Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
MAISIE
There’s a mixture of nerves and restless tension fluttering in the pit of my stomach as I walk through the entrance doors of the practice rink behind Lennon.
I promised her I’d come to today’s practice before I ever found out that Wilder is now a permanent fixture here at OU, at least for this season.
Before I even knew who he was.
I didn’t want to cancel on her, and honestly, I had no legitimate reason to do so… so here I am, about to freeze to death alongside my best friend so she can watch her boyfriend play.
Part of me is filled with anticipation at the prospect of seeing Wilder again, but the rational, non-horny part of me is completely dreading it. Clearly, there’s an intense game of tug-of-war happening inside me.
I shouldn’t want to see him ever again. He was a total asshole the last time we saw each other, and he made me feel… dirty.
Childish. Easily tossed away.
And I hated feeling that way.
Especially after what we did together that night.
But then there’s this part of me that wants to explain away the way he behaved, excusing the way he treated me because he was caught off guard and irrationally thought I had… planned this.
That’s not the strong, take-no-shit, feminist part of me, so it’s promptly being ignored and pushed down right where it came from.
I trail behind Lennon as she climbs into the stands, stopping when she spots Saint, who shoots her a wink and lifts his stick toward her. I can feel her practically ooze into a puddle like a melted piece of ice right at my feet.
She’s got it bad. And I love that for her—truly, I do. It’s part of the reason why I decided to embark on my own journey of self-discovery. Witnessing her come into herself and break the chains that her parents had placed on her so long ago was such a beautiful thing.
It was eye-opening, and it made me stop seeing so many things in black and white and start to want to experience life in vivid color.
For the first time in my life, I am.
“Ugh, he’s so hot.” She sighs, flopping down onto the bleacher seat, a sweet, lovesick grin on her face as she watches her man. “I don’t think I’ll ever actually accept the fact that he’s mine. That’s weird, right?”
I shrug as I lower myself onto the bleacher, wincing as the cold metal of the seat seeps through the bare skin of my thighs. “I think you’re two idiots in love. Nothing weird about it, babe.”
Her grin widens, and she tosses her long, auburn hair over her shoulder, her attention moving back toward Saint on the ice.
Against my better judgment, almost as if I have no control at all, I find myself searching for Wilder.
Casually. Very nonchalantly, of course.
I spot him on the other side of the rink on skates, a whistle around his neck and a clipboard in his hand. The dark gray hoodie he’s wearing hangs loosely on his body, but the sweatpants do nothing to conceal the thick, powerful muscles of his thighs.
Thighs that I shamelessly rode as he pinned me against the wall of the bathroom.
Thighs that effortlessly held me up as he slowly sank inside of me until we were both gasping for air.
“Maisie?”
I jolt when I feel a hand wrap around my arm, heat flashing to my cheeks at aimlessly daydreaming about this stupid man.
My gaze shoots to Lennon, and I clear my throat as a cough overtakes me, and she pats me gently on the back until I might die of embarrassment.
“Sorry,” I squeak. “I was just, uh… thinking about the paper I have due tomorrow. What did you say?”
Her brow arches. “Oh no, you are not getting out of coming with us to Jack’s! Mais, come on, I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve hung out.”
“I’m not backing out. I swear. I was just making a mental checklist of all the things I need to do, that’s all. Plus, you’re the one who’s been too busy getting railed twenty-four seven to hang out with your bestie,” I tease, bumping my shoulder against hers and waggling my eyebrows.
“Maisie!” she hisses as she glances around us.
“What?” I giggle. “You know it’s true. I’m just living vicariously through you.”
After biting the corner of her lip and pretending that she’s this innocent little prude she no longer is, she finally grins, covering her cheeks. “Speaking of, did Bennett ask you out again?”
“Yep. Three times.” I roll my eyes with a laugh, dragging my gaze back to the ice, where I find him standing next to Saint. “I’ve got to hand it to him, he’s optimistically persistent, but I told him no. As always. He’s just… not really my type.”
