Chapter Four
Briggs
"You're cranky," Ryan Clarke announces like he's making a royal proclamation, stepping up in front of me in the locker room. The rest of the team is spread out across the room in various states of undress, all gassed.
Practice was a bitch. No one has the energy to move, let alone shower. We definitely need it. The entire space smells like sweat and the faint tinge of ammonia. It's ripe.
I flick my gaze up at Ryan, one brow quirked. "So?"
"So, you're never cranky. We want to know what the fuck is up with you," he says, gesturing around the room at the rest of the team. They all carefully avoid my gaze, like they're trying not to get caught listening in.
Even Karsen, our captain, is studiously pretending to ignore us as he strips out of his gear.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, shaking my head. "I'm not cranky."
"You called Cale a dick on the ice today," Ryan says. "And you shoved Trent. You never do shit like that. What the fuck is up with you?"
It's an excellent question. It's also one I'm not sure I know how to answer. In the two weeks since Harlan's wedding, I've felt…off. Tia is constantly on my mind, slowly driving me mad. It's pissing me off that she's in another state, out of my reach.
I've tried to convince myself to let it go and forget the whole thing, but I can't. Every damn time I think about pretending she doesn't exist, an image of her floats through my mind, and I'm obsessing all over again.
I want her here, where I can get to her. I want her thinking about me the same damn way I'm thinking about her. I want her, dammit.
Instead, she's in Minneapolis, blissfully living her life. And I'm here, slowly losing my mind. I text her damn near every day, just to remind her that I still exist. It's usually the stupidest shit—like the weather, or some random, useless fact I've picked up. Anything to keep me in her mind.
Sometimes, when I can't resist, I remind her that I've been thinking about her—she looked beautiful in my dreams last night. I'm thinking about her in her wet dress.
She never responds. Truthfully, I think she probably blocked my ass the same day she blocked me on social media. But I keep texting anyway, hoping I'm wrong.
If she doesn't answer soon, even just to tell me to fuck off, I may do something drastic.
It's not helping that my mother was on my porch three days ago, demanding that I help her convince Hattie to forgive her. She actually said that I owe it to her for all the years she raised us.
I told her to get the hell off my property, but I doubt it's the last time I'll have to say it.
Without me footing her bills, she's frantic.
And that's the fucked-up part. She isn't apologetic.
She isn't sorry. She doesn't actually give a damn about any of us.
She just desperately needs access to the money I stopped sending her when I cut her off.
But she's the least of my problems right now.
Tia is the issue. Actually, it's the fact that Tia is out of reach that's the issue. I need an excuse to get her back to Chicago…and I've got nothing. Not a damn thing.
I glance at Ryan, contemplating. He's the last person I should be asking for advice, but fuck it.
"I met someone," I mutter.
He slow blinks at me, like I just announced that I'm quitting hockey to become an astronaut. "You met someone," he finally repeats. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
"It means I think I met my future wife," I say. I'm fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds when we haven't even spoken since Harlan's wedding. That should be a sign to leave her the hell alone, right? Wrong. The thought of us together won't dislodge from my brain.
She's the one. I feel it in my fucking bones.
"Not you, too," Ryan groans. "I swear to Christ, your family should be studied for science, man. You guys are dropping like flies."
"What's the problem?" Karsen asks, shooting Ryan a death glare before carefully removing his pads.
"She lives in Minneapolis," I mutter. "It's pissing me off that she isn't here."
"You could just invite her to visit like a normal person," Ryan says, stifling laughter.
"Gee, why didn't I think of that?" I ask sarcastically. "Oh, right. Because she'd rather get hit by a train than willingly deal with me."
"Glad I'm not the only one."
"If he beats you to death with his skate, that's a you problem," Cale Vaught mutters from across the room, shaking his head at Ryan.
I glance down at my skate and then at Ryan. "The skate is too important to waste bashing in brains that don't even exist."
Ryan blanches, earning a ripple of laughter from our teammates. "Man, fuck all of you. I'm a genius."
"Said no one ever," Madden Reyes mutters under his breath, earning a snort from Karsen. Ryan is a lot of things, like a goddamn terrorist in skates and an excellent friend, but genius absolutely isn't on the list. The man never takes anything seriously. He needs a handler.
"Who is she?" Trent Kirk asks, curiosity in his voice as he unlaces his skates.
I hesitate, not sure I want to tell them, not because she's a secret but because she's Kingston's sister. The hockey world isn't that fucking big. "Tia Monroe."
