Chapter 22
“Leaving early again, Hendricks?” Brooks asks as I skate past him toward the locker room.
“Yeah, I’ve got something I need to do.”
Namely, watching Laura’s audition. It’s in less than two hours, and I’ve got a forty-five-minute drive ahead of me, so if I don’t leave in the next twenty minutes, I’m screwed.
I pull off my helmet as I head toward the exit, only to see Brooks and Alex exchange looks with each other.
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry, boys. It’s drugs, I promise.”
“Oh, we know.” Alex elbows Brooks as they follow behind me. “Ten bucks says it’s one of the single moms at the rink. Would explain why he’s always on the ice.”
Should’ve known they wouldn’t let me off the hook so easily. After their little ‘intervention’ yesterday, they’ve been trying to figure out who Erik was alluding to when he said I had a girl. Not that he knows. I’ve kept it a big secret this time.
“It can’t be. Coach said he was on the ice close to midnight yesterday. There’s no way a single mom with a kid will make time for that, no matter how famous his dimples are.”
I don’t respond. I just make my way to the exit.
“I think it’s one of the new ice girls. He has a girl here… one who can clearly skate. Has to be one of them.”
As I push the door open, I hear Erik say, “Scotty’s not fucking an ice girl. Believe me. Lydia has tries to murder me when I so much as look in their direction. Scotty’s not getting anywhere near them.”
“Are you sure that’s not just because it’s you?” Alex asks, but I don’t hang around for the answer. Instead, I head straight for the showers, taking the quickest one of my life. I don’t have time to waste.
With my towel secured around my waist, I walk over to my locker and pull it open.
That’s when I see them on the top shelf, directly at my eye level.
My gloves.
The ones I wore last night.
The ones that I fucked Laura with while she gasped my name and shook against the boards.
Shit.
I adjust the towel tighter around my waist, trying to hide the way my cock twitches at the memory, but it doesn’t stop the heat crawling up my spine as every detail comes to the forefront.
The way she looked at me like she wanted me to ruin her…
The way she cried out when I curled my fingers inside her…
How fucking tight she was around the glove…
And if I don’t stop replaying this shit right now, it’s going to be hard to walk out of here without everyone seeing.
I snatch the gloves, turn them over in my hands, and I know with absolute certainty that I’m never going to wash these babies. They’re coming home with me and going in a drawer somewhere safe as a reminder that she’s mine.
Finally fucking mine.
The thought hits me harder than I expect, and I actually have to take a second to process it.
Inhale.
Let’s pretend I’m not two seconds from losing it over a pair of gloves.
I stuff the gloves in my bag and pull my phone out, checking to see if Laura sent me a message.
Nothing.
Just the text I sent her this morning:
Scotty: Good luck today, Princess. You’re going to be incredible.
I didn’t expect a response from her, but I guess I just wanted a hint into how she’s feeling. She’s probably a nervous wreck, running through her routine in her head, second-guessing everything, which is exactly why I want to be there.
To support her…like a boyfriend would.
Yeah, I know we haven’t technically had that ‘talk’ yet, but Laura doesn’t seem like the kind of girl that would let just anyone suck on her nipples while finger-fucking her senseless with gloves. We’re together, she just hasn’t had the time to admit it to herself yet.
I yank on my jeans and hoodie, not bothering with anything else, grateful Coach McKibbon let me leave early without asking questions. He probably felt sorry for me when he saw the dumbass look on my face. Hard to look normal when all I’m thinking about is Laura.
Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if Professor Foster told him how I begged her to keep Laura’s grade tied to mine so she wouldn’t lose credits after the birthday disaster. I worked overtime to make sure we held that A, even after she dropped out.
Would definitely explain the way he was staring at me today.
Throwing the bag over my shoulder, I step into the hallway and freeze.
Fuck.
When I hear the unmistakable sound of Jerry talking to someone outside, I know I’m in trouble.
No. They can’t be here. Not today.
The entire production crew has set up in the hallway outside the locker room. There are lights and cameras everywhere, and Jerry is talking to his assistant producer, Dan, about something.
“Jerry?” My voice comes out flat. “What are you doing here?”
“Scotty! Hey! We’re here for filming. Don’t you remember? We booked this with you a few months back.”
I shake my head, even though my stomach sinks. I kinda remember an email with dates I agreed to… and zero memory of actually writing them anywhere.
Fuck. I’m an idiot.