Apparently, his coach is though.
I swallow, quickly stealing another secret glance at Wilder. He’s showing the guys something with a hockey stick, his words short and clipped, yet they’re hanging on to every word.
I was not expecting to feel so… turned on by the sight of him on skates, holding a hockey stick. Coaching. There’s just something so authoritative… so natural about the way he handles it, effortlessly working it between his large hands.
“Bennett’s coming with us tonight, so I’m sure that number will increase to four.” Len giggles, and I can hear the eye roll in her voice.
But my attention is still unfortunately on the man that it shouldn’t be.
He’s closer now, having skated over to another group of guys, so close that I can hear the deep, thunderous command of his voice while he gives them instructions.
I hate that my body responds, a flush of goose bumps trailing beneath the fabric just from watching him, from hearing his voice. It sends a shiver down my spine, and I rub my hands up and down my arms through my too-thin jacket that I threw on before coming here.
It’s like my body recalls that night every time we’re in proximity, and I don’t know how to make that stop.
How to turn it off.
I’m caught off guard as he looks up and his sharp gaze suddenly connects with mine, as if he felt my eyes on him.
Like he’s drawn to me in the same way that I am to him, even if it’s forbidden.
Even if it’s wrong.
My stomach dips as I drag my tongue along my bottom lip to wet them, and his eyes narrow into slits, and he looks away.
God, Maisie, what are you doing? This man wants nothing to do with you. Get it together.
I force myself to look back over at Lennon, my best pretend smile falling easily into place, “Bennett Legros is the least of my worries, Len. Trust me. I can handle him.”
After spending an hour and a half inside an oversized icebox, stepping inside Jack’s Pizza is like a warm, comforting hug.
The scent of fresh bread and mozzarella floats to my nose, causing my stomach to grumble loudly. Which I’m sure everyone would have heard if it weren’t so packed in here.
Jack’s has always been the place to eat on campus. Not only because they have the best pizza in the world—biased, I know—but because the energy and vibes are unmatched.
As a college student who would prefer baking over cooking, I eat here at least once a week.
I slide into the worn red leather booth and peel off my jacket, draping it onto the back as Bennett slides in beside me.
Lennon and Saint sit across from us, already hanging all over each other like they were apart longer than the two-hour span for his practice.
I shoot Bennett a look, and he just chuckles and shakes his head with an eye roll.
As always, we’re the third wheels, but at least we’re not alone.
I’d much rather hang out with my girl as a third wheel than not at all. Truthfully, I don’t mind sharing her with Saint, not when he makes her so happy. I know how good he is to Lennon, and that’s what matters.
Bennett shifts next to me, clutching at his ribs and wincing. “Fuck, I’m not even going to be able to walk tomorrow. What the hell was that practice, man?”
“That was all Hawthorne,” Saint grumbles across from us. “I’m not surprised though. He’s got a reputation for being ruthless on the ice. Didn’t think it would be any different coaching.”
My pulse skitters.
“Clearly,” Bennett mumbles, palm still flattened over his obliques.
I clear my throat. “Uh, what’s the deal with him anyway? Coach Taylor put him in charge of the project that the literacy program is working on.” I shrug as I grab a straw. “But I haven’t heard much about him.”
“Shocking,” Lennon says, staring over at me with a wry expression before poking her tongue out at me.
Fair though.
I usually am the first to hear about campus drama, but when it comes to him? I’ve done my very best to ignore anything once I hear the name.
“I guess I should say I haven’t been paying much attention,” I clarify.
Bennett’s the first to speak up, angling his wide shoulders toward me. “Hawthorne is basically like… the Gretzky of our time.”
I stare blankly at him.
“Am… I supposed to know who that is?”
A low rumble of a groan spills out of Saint, and I look over at him as he shakes his head. “You serious? Sidney Crosby? Alex Ovechkin?” His eyes are wide as he turns to Lennon. “Baby, you know who I’m talking about, right?”
She nods. Her eyes twinkle with amusement. “Duh. But to be fair, you made me watch that YouTube video about them, so that’s the only reason why I do.”