"Kingston Monroe's sister?" he asks, right on cue.
I jerk my chin in a nod, leaning back against my locker.
Trent whistles. "She does not like hockey players."
Fuck my life. How is this common knowledge to everyone except me? Did she put out a damn ad in the paper or something? How do they all know?
And why doesn't she like hockey players?
I've Googled her enough for the damn protection order to write itself at this point, but I've yet to find anything to explain why she doesn't like hockey players.
She attends Kingston's games. There's nothing to explain her dislike—no sordid gossip, no info on an asshole ex who broke her heart, nothing.
And yet, I saw the panic on her face when I told her I was after more than a wedding hookup.
That kind of reaction doesn't come from some minor dislike or irritation.
It's forged into your bones like armor. Someone hurt her badly enough to leave trauma behind…
and I'm fucking guessing whoever he was, he's the reason she doesn't date hockey players.
"So I've heard," I mutter, scowling at the emblem on the floor.
"Doesn't she work at some charity?" Ryan asks.
"Yeah."
"There's your answer."
I lift my gaze to him, my stare blank.
"Jesus Christ. Do I have to think of everything around here?"
"If you thought at all, it'd be a miracle," Colt Brisbane says, deadpan.
Ryan ignores him, even though half the team nods their agreement.
"She works for a charity. You're an athlete.
What do charities need? Money. What do athletes have?
Money, and access to other people with money.
" He rolls his eyes, yanking his practice jersey off over his head.
"Get her boss on the phone, tell them that you're interested in working with them, but you can only do it here, and you'll only work with Tia. Problem solved."
The entire locker room is dead silent, everyone staring at Ryan like he just grew a second head. That might be the smartest shit he's ever said.
"Jesus Christ," Colt whispers, "he isn't as dumb as he looks."
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you bastards," Ryan says, rotating in a circle with his middle finger in the air when the entire room breaks into raucous laughter. "But just remember why I'm the best man when he chooses me over the rest of you useless dicks."
I'm absolutely not choosing him as my best man, but I might name our future child after him if his plan actually works.
It's genius. Simple and genius.
Chicago in the middle of winter is a beast. Minneapolis is another thing entirely. It's so fucking cold when I step out of the hotel, my balls instantly shrivel, retreating into my body like they're fleeing for their lives.
I briefly consider turning right back around and going back to my room. But then I remember the look on Tia's face when she walked away at the airport, and my resolve hardens.
She's had three weeks of peace. I'm beyond ready to ruin it. And thanks to Ryan and her boss, I've got a foolproof plan. Delivering the news in person is just an added bonus.
I hop into the Uber idling on the curb, sighing as soon as a blast of warm air hits me.
"Uh, hey. You really are Briggs Ward," the driver says, looking startled. Drivers usually are, as if they can't believe athletes catch rides, too. It's amusing, honestly.
People treat us like we're a foreign species and never know how to react when we do normal people shit like catch a ride or go to a "normal" restaurant or shop. But we have the same needs as anyone else. And right now, I need a ride.
"Hey. Do you know where Hearthstone Endowment is located?" I ask him, stretching out in the backseat of his SUV. "It's a nonprofit in the city. That's where I'm headed."
"Uh…yeah," he says, curiosity in his gaze as it flicks over me in the rearview. "Yeah, I can get you there."
"Perfect." I settle in, closing my eyes. Almost immediately, an image of Tia forms behind my eyelids. Christ, I never knew it was possible to miss someone you barely know until her. But I miss the hell out of her.
Does she miss me? Has she been thinking about me? I fucking hope I'm haunting her the same way she's been haunting me.
And I hope like hell that she loses it a little when she sees me today. I want her off balance. I want her a little bit desperate. And I absolutely want her to know that I'm willing to play dirty to get what I want from her.
Whatever she thinks she knows about me is wrong.
It takes half an hour to get to Hearthstone, a newer construction in Downtown West. The building is modest compared to some of the others beside it, with a small courtyard out front. In the summer, it's probably beautiful. In midwinter, it's frozen over, nothing but a blanket of snow and ice.
I hop out of the Uber, thanking the driver.
"No problem, man," he says, beaming at me when I hand over a sizeable tip. He passes me a card in exchange. "You ever need another ride when you're in town, hit me up."
"I'll do that," I say, shoving the card into my pocket before glancing up at the building again. My heart is already going wild, just knowing she's somewhere on the other side of all that steel and glass. And even better? She has no fucking clue that I'm coming for her.