“Are you allowed to film here? I thought you guys didn’t have the rights?”
It’s basically why this whole season’s been quiet. Dad didn’t want to start anything without approvals, and it made him way more careful about my time with the team. I haven’t filmed a single thing since preseason, and now saying no feels crappy when the whole crew’s waiting.
“We managed to get special permission from the athletic director as long as we didn’t film gameplay. It should only take an hour or so.”
An hour.
I’ll miss her entire audition by then.
Disappointment racks through my bones because I’m not sure how I can get out of this.
“Scotty, my boy!” Dad's voice booms as he pushes through the equipment.
He pulls me into a hug, and I force myself to return it even though every muscle in my body is screaming at me to run.
“Thanks for doing this. Jerry told me the audience loved Amelia's campus tour so much, they wanted to see more of you in your element.”
“That’s great, Dad.”
I’m trying to form my words, but my dad speaks before I can.
“I was thinking we could start with you walking us to your dorm,” my dad interrupts. “Then maybe have some dinner with your roommates.”
“It sounds great, Dad, but—”
“If dinner doesn’t sound good, we could always go bowling.”
“I can’t. I’m busy,” I say quickly, immediately regretting it.
That was rude of me, and I can’t remember the last time I spoke to my father like that.
Dad’s smile falters for a second, and that’s when the regret really settles in. Why does disappointing my father feel like I’m telling a golden retriever that he’s never going for a walk again?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that, but I have somewhere I need to be.”
My cheeks are burning from regret, and a little embarrassment over the fact that the first time I’ve said no to my father is because of Laura.
Dad's eyes narrow, then widen, and suddenly that megawatt smile is back, even brighter. “Wait a minute.” He leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice like we're sharing some big secret. “It's a girl, isn't it?”
“A-a girl?”
Shit, why do I make everything so obvious?
“Scotty, that's fantastic! This is exactly what you need—you've been so focused on hockey and school, I was starting to worry you weren't having any fun. Is it someone from class? From the team? Oh!” His face lights up even more, if that's possible.
“Did you hear Carrie and Amelia are planning to enroll at Covey U together? You know, I always thought you two had great chemistry. Remember at Christmas when you helped her with her skating? Your mother and I were just saying—”
“Dad.” I can feel my jaw clenching. “It's not Carrie.”
“No?” He looks genuinely confused. “But she's such a sweet girl, and you two have known each other since—”
“What is with everyone thinking I'm into Carrie?” The frustration bleeds through.
Erik chooses that moment to appear, still in his practice gear, shaking his head. “No one thinks you're into Carrie, Hendricks. It’s all based on how she looks at you…and what she says in the confessionals.” He pauses and raises an eyebrow as he takes me in. “Don’t you watch your own show?”
“No? That would be—” I stop. “Wait, what does she say in the confessionals?”
“Oh, nothing bad!” Dad jumps in, still smiling. “She's very complimentary. Talks about what a gentleman you are, how you're different from other guys your age.”
“It’s actually really good television,” Jerry interrupts even though no one asked him.
Am I still salty at him for recording Laura? Yeah, and I don’t think that will go away.
“If you have a new love—”
“No.” I cut Jerry off, my voice hard. “Absolutely not. I’m not doing any more storylines for this show.”
“Scotty—” Dad starts, confused.
“I’m not,” I insist. “I'm not letting another birthday incident happen. Not with—” I stop myself before I say her name.
There's a beat of silence.
“Birthday incident?” Dad's brow furrows, and I can see him genuinely trying to understand. “What are you talking about?”
I wince with my eyes closed. I shouldn’t have been so open. The most Dad knows about it is the bad lighting.
“Did something happen at your birthday?”
I don’t answer, and seemingly no one else does either.
“I thought it was just a lighting issue.”
Sighing, I run a hand across my face and realize this is the time I need to be honest with him. “No, Dad. It was more than that. Much more than that. You’d know that if you’d…”
I trail off, not wanting to get too deep into a conversation with him since the entire crew and Erik are still standing around.
Come to think of it, why aren’t they recording this?
“If I what?”
“Wasn’t so obsessed with the show.”
Erik takes in a sharp breath.
Fuck. Did I just say that?
“Am I obsessed?” he asks, looking between us with furrowed brows.
“Yes,” Jerry and I say it at the same time.
My dad physically steps back.
“But I thought you liked it?” he asks.