Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Leif
Misconduct: Breaking Your Own Rules
If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a goalie, it’s that you have to expect the unexpected. The puck doesn’t care about your strategy. It doesn’t politely announce its intentions before ricocheting off a stick and flying toward your face at a speed that makes you question all your life choices.
Hockey is unpredictable. Which is why I crave control.
You know what’s not good for a goalie? Someone with no discipline. Someone reckless, impulsive—someone like Hailey.
She completely messes with my balance.
A puck, at least, has a predictable goal. It’ll always try to find the back of the net. Hailey? Hailey vanishes off the grid for days, with no texts, nor calls, leaving me in the deeply uncomfortable position of realizing my entire sense of equilibrium is off because I haven’t heard from her.
Which, frankly, is a dangerous way to live.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to figure out why my best friend has decided to ghost me, because right now, I have approximately two seconds before someone tries to take my head off.
I drop into position just in time, deflecting the shot with my pad. The thwack of the puck against my gear is crisp, and satisfying.
Across the ice, a familiar voice cuts through the noise of skates carving into the rink.
“All right, all right, let’s give Crawford a minute before we embarrass him in front of his new team.”
My head snaps up, and I’m already grinning before I even see him.
“No fucking way.”
Jason fucking Tate.
Former teammate. Former best friend. Occasional pain in my ass. And, apparently, my new teammate—again.
I heard rumors about Vancouver trading him, but I figured it was just locker room talk. Guess not, because here he is, coasting toward me with that same cocky ease he’s had since we were kids.
“Miss me, fucker?” he asks, stopping just short of colliding into me.
I snort. “You’re still trying that move, huh?”
He shrugs, tapping his stick against the ice. “Worked on you in high school.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
I shake my head, my pulse still catching up to the fact that Jason is actually here. We lost touch after juniors—not on purpose, just . . . life. He went one way, I went another. And now?
Now, it’s like no time has passed at all.
“Hey, Tate.” One of our teammates skates by, flicking a puck toward the boards. “You planning to stand there flirting all day, or you gonna actually play? We didn’t invite the newbies to make new friends, but to get them used to our ice.”
“Let the newbies bond. They’re so fucking adorable,” someone else calls, and I can’t see who it is.
Jason smirks. “Oh, we’re playing.”
Then, before I can blink, he lifts his stick and fires a shot directly at my chest.
I block it, obviously, because I’m me.
Jason sighs dramatically. “Fuck you, Crawford. Thought you’d at least let me have one.”
I smirk. “Not a chance.”
He grins like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be. And, yeah . . . I get it. Because for the first time in a while, the ice feels right. After practice, I toss my gear into my bag and finally check my phone. Still nothing from Hailey. She was supposed to message me her flight information and nope, she didn’t do that. It’s been five days since then. Did she arrive in New York, got lost from the hotel to the airport or just . . . fuck.
I frown, leaning against my locker as I scroll through our last messages.
Leif: This is your last warning, you either respond with your flight information or I’ll send a search party to rescue you.
Leif: I’m not kidding, Hailey Jean Castilla. I swear I’m going to appoint you a babysitter if you continue this behavior.
Hailey: And what behavior would that be?
Leif: You not responding to my texts.
Hailey: I’ve been busy.
Leif: I need to know your flight details before . . . before you fuck something up.
Hailey: You act like I don’t know how to travel.
Leif: You act like you don’t always end up in weird situations that require someone to bail you out.
Hailey: Oh, please. I haven’t needed a rescue in at least six months.
Leif: Exactly. You’re overdue.
That was two days ago. Since then? Radio silence.
Jason slings an arm around my shoulders, glancing at my screen. “Ah, yes. The classic ‘texting a woman and staring at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe’ move. Haven’t seen that one before.”
I shove him off. “It’s Hailey.”
He raises a brow. “Hailey Castilla?”
I nod. “You know any other Hailey?”
He rolls his eyes. “There are a lot more Haileys in the world than her. Are you two finally together?”
“You sound like my family.”
His eyes open wide. “Fuck, are you still pretending to be friends? That’s just wrong. So, what’s happening with Hails?”
I scowl. “She was supposed to send me her flight info, but I haven’t heard from her since she left Greece—if she did.”
Jason whistles. “Greece, huh? Fancy.”
I shake my head, typing out a new message.
Leif: Hey, globetrotter. You alive?
Three hopeful dots appear, but almost immediately, they disappear.
I stare.
Jason watches. “Oof. Brutal. Maybe she’s finally thinking that if you won’t man up, she’ll just move on with her life.”
I exhale slowly.
“It’s fine,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “She does this sometimes.”
Jason hums. “You ever gonna tell her?”
I look up. “Tell her what?”
He gives me a look. “Oh, I don’t know. That you’re obviously in love with her?”
I glare at him, he smirks in return, then claps me on the back. “Good talk, buddy.”
And I hate him.
I hate that he’s not wrong.
I stare at my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
And then, finally, I type:
Leif: Wherever you are, just . . . text me, okay? I’m losing my fucking mind.
I hit send.
And wait, but nothing comes from her side.