Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
West
I sleep most of the flight to Minneapolis since Serena and I were up half the night.
I try not to do that during the season but one thing led to another, and once we had our talk about continuing to spend time together, I couldn’t keep my hands—and other body parts—off of her.
She was still fast asleep when I left. On her stomach, hair fanned out around her, one hand tucked under the pillow.
She looked so beautiful lying there in my bed it was almost impossible to leave her.
But I had to, and as I shake off sleep, I realize we’re about to land.
“Long night?” Bodi asks as I rub my eyes.
“Kinda.” I smile lazily.
He chuckles. “Same. Being away for a week is going to suck. We just found our groove with Lindy and everything.”
“You guys will be fine.”
“It’s kind of nice that Jayne won’t be alone in that big house,” he says quietly. “It’s good for her and Lindy to have company.”
“Yeah, that occurred to me too. I mean, Serena’s used to living alone, but I think it’ll be good for both of them. Especially if there’s more bad weather.”
“Yeah.”
“So…is this serious? With you and Serena?”
“I haven’t even known her a week!” I protest.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Don’t be a douche,” I mutter. “A week, man. That’s no time at all.”
“She’s currently living in your house.”
“She’s not living there!” I protest. “It’s just temporary, until she gets electricity back at her place.”
“You’re paying for her car repairs.”
“It’s a loan!”
He nods solemnly. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” I demand in frustration.
He smiles. “I see a guy fighting something for all he’s worth.”
“I’m not fighting anything.”
“No?” He shrugs. “Okay.”
“It’s barely been a week,” I repeat. “You think I should just propose?”
He chuckles. “No. But why not admit you like her?”
“Of course, I like her. She wouldn’t be in my house, sleeping in my bed, and driving my car if I didn’t like her. You didn’t ask if I liked her—you asked if it was serious. It’s not the same thing.”
“Fine. I’ll concede that point. Are things going well? Do you think there’s a possibility that it will get serious?”
Christ.
That’s not a question I want to answer.
“The truth is that neither of us are looking for that. She’s focused on her kid and I’m…
” I stop talking because the truth is, I’m running out of excuses.
What am I waiting for? My broken heart is healed.
I get twinges now and then when I think about Briar but it’s been over a year.
She’s moved on and though I’m being cautious, it’s time for me to move on too.
“Look, I’m the last guy to push you into something you’re either not ready for or not interested in, but she seems great. Why not give it a chance?”
“I am,” I say quietly. “I’m just trying not to jump in with both feet.”
“I think that ship has sailed, my friend. You’re into her. And I’m going to assume the chemistry is hot.”
“I’m not talking about that,” I mutter, “but yeah—super hot.”
“It’s the kid, right? You don’t want to get attached to another kid that’s going to be ripped away from you if things don’t work out.”
The problem with having friends is that they know you too well. And he sees right through my bullshit.
“I’m trying to work through it,” I say finally.
“I like her. We have a ton in common. She’s sweet and beautiful and sexy.
From the outside looking in, there’s no reason not to get serious.
But we both know things aren’t always that simple.
That’s all. We’re both being cautious because neither of us wants to be hurt again.
Her ex did a number on her, abandoning her and the kid. ”
“Douche.”
“Exactly. And I don’t want to be another guy in her life who lets her down.”
“I don’t think that’s who you are, but I get it.”
“Thanks for…listening.”
He nods. “Any time, bro.”
Then he puts his headphones back on and leaves me to my thoughts.
I hate playing in Minneapolis. Not only is it cold and snowy all the fucking time, I also despise a player named Anthony DeMarco.
He’s one of their defensemen and we’ve been rivals since Major Juniors.
He’s just one of those guys that irritates everybody, both on and off the ice.
He talks shit all the time, even when there’s no reason to, and he’s had more than one altercation with members of the teams he’s been on.
Rumor has it, no one likes him. He’s effective on the ice, no doubt about that, but from what I’ve seen and heard, teams pay a price for the negativity he brings to the locker room.
Although no one but my agent and the owner of the Thunder know this, one of the conditions of my signing with the team was that DeMarco would not be picked up in the draft or traded for in the first two seasons.
