3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Trey
I run my hand through my hair for the second time, trying to tease my locks just enough to look effortless.
Usually, I love my mornings no matter where I am.
It’s one of those constants in my life that grounds me, even when I’m across the country, and makes me feel a semblance of normalcy, because my life is chaotic most of the time.
I probably spend three months out of the year at my condo back in Miami.
Which I have only because Mandy suggested I invest in property— even if I wasn’t going to be spending time there because the value would only go up.
And when I was ready to settle down— because she swears one day I’m going to, even though I tell her all the time that’s probably not going to happen—I could easily move back in or sell it for a premium and buy a really nice place.
But honestly, being home is weird. I’m not there long enough to be comfortable, and hopping from hotel to hotel can get kind of stressful, too, so I’ve learned that as long as I keep some things routine—primarily my mornings—I feel better.
Mentally. Physically. Which, in order to do my fucking job, I need to be on like a spotlight.
But today, I don’t feel good. I am nervous as hell, and I know I shouldn’t be.
It’s just the guys for God’s sake. It’s not like I’m meeting the love of my life or some shit.
But who knows? Maybe I will. Maybe after Austen’s shindig, we can all head out to a club like we used to and I will meet someone.
Or not. Knowing my luck. I don’t know when I turned into the perpetually single guy, considering I’m “Book Boyfriend Material,” according to Mandy. I think she reads too many romance novels, but I digress.
And of course, as if she can sense my disdain states away, that’s the moment my phone rings with the familiar melody of Jack Harlow’s “First Class” . I groan as he continues to spell glamorous, and get to the R before I pick up—she won’t quit until I do.
She’s speaking before I can.
“Thanks for calling to let me know you got there, asshole,” she drawls.
I sigh, knowing it’s no use avoiding the obvious.
“You know, you’re starting to sound like my mother.” I put her on speaker and set the phone down as I lean my head, trying to see how my hair falls.
It’s flat. Fuck.
I spray another puff of mousse in my palm as she chastises me.
“Oh good, does that mean you’ll make me your secondary beneficiary?” she taunts.
I roll my eyes.
“You wish.” I mean, we both know Mandy doesn’t need anyone’s money considering she makes more than I do, but athletes are way more enticed to sign with a company when you have a knockout like Amanda Carvalli batting her eyelashes and showing off her perfect tits.
My pecs are nice, but I can’t hold a candle to the smokeshow that is Mandy.
Most of my co-workers think we’re dating, and we don’t correct them, because what’s the harm?
In this business, everything’s about your image and what you’re selling—it doesn’t matter what the truth is as long as the lie is pretty enough to make you money.
Pretending to be with me means the creepy assholes at corporate events leave her alone—which I’m glad to help with if that’s what it takes for her to get some peace.
Though sometimes I think Mandy takes her pretend role a little too seriously. I swear, if we were actually dating, she’d drive me fucking insane.
Who am I kidding? She already does.
But despite how it might look, I don’t feel any attraction to Mandy, and I never have. Our relationship has been and always will be one hundred percent platonic.
Sometimes I wonder if Hudson knows we work together, considering she’s his stepsister.
I won’t ask because I don’t want to sound weird or like I’m prying.
She knows we went to college together and played on the same team, and I’d be lying if I said being friends with her didn’t feel like, in some strange way, that I am still friends with him.
Even if he hasn’t spoken to me in years—and apparently doesn’t speak to her either. Six degrees of separation and all.
“Boo. You suck,” she says with a sarcastic laugh. “At least leave me the condo.”
“I’ll think about it if you stop tracking my every move like a stalker.”
She laughs, then her voice turns soft.
“You see the guys yet?”
It’s the delicate way she asks, like she wants to know, but doesn’t want to press.
Which is hilarious considering Mandy loves to pry when it comes to my life.
Maybe she’s just having an off day. I think I’m her favorite source of entertainment, even though I don’t consider my life entertaining in the least.
“Alex’s game is in an hour, and I need to get going. My hair’s not cooperating.”
Mandy chuckles. “Awww you want to look pretty for your boyfriends, Trey?”
“Fuck off,” I bite, but even I can’t hide the humor in my voice. “I just… I have an image to uphold.”
She sighs, and I think she’s going to give me shit like usual, but instead, she says, “I’m sure you look fine.”
