Chapter 17
seventeen
. . .
Mason
three years ago
chicago
“Looks like Hayes has someone special with him here today.” Kallum nods to the suite where Violet sits alongside the wives, kids, and family members of the team. Warmups were always a great time to stake out the crowd before all the fans rolled in. “The sixth something special since he joined this team. The ladies really will do anything for box seats.”
From across the rink, I see Connor passing a few pucks with his fellow linesmen. He must hear the jab and skates over to me.
“Should we expect a Mason Hayes hat trick tonight now that your girl is here?”
“She’s not my girl.” Not sure why that was the one comment I chose to address.
Connor raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘ You could’ve fooled me ’ before coming closer to me and lowering his voice. “You want her to be though. Don’t you?” Connor’s one of my closest friends on the team and knows the most about my personal life. He never explicitly asked me if I had feelings for Violet, though I guess he, like Monroe, managed to see the signs I didn’t even know were there.
“I think tonight might be the night where I tell her how I feel.” Tell her how I feel. Hell, I don’t think I have ever said that phrase. It sounds so corny.
Connor lets out a howling laugh. “You’re looking a little green man, you sure you’re good to play?” I shove him, and he changes his tone. “Listen, I'm just teasing. I think it’s great that you’re gonna put yourself out there. Just remember no one wants to date a loser, so maybe try to get your head into the game?”
“Yeah, yeah I got it, don't worry.”
Violet wouldn’t care if I had a fat “L” tattooed on my forehead; it’s what’s on the inside that matters to her. But she very well might not appreciate my choice(s) of “bedmates”. I skate over to the bench and tell myself a quick lie built on wishful thinking. Violet won’t care about your past once she hears how much you care about her and want her to be your future.
It feels like slow motion as I watch the first puck drop, hit the ice and get scooped up by a Blackhawk’s right winger. I’m quick on his back, stealing the puck and sending it flying across the ice to Connor. He attempts to bury it in the goal, but it ricochets off the top of the crossbar and deflects into the crowd. We reset and I take the face off. The puck drops and I move my stick over, sending it around the boards and behind the goal to Rowan, who scoops it up and buries it in the back of the net before the Blackhawks goalie even realizes what’s happened. A chorus of ‘boos’ fill the arena as we lead the home team 1-0 .
In the final two minutes of the first period, we are still leading while Connor skates up the ice and makes a move to shoot when he gets cross-checked from behind and goes down hard. He gets up on his own, but he’s not fully there and our trainers pull him into the locker room. The Blackhawks score and we’re tied 1-1 at the end of the period. Tensions run high during the second period when Kallum shoulders their captain into the boards, dodges two defensemen, and sneaks the puck right between their goalie’s legs. The Blackhawks’ captain skates up to Kallum and starts mouthing off about a tripping penalty. A few seconds later a full-on brawl breaks out. The refs break it up and we make it through the second period with no ejections. We manage to hang on to our lead until halfway through the third period when a miscommunication between two of our defensemen costs us big time. Tied at the end of the third we head into overtime.
This is one of the most physical games we’ve played all season. My shoulder’s still aching from the body check that sent me flying into the boards, and my jersey is soaked through with sweat. My teammates are looking battered. Coach’s shouts and commands are barely registering in my head as we set off on the ice. The game clock ticks down as the Blackhawks winger takes a shot at our net. The shot goes wide, and Connor scoops it up and sends it across our defensive zone over to Rowan. He’s bustling down center ice in a matter of seconds and finds himself wedged between two Blackhawk players in their defensive zone. Their defensemen are preoccupied, trying to disarm Rowan, as I skate behind them and wait for the perfect moment to take the puck. I settle the puck with my stick and move toward their goalie. We lock eyes as I fake going left before switching the puck over to my right, and send it barreling into the net.
After a win like this, I’d be one of the last players off the ice, soaking it all in as the arena empties out and the lights start to shut off. Tonight, I’m the first to skate off into the locker room. Our coaches texted us to meet in the hotel lobby at 10 a.m. tomorrow for our post-game debrief and discussion of our schedule for the next week. As I start heading out, a few of the players on the team do their best to convince me to bring Violet out to hit the clubs with them, but I have no intention of sharing her with anyone tonight.
I head straight to the friends and family suite, finding Violet, dressed in my team jacket. She’s practically swimming in it and I can’t deny that seeing her in my clothes awakens a possessive side of me. After a quick goodbye to Rowan’s wife, Violet starts heading toward me.
