Chapter 33
Hazy
Hazy met Tiffany at a fancy bar near his house.
One of those places where the space was dimly lit by a hundred-year-old chandelier, the staff wore bow ties, and a simple vodka soda cost thirty-five dollars.
He fucking hated it. But it went over well with every girl he’d ever sweet-talked into meeting him for a hookup.
Tiffany sat at a high-top, wearing a slinky black dress and shoes that weren’t meant to be taken off. He joined her.
“This isn’t dinner,” she said in greeting.
She slid a glass toward him. They’d done this song and dance a few times before.
He took a quick sip of his drink and smirked at her. “We both know dinner wasn’t the main event.”
“I wasn’t hungry anyway,” she said. “I was beginning to think you’d lost my number.”
Hazy took a few more swallows of his drink. “Don’t you follow the Freeze?” he asked.
He’d met Tiffany simply by existing as a professional hockey player.
Some people would call her a puck bunny.
He disliked the derogatory term. Somewhere along the way he’d stopped thinking of the women who wanted to have sex with players that way.
It felt too much like slut-shaming, and he was the biggest slut out there.
Nobody batted an eye when men liked sex or had preferences on type. Women should be no different.
“I do.”
“Then you know I’m injured.”
“Yeah, I saw that. Fucking awful. I worried about you. You could have texted. It took the team days to give fans an update.”
Tiffany stirred her drink with a straw, looking at him through hooded eyes with beautiful dark lashes. She was stunning, all smooth skin and flushed cheeks and bouncy hair.
“You shouldn’t have worried. You’re not my girlfriend. Sometimes we fuck. That’s it.”
Her mouth popped open, disbelief filling her expression. “I know. But I hoped after a year of casual sex you might consider me a friend, at least.”
Fuck, he was an asshole. She had been a friend to him. Or as close to one as any girl he’d ever slept with had been. “Sorry. That was rude. Of course we’re friends.”
Her smile brightened her whole face, and she finished her drink and slid off her chair. Her demeanor turned flirty again so fast Hazy almost got whiplash.
“You could have texted still. I don’t mind doing all the work.”
“That would have been fun for no one.”
“I would have made it fun.”
She placed a hand on his cheek, leaning in for a kiss. Hazy met her halfway. Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. A strong tug got him out of his seat.
He fumbled for his wallet, his lips still locked with hers. She pulled away from him.
“I already paid. Let’s go.”
Hazy did not have to be told twice. She practically jogged out the door, her gaze searching the parking lot for his car as she carted him along behind her.
When they were buckled, he asked, “Where are we headed?”
Her smile disappeared. “Uh, to your place?”
He shook his head. “My place isn’t an option.”
“We always go to your house.”
“We could go to yours. Or I could get us a room.” He reached over the center console to squeeze her knee, but she slapped his hand away.
“Stop,” she said. “Wait.”
He recoiled as if her skin burned him. “What’s wrong?”
She frowned, searching his face for something. “Why can’t we go to your house?”
“It’s occupied at the moment.”
“By who?”
Hazy cleared his throat. “A friend.”
She leaned away from him, her head resting against the passenger seat window. “A girlfriend.”
“No,” he said. “My best friend.”
“Lover is in Houston.”
Fucking hell, when did Tiffany become worried about who his friends were?
“I do have other friends, you know.” He grinned at her. “Like you.”
“You aren’t helping your case.” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, demanding an explanation he didn’t owe her.
He rested his head on the steering wheel. “It’s not like that.” It couldn’t be like that. “Livy is an old friend. That’s it.”
“She’s an old friend, but you can’t take a date to your own house because she’s there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Hazy faced her and opened his mouth to answer, but no words came.
“Sounds like she’s more than a friend, dude. I won’t be the other woman. I like you. You’re a good lay. But I am not here for drama. You need to figure your shit out.”
He buried his head in his hands. “Fuck. I know.”
Tiffany remained quiet, allowing him time to think before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He took a deep breath and blew it out. “You want me to tell you about my problems?”
Tiffany pushed his arm in a friendly gesture. “I wouldn’t say I want you to tell me. But I’m here, and I’m willing to listen.”
Hazy debated the implications of telling this woman his business.
She’d been discreet about their hookups over the last year.
Anyone she might tell wouldn’t believe her.
If his secrets ended up on the internet, he could explain it away as baseless gossip.
He couldn’t tell any of his other friends.
Daisy and Roxie might keep it from Lover, but it would kill them.
He needed to talk to someone who didn’t have any skin in the game.
“She’s my best friend. And Lover’s girlfriend,” he blurted, before he could talk himself out of it.
Tiffany stared at him, her jaw on the floor. He could see the gears turning in her head, probably trying to figure out if she’d seen Livy on any hockey blogs or gossip columns. She stared out the window.
“I know I said I wasn’t hungry. But you’re buying me a milkshake. This is going to be a long night.”
Hazy knew an order when he heard one. He smiled, already feeling a million pounds lighter after giving Tiffany a non-admission.
They stopped at a drive-thru for milkshakes.
She directed him to her apartment, and he parked in the parking garage.
They sat in the car and sipped their ice cream while he unloaded all his emotions onto Tiffany.
He explained every horrible, hopeless, sappy feeling.
After his word vomit she knew more about his relationships with Livy and Lover than anyone else in the world.
Tiffany listened, nodding, smiling, and asking questions where appropriate. She rubbed his back when the words got caught in his throat and tears sprang to his eyes. He didn’t know how he felt about half the shit he told her until it was all out in the universe, straight from his lips.