That’s how much I dislike the guy.
Thankfully, I’m in a position where I have that kind of power, and now that I’m captain, I do my best to be a good role model. To show the higher-ups that I’m worthy of both the C on my jersey and the condition I set.
Last time we played in Minneapolis, DeMarco was out with an injury, but he’s playing tonight and I’m not looking forward to being on the ice with him.
He tends to go after goalies, especially the Russians.
I don’t know what his problem is, but Vik isn’t just a teammate now—he’s my roommate and my friend.
So, I won’t tolerate any of that nonsense.
The warmup starts like any other. Minneapolis goes out first and then we come out a few minutes later.
We circle our half of the ice, getting our feet under us, shooting a few pucks, giving the goalies a little exercise as well.
Since Vik is playing tonight, Simon’s in net during the warmup, and Vik is near the bench, stretching.
He’s one of the most limber guys I’ve ever met.
He can do a full split, both with and without his equipment on.
Handstands. He said he was a gymnast as a child, before he discovered hockey, so I love watching him move sometimes.
I’m just about to grab some water when I spot DeMarco. He has his usual smarmy smirk on his face and he’s standing by the boards, laughing with a couple of his teammates. They appear to be eyeing Vik, who’s down in one of his splits, legs apart, face almost touching the ice.
“Ladies like it when you do that, Maslak?” DeMarco calls out. “Or you prefer guys?”
Vik, to his credit, ignores him.
“What’s the matter, Rusky? Your Commie friends got your tongue?”
The league has strict rules about racial slurs—slurs of any kind really—but there are no refs, no coaches, no one to report it to.
And that cock sucker knows it, which is why he’s running his mouth.
However, I do have an ace in the hole. One of our equipment managers is out by the bench, getting ready for the game, and I skate over to him.
“Hey, Seth,” I say quietly. “Do me a favor.”
“Sure, Cap. What do you need?”
I lean forward and make sure my voice is as low as possible. “DeMarco is out there talking shit. You have your phone?”
He nods.
“Start taking video. Even if it turns out to be nothing, I want to make sure we have proof that he’s the one starting any nonsense.”
“Absolutely.” He starts to whistle as he pulls out his phone, pretends to be typing a message to someone and then sets it on the bench as he goes back to what he was doing.
DeMarco is still standing by the boards, holding court with a handful of teammates. I can’t tell if they’re genuinely amused by his antics or just tolerating him to keep the peace, but I don’t give a shit. However, I’m not going to stray too far from Vik.
“Hey, Mazzie—” That’s one of Vik’s nicknames, although guys from other teams don’t usually use it unless they’re friends. “—you like girls or boys?”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
“Hey, DeMarco,” I hear Ashton Knight call out. “Why’re you so worried about what other people do in the bedroom? Is it ’cause yours is dead?”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from a nepo baby.”
Ashton’s much-older brother, Remington Knight, owns another NHL team in the league, the Lauderdale Knights.
He’s a retired player who made millions of dollars in tech and now runs a championship team.
Ashton is just out of college, this is his rookie season, and though most people don’t go out of their way to talk about his connection to his brother, of course, DeMarco does.
Ashton just shakes his head and skates away but DeMarco calls after him. “What—you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”
“Perhaps it is you who cannot take it.” Vik stands up and focuses on DeMarco.
“Oh, bring it, Rusky.” DeMarco makes a come at me motion with his hands.
“Not today, boys.” I try to keep my voice light, positioning myself between Vik and DeMarco. Vik skates up next to me, his eyes laser-focused on DeMarco’s face.
“You have big mouth,” Vik says to him.
“And you have a small dick.”
Vik laughs. “You wish to know?”
“Fuck you.”
One of DeMarco’s teammates comes over and nudges him back. “Come on, focus on the game. Forget about them.”
The two of them skate off, and I glance at Vik.
“Your English is getting better,” is all I say.
He shrugs. “Sometimes, is important.”
Then he makes his way down the tunnel toward the locker room.
Well, crisis averted.
Now we just need to win.