Chapter 20
. . .
Silas
“She didn’t take the pill, did she?”
Mason’s question comes the second I push through the locker room door, wearing a grin wider than the Grand fucking Canyon.
“Silas,” Will chides, sidling up next to Mason. “This is not the time to hold out on us. Did she take the pill or not?”
“Are you an idiot, William?” Tristan joins the conversation, scrubbing at the back of his head with a towel. He motions to my face. “Cap’s smile says it all.”
Before confirming what my teammates are desperate to know, I quirk a brow at Tristan. “Why do you look like you just showered? You’re supposed to take one after practice.”
“Yes, Tris.” Will taps Tristan’s temple. “Only idiots shower before practice.”
Tristan looks smug, tossing his towel into a laundry basket. “Just finished up an extra conditioning session before you lazy asses got here.” He flexes his right bicep. “No pain, no gain.”
Totally ignoring his teammate, Will sets his attention back on me. “Are we all going to be uncles or not?”
I want to roll my eyes at him, but I can’t. I’m too fucking happy for that. “She didn’t take the pill.”
Will holds his fist out for me to bump. I reciprocate, but shake my head in warning.
“There are no guarantees. If she’s pregnant, then it’ll be amazing.”
“And if she isn’t?” Mason asks.
My smile falters. “Regardless of whether she’s pregnant or not, we aren’t officially dating. Vesper wants to develop our friendship and see where it takes us.”
Will rubs the back of his head. “So, what’s your plan of action?”
Folding my arms across my chest, I can still sense the hum of electricity as it fizzed between us last night. The feel of her soft skin as I kissed below her ear, the way her breath hitched and her fingers curled around the bar top when I whispered into her ear. That’s not the reaction of a friend.
“If she’s pregnant, I’m going to be everything she wants and needs and then wait for her to fall in love with me.”
“And if she isn’t?” Mason questions.
“I’m still going to be everything she wants and needs and then wait for her to fall in love with me.”
Tristan tosses his head toward the ceiling, his sarcastic laughter rumbling around our group.
“What’s so funny?” Will asks, agitated.
He continues laughing, and now I’m growing impatient.
“I must be the only guy on this team who isn’t a fucking simp for a girl.
” He points to Mason first. “You literally mention Eloise every ten minutes, even though she’s escaped to France.
” Next, Tristan motions to Will. “You’ve made Drew Callaghan your entire personality.
I mean, you almost sacrificed your hockey career for her.
Unfortunately, I still have to tolerate your sorry ass.
” Lastly, he tips his chin at me. “And you’re ready to lay it all down for your brother’s ex-girlfriend who may or may not be pregnant with your child and may or may not love you one day. ”
“You done?” Mason snipes.
Tristan just shrugs. “I’m calling it as I see it. Pretty much every marriage ends in divorce and—”
“My parents are still married,” Will tosses back. “Years later, they’re still going strong.”
Tristan turns to Mason. “What about you, Mase? Parents still together?”
Mason grinds his molars. “What’s up your ass today?”
“Are they still together?” Tristan repeats.
“No,” Mason confirms, an unmistakable bite to his tone.
I wince on Tristan’s behalf. Mason didn’t tell him, but his dad died when he was in college.
Next, Tristan turns to Will. “I know the deal with your parents. And my parents can’t even sit opposite each other at Christmas.
” He throws his hands in the air. “So, what’s the point?
Out of the four of us, only William ‘Everything Is Fucking Perfect’ Jones’s parents are still going strong.
If you ask me, relationships are a waste of fucking time and energy. ”
With that, Tristan spins on his heel and makes for his bench on the other side of the room.
Will thumbs over his shoulder. “Now do you see what I mean? That guy is a fucking asshole with a bad attitude.” He scoffs and walks back to his bench, where he starts getting padded up.
Mason scrubs a hand over his jaw, deep in thought. Tristan was out of order back there. Everyone knows my defenseman is going through heartbreak over Eloise, and that shit must’ve cut, never mind the painful reminder about his dad.
“You okay, man?” I ask, setting a firm palm on Mason’s shoulder.
He clears his throat, but doesn’t say anything.
“Stanton, you got a minute? Assistant Coach Richards is going to oversee the first part of practice.” Coach Callaghan’s gruff voice grabs my attention.
Dressed in black track pants and a black Rogues hoodie, his dirty-blond hair curls around the edges of his white ball cap, the guy does not look impressed.
“Sure, Coach,” I reply, eyes flicking to Mason.
“Any idea what he wants?” Mason inquires, searching through his training bag.
I really want to ask him the latest on Eloise since he’s been so fucking quiet about it all, despite Tristan claiming that he brings her up “every ten minutes.”
I opt to keep quiet about it—the locker rooms aren’t the place for this conversation.
“Not a clue,” I eventually reply. “Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s an invite to Thanksgiving.”
A few minutes later, I’m sitting in front of a sour-faced coach, mentally trawling through my last few performances on the ice. They’ve all been pretty good.
