17. Derek
Delilah is on ten as she recounts every single detail of tonight's game back to Georgia and me from her booster seat. From the corner of my eye, I can see the excitement beaming off of my daughter in the rearview mirror as she giggles and makes her own little hockey jokes.
“Did you see the way Uncle Cupid hit that guy, Papá?” Delilah asks, leaning slightly in her chair as I chuckle, entering the neighborhood for my mom’s house.
“I did, Sunshine. How’d it make you feel?” I question.
It’s my usual follow-up question to things like that on the ice, but a part of me knows that the question wasn’t for my daughter. It was for the abnormally silent woman in my passenger seat.
Georgia gnaws at her bottom lip as Delilah makes a loud humming sound, as if to show that she’s thinking of her answer before she gasps.
“I don’t think it was bad. Uncle Cupid hit him first, and that’s not nice, but I know that man was mean to you, so it’s okay,” she says, resolve in her tone as I chuckle.
“Just like that?”
She hums. “Yup.”
I eye Georgia quickly before placing my hand on her thigh and squeezing it. “And how did you feel after watching the game?”
She turns her head, our eyes connecting momentarily before she quickly focuses back on the road.
“I think that there was absolutely zero reason for that guy to get so close to the opposing team's goalie. You guys have played this game your entire lives; it’s a basic rule across all boards,” she mumbles, clearly perturbed by the events that took place tonight.
Mulling over her words, I nod and hum in agreement.
“Well, Killian’s a jackass, so—”
Delilah gasps, her voice animated as she yells, “You said a swear!”
“Shit…” I curse again, and fuck, I’ve got to stop doing that.
Usually, it’s the other guys cursing and Deli calling them out.
“I’ll put twenty in the jar, Sunshine.”
That seems to put Delilah off as she goes back to singing quietly while her favorite musical plays on the radio.
When we get to my mom’s house, the exchange of Delilah and a small greeting is quick and seamless. The tension between the two of us is still fairly thick, but nothing we can’t get through—I hope.
Getting into the car, I’m met with a warm welcome from Georgia. Her previous quietness is replaced by a small, devious smile across her plump lips.
“What is it?” I ask, quirking a brow at her as her grin widens and cheeks redden.
“We’re going out tonight.”
And that’s how I found myself sitting inside of 88UP, the local bar on our side of town, at one of the tables. Georgia and the girls, “Margarita Central,” as I’ve heard them refer to themselves, are all happy and dancing together on the dance floor as we guys sit back and hang.
“I still can’t believe you got married,” Charlie, one of the players on our team and my close friend, says as he runs a hand through his thick blonde waves.
Hiding my devious smile behind my glass, I take a sip of my water.
The only people who know that my marriage is technically a scam are Georgia’s friends Ryan, Blake, and Jace, seeing as they were all in Vegas when everything went down. Blake raises a brow at me from across the table, a sly smirk on his face.
Sighing, I roll my eyes at him. The guy can’t keep a secret even if his life depended on it.
“I mean, I can believe it,” Alec chimes in, pushing his glasses up before leaning forward. I sit up a little straighter, prompting him to continue. “Mama Bear has a kid; getting married seems like the next step for him,” he says with a shrug.
Braxton purses his lips, “Nah… I would’ve thought graduation was next, but Georgia’s hot and funny, so it’s not surprising since it’s her.”
I raise a brow at Braxton; his deep brown skin seems to redden a tinge as he grins, looking away from me.
“My wife is hot, but shut up, dickhead.” I chuckle, punching his shoulder.
The two of us trade playful blows before Charlie brings us back into the conversation as he takes a sip of his beer.
“It makes sense for it to be Derek and Georgia, though, doesn’t it?
Cleo and Blake had a tryst at the beginning of last semester.
Then Jace practically stalked Sienna and secretly dated her; it only makes sense for the two to be next.
I planned it out last night in my head. I imagine that all of you will end up having a bunch of little athlete kids, and Jace’s kid would date Derek’s since everyone else’s would be related. ”
What. The. Fuck?
My jaw unhinges as I tilt my head at Charlie. Blake and Jace must think the same as me because the both of them mimic my confused expression as we all give Charlie Tyson our full attention.
Charlie is taken aback by the sudden looks but continues on, “It’s the cliché friend group trope. Cleo dated the captain of her dad’s team. Her cousin is dating the left-winger asshole on the team. It’s only right if her best friend is with the goalie—I’m not too sure about Denver, though.”
Blake, Jace, and I share a look before a loud crashing has all of our nerves on edge. Looking around the open bar, my eyes immediately lock on the disheveled blonde in the center of the fray.
A few guys stand around the girls, their faces familiar but unrecognizable as we approach. In an instant, I’m at Georgia’s side, gently holding her upper arm.
“You okay?”
She purses her lips, cutting one of the men a glare before softening her features, looking up at me.
“I’m fine, but that asshole tried to grab Denver.” She huffs, clearly annoyed as she cuts him another glare.
Denver shares the same look as Georgia, her arms folded over her chest as she looks at the pitiful men.
“Then what happened?” I ask, pulling her to my side. The feeling of her warm skin against mine, soothing something in me as she grins.
“I pushed him.” She smiles cheekily, shrugging.
“Good job.” I chuckle as I kiss her forehead.
After the guys and I make sure that all of the girls are okay, we decide to call it a night. The girls are annoyed, we’re annoyed for them, and it’s hot as balls in the bar with all the people coming in.
As we walk out of 88UP, Georgia and the girls are in front of us when a group of men bumps into us.
I’m immediately irritated by them, seeing as there was about ten feet of space where both groups of men could’ve seamlessly walked without fail.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” a brunette chirps at me, his eyes dark with malice as I shrug him off.
I’m not easy to anger—hence why I’m a goalie, but my best friend is.
Jace is at my side in a second, looking the guy up and down.
I chuckle, patting his shoulder as he turns to me.
He’s like the stereotypical best friend and hockey player.
Protect the goalie first; ask questions later, on and off the ice.
Jace and I laugh off his protectiveness until the words of one of the men flow into my ears.
His voice is so familiar that I know him immediately—Carson Killian. The dickhead who’d been chirping at me all game tonight. I don’t know what he says specifically, but I do know that when the words “blonde,” “bitch,” and “can get it” flow from his grimy lips—I lose my shit.
A feeling of complete euphoria waves over me as my fist connects with his jaw, and a stinging feeling travels from my knuckles to my forearm, but I couldn’t care less as I pound my fist into his face.
I can feel the crack of his nose beneath my knuckles; his weak skin breaks and spills crimson. I bask in it.
I hate it when guys think that they’re God’s gift to Earth. Some dudes go around acting like their shit doesn’t smell worse than cow manure, harassing women, then act as if they’d done the woman a favor by “gracing them with their presence.”
Give me a fucking break.
Just for that thought, I punch him again, harder this time.
He tries to get a few hits in and manages to land a few blows before the voice of my friends comes back to me, and I’m airlifted from the asshole.
Wiping the smear of leakage from my lip, I spit it back on the ground near his head and grab Georgia’s hand.
My pulse races when our hands connect, and my heart soars to my ears when our eyes lock.
My fingers graze her knuckles, and all I can see is red.
I don’t know if it’s the anger from someone disrespecting her in front of me, or anger at myself for lashing out, but it doesn’t stop me.
Instead, I’m fueled by it.
“From now on, stay next to me, and I swear to God if you leave the house without my ring on that finger one more time, I’m going to teach you about being a good girl.”