I growl in frustration as my hair falls flat again.
“I don’t want to look fine. I want to look like someone who has their fucking life together.”
There’s silence on the phone, and I realize how shitty that sounds, but before I can apologize for being self deprecating, she speaks.
“You do have your life together. More than I do.” I feel like shit the moment I hear the sadness in her voice. “At least you have friends, Trey.”
“You have friends,” I say as I abandon my hair and focus on spraying myself with cologne. “You have me.”
She lets out an annoyed laugh. “Yeah, and Jose.”
“Your vibrator doesn’t count, Mandy.” I sigh. “What about that guy you were seeing? Romeo or whatever.”
“Yeah, about that…”
I hear the disdain in her voice. I check my watch. I need to get moving.
“Romeo has found his Juliet in another coffin,” she drawls.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Dating sucks. I swear it’s next to impossible for me, but Mandy? Shit, if she can’t find someone, there’s no hope for any of us.
“Yeah, think I’m going to change careers and become a nun.”
I laugh. “I don’t think you can take Jose to the convent.”
“Fuck you,” she says with a genuine laugh. “Just for that, I’m leaving him to you in my will.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Gross.”
“Promise me something,” she says, her voice going soft again.
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll have fun this weekend. With the guys and…” There’s a heavy pause before she adds, “Hudson. He could use a friend.”
The way she says his name is full of guilt and concern. It makes me pay attention.
“Is everything—”
“I gotta go,” she says. “I have someone coming to the table.”
I hear the click, and sigh, shutting off my phone screen.
I slide it into my back pocket and take a final look in the mirror.
My hair looks like shit, but I don’t have any more time to fuss with it, so I get my shit together and head for the subway.
The entire way to the Madison Square Garden, my heart beats like a fucking drum.
My stomach flips, and I am seriously reconsidering the cup of coffee I had this morning.
I’m the first one to the arena to pick up the tickets, but Mack shows up five minutes after me.
“Mackenzie!” I can’t help but smile wide as I move to give him a hug as he grunts out a “Hey.”
I give him a good look over, noting he’s wearing Alex’s jersey, but I guess that’s not surprising considering I heard he helped rehab him while he was out on injury last year. I caught the story on ESPN during one of my late hotel nights.
Andre and Paul arrive next, together, and we spend the next couple minutes catching up before Mack reminds us we need to get to our seats.
I look past Andre at the doors.
“Should we wait for Hudson?”
Paul shrugs. “He said he was leaving this morning, but I haven’t heard from him.”
“Should someone text him?” Andre asks.
Mack shrugs.
“We can text him from our seats.” I don’t miss Mack’s nervous tone. Maybe I’m not the only guy anxious about this meet-up. That makes me feel slightly better.
I shove it down and nod, letting Mack lead the way.
Andre and Paul hang back, chatting amongst themselves.
Mack doesn’t say much, and neither do I.
It doesn’t take long to find our seats, and I make a mental note to thank Alex because we are behind the fucking glass, which is awesome.
The guys are already out on the ice doing warm ups.
I debate texting the group chat, but at the last minute text Hudson privately, so the guys won’t be distracted during the game if he texts back.
Trey
At our seats. Text when you get here and I’ll meet you with your ticket.
I don’t expect a text back immediately, but that’s what I get.
Hudson
Stuck in traffic.
Not sure I’m going to make the game.
Trey
Don’t sweat it if you can’t. Just text me when you get here. We’ll find ya.
The lights dim, letting us know the game’s about to start. I catch Mack’s glance to my phone.
“Everything okay?” he asks carefully.
I nod.
“Yeah. Hudson says he’s stuck in traffic,” I say, my heart still beating like a freight train. “Might not make it.”
“That sucks.”
I nod, unsure what else to say, and feeling disappointed. But when the Rioters come out, I shove aside all my disappointment and focus on the game from the best seats in the house. Though all I can think about is Hudson, and how I hope he’s okay.
Toward the end of the second period, I get a text from Hudson saying he’s made it to his hotel and he’s on his way—just as Alex scores a goal and the crowd roars. Mack hollers as Andre and Paul excitedly jump up and down, and I can’t help but smile. Alex turns to look at us with the biggest grin.
This… this is what I miss more than anything. Just being in the fucking moment and not constantly on the go.