“Thank you,” I retort, rolling my eyes. “Can one of you just finish? Please?”
Saint just shakes his head and looks pointedly at his friend.
“You’re adorable, Mais,” Bennett says with a dramatic sigh.
“But not sure if I’ll be able to look past this.
” His lip curves into a smirk. “Those are the greats. Gretzky has four Stanley Cups. He’s got more points and assists than anyone else.
Like… ever. He’s literally the GOAT. And Crosby?
Three Stanley Cups, two Olympic golds. The point is that there have been more times than not that Hawthorne has been compared to these guys.
These legends because of his stats. Hawthorne’s got three Stanleys, the Calder Trophy.
Which is rookie of the year.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes, a look of adoration to the point where I almost laugh.
“Okay, so then how does a guy like him end up as an assistant coach here?” I ask.
It feels like I’m missing something, and for some reason, I want to know what it is.
Bennett leans in closer, lowering his voice ever so slightly as if he’s worried someone will hear. “Well, he got kicked out of the NHL.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
He nods before looking over at Saint, who nods, too, and says, “We have no clue what’s the truth and what’s being spread on sports sites, but apparently, he got into a fight with his teammate.
But a volatile guy like Hawthorne? That’s honestly not all that surprising.
It must’ve been really fucking bad for the Bruins to release him, especially with his professional record. ”
Holy crap.
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip as I listen.
Bennett blows out a breath and shakes his head.
“Yeah. Like your own teammate? That shit is wild. I mean, he’s always been a reactive player.
Constantly in the box, constantly being an aggressor on the ice, but I guess it wasn’t as big of a deal then because he was such an asset.
He was young, had his entire career in front of him.
It’s easier to turn a blind eye or make excuses for a rookie who’s carrying the team and not a guy in his, what, mid-thirties and is fucking up more than he’s scoring. ”
I had no idea about any of this, yet another stark reminder that I don’t know him at all.
The things I do know are ones that I can never whisper a word of.
“That’s crazy,” Lennon murmurs as she rests her cheek against Saint’s shoulder, and he dips his head, pressing his lips to the top of her hair.
“So I’m guessing the only reason he’s here is because no one else would take him, and he’s an OU alumnus. He started his hockey career here. Just like you, Saint,” Bennett says, lifting a brow. “Except you’re going to get more Cups than him and not end up back here.”
A low chuckle vibrates out of Saint.
Rare for Mr. Broody.
“I’m guessing he’s done in the NHL. No one wants someone that old back. He’s basically at retirement age.”
My mind is moving a hundred different directions as I try to process everything I’ve just learned.
God, Wilder was kicked out of the NHL for fighting his own teammates? I mean, I can see the whole temperamental, reactive part.
But like the guys just said… why would a guy like him give up his entire career over something as insignificant as a fight? It just feels like there’s more to it. There has to be.
I guess all of that must have been part of the reason he acted so harshly to me that day in his office. Because he was worried that if someone finds out, it would be a nail in the coffin after coming off something like losing your spot in the NHL.
That’s why he’s so adamant to keep what happened that night a secret. Because of how much worse it would make him look after what’s happened.
He’s got stakes, and they’re higher than I ever imagined.
“Wow,” I finally murmur just as our waitress walks up.
She takes our drink order, and of course, the guys put in more food than they could possibly even eat, and I settle back into the booth, lost in thought.
“All I know is that if this is how every practice is gonna go, I’ve gotta stop eating all this fucking pizza,” Bennett complains.
As if the guy has an ounce of fat on his entire body.
“Yeah, you’re right. All that pizza will go right to your ass,” I say, flashing him a cheeky grin.
“Nah, I’m caked up for days, babe. But it does make me slow as fuck on the ice, and I’m not going to be able to keep up with this guy. I can hardly fucking move.” He winces when I jokingly poke him in the side.
“You can’t keep up with a guy that you just called old?” I arch a brow. “Not sure that says much about you, big guy.”