So, why does he look so concerned?
“Thanks for ducking out of practice to speak with me,” Coach says, his voice friendlier than I anticipated. “There are a couple of items I wanted to go over with you that I didn’t think could wait.”
Coach is about to get into it when there’s a knock on his office door.
Theo Cavendish, owner of the Rogues, walks into the room without being invited. I assume he knew about this meeting as he takes a seat on the black leather couch set along the right wall behind me.
I swivel my chair so I can see Coach sitting behind his desk and the British billionaire with black hair and steely-gray eyes. Theo undoes the button on his dark gray suit jacket and crosses one leg over at the knee.
As always, he looks cocky and relaxed and barely gives either of us eye contact.
He isn’t the sole owner of the Rogues, but he does own the majority of the shareholding, making him predominantly the guy who calls the shots.
From his presence alone, I know this meeting just stepped up a gear.
Theo motions at Coach to continue, and I turn back to him.
For a split second, he keeps his eyes set on the owner before he clears his throat and focuses on the paperwork spread out on the desk below him.
“You’ve held the C since the Rogues were formed, Silas, so I won’t stress over how important it is that meetings like this one right here remain confidential until an official team statement is made.”
Oh. Shit.
“Denver Smith was officially transferred to the AHL team this morning, following the acquisition of Rhys Sharpe from the Toronto Bears.”
Theo could not look happier with himself.
I have no idea how the trade of Rhys Sharpe went through since Toronto is a high-flying team and we’re struggling by comparison, but if anyone can negotiate a deal, it’s this guy wearing a smirk.
With British roots and old money laced throughout his history, I know he possesses sway and persuasion beyond anything I’ve seen before in modern-day sports.
The guy intimidates even me, and that’s saying something since I’ve met a lot of influential people in my life, but none more mysterious than Theo.
All that said, Denver’s departure to the farm team won’t land as a surprise to anyone.
“I wish Denver all the best. He’s a great guy,” I eventually respond.
Theo scoffs at my reaction, but still doesn’t say a word.
Coach shifts in his chair. “Moving on to the second matter at hand. Tristan Vaughn. We have made the difficult decision to hand the alternate captaincy to Will Jones. Tristan has fallen out of favor with the fans, and his performances are making it increasingly hard to justify giving him significant ice time. We appreciate it’s early in the season, but we can’t risk the positive start we’ve made, and we feel playing Tristan regularly is sending the wrong message to the team. ”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Does he know yet?”
“Yes.” Theo joins the conversation. “It wasn’t received well, but frankly, I don’t reward mediocrity, and Tristan is fortunate to be still playing pro hockey.”
Even if this guy didn’t have an upper-class British accent, he’d still sound full of himself.
That would explain Tristan’s mood earlier in the locker room.
“Will isn’t aware of our decision as yet. We wanted to clue you in before dropping the news to him and the team.”
Unlike the owner, Coach is a good guy with a difficult past in his own pro hockey career. I can tell from his eyes that he doesn’t relish blowing Tristan’s world apart today.
Under the impression that the meeting is over, I rise from my chair.
“One last thing before you go, Silas.”
I sit back down, convinced this is about Vesper, even though my personal life has nothing to do with the Rogues, unless it affects my performance.
“Mason James.”
Double shit.
“What about him?” I play dumb.
Theo stands from the couch. His build and stature scream of an ex–pro hockey player, but ice hockey isn’t a big deal back in the UK. The guy is from an aristocratic background, which would explain all of his fucking money.
“I bumped into him in the hallway the other day and smelled booze. Specifically whiskey.”
Fuck me, Mason.
“Are you aware of whether he has a drinking issue? I know his marriage recently broke down, so he’s undoubtedly stressed.”
My eyes immediately track to Coach. For years, he played with—and successfully hid—an alcohol addiction. If anyone can empathize and cut Mason a break at this moment, it’s him.
“I personally haven’t picked up on anything concerning, Theo, but I can speak to him when we get the chance.”
Satisfied, Theo nods once, but says nothing to either of us, leaving the room in the cold manner he entered it.
I need to get out of here, get on the ice, and then head over to see my girl.
“Silas?” Coach speaks, sensing my imminent departure.
I turn to him, pissed off at the way my teammates have been treated.
We might not be the best team in the league, but we’ve cleaned up our act a lot over the past couple of seasons, and much of that is down to consistent ice time from both Tristan and Mason.
Throwing them under the bus doesn’t feel very captain-like of me, and if Theo expected me to sell out Mason, then he was sorely mistaken.
I’m too long in the tooth and I have been through enough difficulties in my life to start handing out more shit to people who are already buried knee deep in issues.
“Yeah?”
Arms folded across his chest, he blows out a long sigh. “Is Mason okay to be on the ice? I’m asking from a safeguarding perspective.”
I don’t give him eye contact, rising from my chair and making for the exit. “He’s safe. But I’ll speak to him when there aren’t any prying ears around.”