“You take care of my girl, Tanya?” I shout from across the room as I wrap an arm around Violet’s waist and bring her to my side.
“She’s welcome back anytime!” A few of the other hockey wives nod in agreement.
It’s not like I needed anyone’s stamp of approval, but a warmth fills my chest knowing that she fits in so easily with my new life here. I turn my attention back to her. “You ready to head out?”
If she notices my possessive hold on her, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she intertwines her fingers with mine and gives my hand a squeeze. “Ready.”
I’ve spent the last ten minutes sitting on the bed in my hotel room fidgeting with my hands. Violet is in the shower and I can’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous. My M.O. is casual sex and ghosting anyone who asks me for more. Now, the one girl I do have feelings for is naked, less than 20 feet from me, and I have no idea what to do or how to move us out of the friend zone. If I keep it PG, will she think I’m not interested? If I push for more, will she see it as just another hook-up? Or worse, a gross come-on by her best friend’s creepy older brother? Fuck, I have no idea what women want emotionally.
“You look like you’re gonna be sick.” Violet steps out from the bathroom dressed in an oversized t-shirt, and I am suddenly very interested with the hairs on her head and not the bare chest under her shirt.
She tosses the towel she was using to dry her curls on the bed, before pulling out a bunch of different products from her bag. I have no idea what they all do but the room fills with scents of coconut and vanilla as she runs the different gels and conditioners through her hair. I realize I’m staring at her getting ready for bed, so I look away. That feels too intimate. Instead, I take in her legs that look so soft and silky, I would give anything to get my hands on them. Fuck nowhere is safe to rest my eyes. This comforter is nice. Oh look, a loose thread.
“Is everything okay?” She looks over at me curiously.
“Yup. Just checking out this thread count.” God that was pitiful.
“Ooo big NHL player cares about thread count now.” She lets out a small snort and sits next to me on the bed, nudging her knee against mine. “After the win you just had, I'm surprised you’re not hauling your ass to the club to celebrate.”
I consider deflecting but decide to just be honest. “I wanted to spend more time with you.” I ignore the tiny voice in the back of my head telling me this is a bad idea. Fuck you tiny voice. I take her small hand into mine and rub my thumb against her palm. “I missed you.”
Her brown eyes soften, and I can feel her pulse start to quicken as I trail my fingers up and down her forearm.
“We text like, almost every day.” She’s smiling curiously at my hand on her arm. This is definitely not how I typically interacted with her.
“Yeah, but it’s not the same as having you here with me.” A loose curl falls in front of her eyes, and I wrap it around my finger before tucking it behind her ear. Okay, I think I am officially freaking her out. Pivot to normal conversation. “So, what’s this I hear about you potentially moving to New York?”
“Ah, I take it Monroe told you? I have a couple weeks to decide whether I want to do my PhD at NYU or Bolton.”
Bolton? Monroe had failed to mention that little detail. “You can’t go to Bolton. That's actually sacrilegious.”
“Mason, c’mon. You don’t even go to Westchester anymore.”
“ And? ” The rivalry between Bolton and Westchester’s hockey teams was almost as old as the city of Boston itself.
“Isn’t it time to let the rivalry go?” She says with mock seriousness.
“Nope. I can hold a grudge like it pays the bills. I’m surprised you didn’t apply to Westchester.”
“Actually, that was my top choice. I got waitlisted after the interview though. And the professor I applied to work under is like, super famous, so whoever she extended an initial offer to is probably going to take it.” She shrugs. “Bolton and NYU both have really amazing psych programs either way so wherever I end up I know it’s going to be great.”
“Yeah, but if you move to New York you could be with me.”
“Sure, but Boston’s only a few hours away, so I’ll still be close by. We could meet up for?—”
“No Vi. If you move to New York, you could be with me. ”
She blinks a few times and lets out a soft chuckle. “What?”
Her eyes are frantically searching mine, looking for the joke I wasn’t telling. Needing to clear my head I let go of her hand and put some distance between us. “I have a confession to make. After the Hockey East Championships last year, I didn’t kiss you at the party because I was drunk. I care entirely too much about you to ever treat you like that. I know we agreed to pretend it never happened, but I can’t Violet. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about it. About you.”
The room is so quiet the only thing I can hear is the sound of my heart racing before Violet finally breaks the silence. The words are so faint coming from her mouth as if she’s unsure whether she should voice them. “So you don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen?”
“No. That’s not what I want at all.”
She looks at me with such seriousness. “Then what do you want?”
“You. I want you.”