By the time he finished her fingers were intertwined with his, a comforting touch while he poured his heart out.
“Well, fuck,” she said. “That’s really heavy.”
“Yeah,” his voice came out in a whisper. Talking about feelings was exhausting.
She raised their hands to her lips and placed a kiss on the back of his. “I’m glad we didn’t fuck.”
That pulled a chuckle from Hazy. “The night’s still young.”
Tiffany reclaimed her hand and unlocked her phone screen, showing him the time. “It’s really not.”
“Oh. Sorry I wasted your time tonight,” he apologized.
“Do you feel better?”
“A lot better.”
“Then it wasn’t a waste of my time.”
“Why are you being so nice to me? I was a dick to you.”
“You’re an idiot. This is what friends do.”
He let the declaration sit, unsure what to say.
Tiffany leaned across the console for a quick hug, then opened the car door. He panicked. “Wait!”
She froze. “What?”
“What do I do?”
She looked at him like he was fucking stupid. “You talk to them.”
Hazy wasn’t going to talk to them. If Lover had been home those first couple days after their heart-to-heart, he might have. But the five days left on the Freeze’s road trip gave him too long to think.
He spent the days training. His muscle was returning at a promising rate. The team doctor and Robbie were optimistic he would be able to practice on ice after the February break, much earlier than anticipated.
Facing Livy at home became harder and harder. Acknowledging his feelings made them real, and the more he noticed them, the more they grew. Every touch. Every teasing remark. Every little act of service between them that had once been second nature became agony.
Keeping secrets from his best friends was torture. Livy constantly being on her phone, laughing and smiling at texts and memes from Lover and Jake, didn’t help.
His own phone had been unusually quiet, further proof that they were both slipping through his grasp.
He tried to avoid Livy, but that was worse than enduring her presence.
Sharing meals, snuggling in the evenings, and talking about their days together had become at once the source of all his pain and the only balm that soothed it.
The day the Freeze returned from their trip, he was full to bursting with nervous energy. He spent more time than his trainer recommended in the gym, trying to bike and lift away the anxiety.
Despite his reservations and the information he’d been keeping from Lover, Hazy still missed him. Being away from him was horrible. He should have been there. Should have been rooming in the suite between Lover and Beanie’s. Should have been winning games with them.
He wasn’t sure whether his injury or his fractured relationships were killing him more.
He finished his last set in the gym and checked in with his physical therapist before leaving the practice facility.
Relief filled him upon seeing Lover’s car in the driveway. He threw his car into park and jogged into the house.
“Hey!” he yelled in greeting.
He was welcomed home by the sight of his two best friends canoodling on the couch.
His ears rang and vision narrowed. Lover had Livy laid out in a way he hated to admit he’d daydreamed about.
Legs wrapped around Lover’s hips, hair splayed above her head, eyes closed, lips parted, cheeks pink enough to match her hair.
Lover’s hips were nestled between hers, one hand up her shirt, his lips pressed to the soft skin of her neck.
Fuck. He might be sick.
Lover ceased his movement against Livy at the sound of Hazy barging in. He dropped his head onto Livy’s shoulder and let out an irritated sigh. Pressure built in Hazy’s sinuses. Lover sat up, dragging Livy with him. He smirked at the dumbstruck expression Hazy failed to hide.
“Hey,” he said.
He stood and crossed the room to give Hazy a hug. Hazy sniffed to clear his sinuses, trying to hide any tell of his emotions while he hugged his best friend.
“I’m going out,” he said. “You guys can go back to... whatever it is you were doing.”
Lover let him go and said, “It’s pretty clear what we were doing.”
“Yeah. I got it.” It was a miracle his voice didn’t break.
Livy still sat on the couch, rearranging her clothing and running fingers through her mussed hair. He’d fixed her bangs earlier, and they were a mess again. Not his problem.
“Where are you going?” Livy asked. “I thought we had plans.”
“Change in plans,” Hazy said. “I’m going to meet Tiffany.”
Lover furrowed his brow. “Tiffany?”
“She’s one of his fuck buddies,” Livy provided context.
“You’re bailing on us to go get laid?” Lover asked, crestfallen.
“You’ll do fine on your own.” Hazy brushed past him toward his room.
“But I wanted cuddles,” Lover called after him.
“Cuddle your girlfriend,” Hazy answered.
He got dressed in jeans and a button-down, resigning himself to being uncomfortable. Then he left the house with nowhere to go.
Hazy drove listlessly for a long time before he remembered a lookout spot in his favorite park right outside the city.
As he stared at the water sparkling in the dark, it hit him that he deserved this.
How he was feeling now probably paled in comparison to how Livy had felt about him as a teenager.
Teenagers felt their feelings so much harder than adults who had years to learn how to cope.
And when she told him, he treated her like shit.
He was getting what he’d earned. And Livy was getting what she’d earned.
A kind, funny, beautiful boyfriend who treated her like a princess.
Lover would give her a happy life. He could take care of her as well as–if not better than–Hazy could.
He could give her as many kids as she wanted.
She would be able to have whatever career path she desired.
Hazy hadn’t had a full-blown meltdown in years, but he let himself cry. He let himself sob, and scream in frustration, and seethe with self-hatred until snot dripped faster than he could wipe it away. A dull ache formed in his temples, and still he cried. Until his tears ran out, he cried.
Then he called Tiffany.