “No, I won’t give you Ash’s number. That’s for you to get.”
Odder snorts as Louis cackles. “No, not that,” he says, still chuckling.
“I’ve got a plan to get her number, but that’s not what I wanted to ask.
” I perk a brow at him. “I wanted to ask why you’re even entertaining football.
You’ve always been a beast of a defenseman, and you have a hell of a shot. So why not choose what is right?”
Because what if it’s not right?
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, unable to open up to him about this.
“I don’t get it,” Louis adds. “You know you’re better on ice.
Fuck the championship, fuck football, do what you were born to do.
” I hold my brother’s gaze. Unlike my hazel eyes, his have a rim of dark blue around them.
They almost look teal, but it’s not the color that has me all in my feelings; it’s the confidence he has in me.
The love. He looks up to me, and shit, am I letting him down?
“You should have gone into the draft five years ago.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know, guys. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“Driving me to an early grave.” I hear my dad before he slaps Louis’s shoulder. He leans over, shaking hands with Odder. “ChillPhill, how’re your parents? I haven’t seen your dad all summer, and I checked in at Audrey’s cupcake shop.”
Odder nods, grinning ear to ear. My dad has been calling him that since he was a kid. He has such a Zen-like state to him. I’ve never seen him get mad, on or off the ice. The only time he breaks sticks is when they get caught in something. He’s never broken one out of anger.
I have a bucket at home of my broken sticks. Hell, so does my dad.
And my mom.
“He has been traveling all over to scout for the Assassins.”
Dad nods. “I should have known. Audrey wasn’t there either. Only Penny.”
“Yeah, Penny is running the shop now that she’s done with volleyball. And Mom went with Dad.”
I really shouldn’t fault Phillipe for checking out my cousin.
I have checked out his older sister for years.
Penny is a looker. All legs and the prettiest hazel-blue eyes ever.
I tried to holler at her this summer, but she wants a relationship, not a trade-off of orgasms, which is all I offer women.
“Good to have you home,” Dad says, leaning against the boards. “Maybe you can talk some sense into my son.”
We laugh at that, because all you can do is think the whole situation is a joke. I feel like a joke. I know this is weighing on my dad, and really, Odder is right. I am a damn good defenseman, and I enjoy being on the ice.
But damn it, I love the feel of the pigskin in my hand. The way my cleats bury into the turf. The anticipation of getting tackled and the adrenaline of my receiver catching my throw?
Yeah, it’s amazing.
Phillipe, ever the people pleaser, gives my dad a wink. “I’ll work on him.”
Before I can defend myself or even try to smooth over the situation, I hear my mom’s voice. “Jay, we have that meeting. She’s waiting on us.”
Dad stands up and nods. I look back to my mom to find that she’s in her teal leggings and oversized Bullies sweatshirt. She has her glasses on with her hair up in a tight bun. She waves her hand in greeting to her left, and when I look at where she is waving, my heart stops dead in my chest.
Like, full-out fucking stops.
I feel like the offensive line didn’t hold back an outside linebacker and my ass slammed into the grass.
Or better yet, a two-hundred-pound fucking goon got me against the boards.
Shit, both.
At. The. Same. Damn. Time.
I think I may have died.
But I’m breathing.
Then my heart kicks up, pounding so hard my vision is vibrating as my eyes lock with a pair of whiskey-brown ones that are framed in sooty, thick black lashes.
My mouth goes dry, and I earnestly drink in the gorgeous woman before me like my life depends on it.
Her skin is the color of the lightest caramel, her face is round, her lips heart-shaped and bright pink with gloss.
Her wild mane of dark curls sits in a pile on her head with a few strands falling along her plump cheeks and temples.
I want to curl a piece around my finger and yank it to bring her to me to taste that pouty mouth of hers.
Not to sound like a cliché, but I’ve seen my fair share of girls and women, but none, and I mean none, has ever made my heart kick up the way it is right now.
My eyes move along her shapely body, taking in her ample chest that stretches the fabric of her bright-pink dress shirt that is tucked into a pair of wide-legged black slacks.
The pants are tight around her waist and hips, showing off all kinds of curves that are begging to be held on to.
The fabric strains against her thighs in the most mouthwatering way.
I wonder what it’d feel like to be between them, her thighs squeezing my ears and then my hips.
Whoa.
Ears, absolutely, suffocate me. But hips…that’s a new thought.
But I can’t help it, she’s a walking dessert.
She looks me up and down just as greedily.
Her pupils dilate as her lips part just a bit.
When her tongue peeks out, wetting her already glossed lips, I’m a fucking goner.
I preen under her gorgeous gaze. I have to have seen her before.
She has to be my age, maybe a bit younger.
She has to go here because I see her Bullies’ badge.
So I know her, right? Surely I’ve talked to her because a goddess like that needs to be worshipped.
But where? I know those eyes. Don’t I? Or…
fuck… She’s got me all fucking fumbling!
“Who is that?” I gasp, to which Louis laughs beside me.
“Damn, I’ve never seen you with that look,” Louis teases, and I smack his chest guard in answer. “Hell, even I need to meet the chick that’s figuratively knocked Dawson on his ass.”
Dad pulls his brows together, meeting my gaze before shaking his head. “I don’t know that look, but I know your record. Stay away from her.”
With that, he starts out of the bench. I stand, reaching to stop him. “What? For real?”
Dad looks back at where Mom is greeting her before meeting my gaze again. “Remember Rowe Mercer?”
“Yeah,” I answer automatically.
Rowe was my mentor at Rink he never spoke of her. Not that we ever spoke of anything other than hockey.
Dad sets me with a no-nonsense look. “Stay away from her. She’s going places and knows what she wants.”
I feign hurt. “Wow, am I not going anywhere?”
“Not if you don’t make a choice.”
Yeah, I walked right into that one, and he isn’t wrong.
“You don’t need the distraction, and neither does she.”
Again, he isn’t wrong, but as my gaze moves to her once more, I find I don’t care about any of that.
I might not know what I want for the future, but right now, I know I want to know her name.