Chapter 44 Ash
ASH
The rumble of the bus engine beneath me does nothing to drown out the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen table.
I shift in my seat, trying to focus on the passing landscape outside the window, but my eyes keep drifting back to them.
Tish sits between Carl and Jake, her head thrown back in genuine laughter at something Jake just said.
Carl’s hand rests casually on her shoulder, his thumb tracing small circles against her sweater.
The sight makes my chest tighten.
I lean back in my seat, running a hand through my hair as the memory plays out again in my mind. I’d left her alone with Jake so I could talk to Trent, thinking I’d be gone maybe twenty minutes.
When I came back to her cabin, ready to apologize for being an ass about the whole sharing thing, I heard them before I saw them. Soft moans, the creak of her bed, Jake’s low voice murmuring her name like a prayer.
I should have knocked. Should have announced myself.
Instead, I stood there like a fool, watching through the crack in the door as Jake moved over her, his hands tangled in her dark hair, her legs wrapped around his waist.
They were so lost in each other they never noticed me.
The way she arched beneath him, the breathless sounds she made, it was everything I’d been missing, everything I’d thrown away because of my stubborn pride.
I’d left without a word, my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
Later that night, I’d seen Carl making his way to her cabin, a bottle of wine in his hand and that determined look in his eyes that I recognized all too well.
He didn’t leave until the next morning, and when he did, there was a satisfied smile on his face that made me want to punch something.
She’d chosen. Both of them, apparently. Just not me.
The talk with Trent hadn’t gone any better.
My best friend still hasn’t forgiven me.
So, I’ve lost the siblings.
I’ve lost my best friend and Tish.
What good are my principles if they cost me the woman I’m in love with?
Another burst of laughter draws my attention back to the kitchen table.
Tish is leaning into Carl now, her hand on his thigh as she whispers something in his ear that makes the older man’s eyes darken with heat.
Jake watches them with obvious appreciation, his green eyes tracking the movement of her lips.
There’s no jealousy there, no possessiveness.
Just three people who’ve figured out how to make something unconventional work.
And here I am, sitting alone like a martyr to my own stupidity.
I miss her. God, I miss everything about her.
The way she bites her lower lip when she’s concentrating on work, leaving little indentations that I want to soothe with my tongue.
The way she feels beneath me, around me, the soft sounds she makes when I find that spot that drives her wild.
I miss the friendship we were building, the easy conversations about everything and nothing.
I miss the way she looks at me like I’m more than just another hockey player, like I’m someone worth knowing beyond the ice.
The way she responds to my touch, the way she gives herself completely when we’re together.
The memory of her hands on my body, her mouth hot and eager against mine, is enough to make me shift uncomfortably in my seat.
I even enjoy seeing Carl or Jake pleasure her because it makes her happy.
I love seeing her happy, so why am I so caught up on the fact that she wants all three of us, when it’s clear we each give her something she wants or needs?
I watch as Jake says something that makes both Tish and Carl laugh, and I realize something that hits me like a slap shot to the chest.
I’d rather have some of her than nothing at all. I’d rather share her love, her time, her body, than sit here feeling sorry for myself while she builds something beautiful with two men who were smart enough not to let their pride get in the way.
I don’t have to like sharing her at the same time, that still makes my skin crawl with possessiveness.
But I could handle taking turns.
I could handle having her to myself sometimes, knowing that other times she’d be with Carl or Jake.
It wouldn’t be ideal, but it would be better than this hollow ache in my chest.
As if sensing my thoughts, Tish looks up from the table. Our eyes meet across the length of the bus, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
I see the hurt in her dark blue eyes, the confusion and disappointment that I put there.
But underneath that, there’s something else.
Hope, maybe.
Or just the memory of what we had before I fucked it all up.
Slowly, I let a smile curve my lips. It’s tentative at first, testing the waters.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and for a heartbeat I think she might look away.
Then her own smile blooms across her face, soft and uncertain but real.
That’s all it takes. That one shared moment of understanding, of forgiveness offered and accepted.
She knows I’m done pouting, done punishing us both for something that doesn’t have to be a punishment at all.
Carl and Jake notice the exchange, following Tish’s gaze to where I sit.
Carl nods once, a gesture of acknowledgment between men who understand each other.
Jake grins and raises his coffee cup in a mock toast, the bastard looking entirely too pleased with himself.
But I don’t care. The knot in my chest is finally starting to loosen, and for the first time in days I can breathe properly.
The bus starts to slow, and I look out the window to see the arena coming into view.
Game time.
Time to focus on hockey and put this personal shit aside for a few hours.
We pull into the parking area behind the rink, and everyone starts gathering their things.
I grab my gear bag and follow the team off the bus, my mood lighter than it’s been in days.
Maybe after the game, Tish and I can talk. Maybe we can figure out how to make this work.
But when we get to the equipment bus, everything changes.
“What the fuck?” Jake’s voice cuts through the chatter as he yanks open the back doors of the second bus.
It’s empty. Completely, utterly empty.
“Where’s our gear?” someone shouts from behind me.
I push forward, staring into the hollow space where our equipment should be. Sticks, pads, helmets, skates, everything we need to play tonight. Gone.
“Did someone forget to pack it?” one of the rookies asks, his voice high with panic.
But I know better. We all do. This isn’t forgetfulness or an honest mistake.
This is sabotage.