Chapter 10
TEN
“You good?” Nick asks as we take a seat on the bench after a shift on the ice.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth as I glare at Victor Aven. I should be happy that the asshole is in the penalty box but just seeing him irritates me.
I cannot believe he’s Whitney’s brother. I did not see that coming. She’s so happy and sweet, always smiling and on the brink of laughter, and he walks around with a permanent scowl and everything that comes out of his mouth is vitriol.
I don’t get it. How is it possible?
“You seem pissed. Did Aven say something?” Nick presses. As captain, I know he’s only trying to make sure my head is in the right place. We lost our last game, and we’re down two starters tonight with injuries, so while Houston should be an easy win, we’re struggling.
“Just the usual bullshit.” I glance over at him. “I’m good.”
He nods, and we both go back to focusing on the game.
My leg bounces while I catch my breath and wait to get out there again.
I love my job, but this season I’ve felt a different sort of pressure to prove myself.
We came so close to the Cup. It’s always disappointing to lose, but it hurts even worse to have gotten so close and to lose to someone like Victor.
My next shift, I storm out onto the ice as fast as my legs will carry me.
D-Low sends a long pass. Victor is out of the box and chases behind me.
He’s quick, but he has no chance of catching me tonight.
I fly past everyone. The Houston goalie gets into position, watching me closely and trying to anticipate where I’ll shoot the puck.
I head to the right, and he shifts to better cover that side.
I fake left, but he doesn’t take the bait.
Smart man. Unfortunately for him, I’m not about to give up so easily.
I want this way more than he wants to stop me.
I come to a stop farther away than he expects and fire the puck hard into the top right side of the net.
It’s past him before he can react. The goalpost lights up, and the crowd groans.
A smile stretches across my face when I circle behind the back of the net. Victor’s glaring right at me. I hold his gaze until my teammates crowd around me.
“Let’s fucking go.” D-Low bumps into me and taps me on top of my helmet.
“Nice shot.” Trav comes up on my other side.
The rest of the guys on the ice congratulate me and then I head for the bench to celebrate with everyone else.
On my next shift, there’s an icing call.
“How cute,” Victor says, skating next to me.
I make the mistake of looking at him. His brows rise. “That was the first goal of your career, right?” He shrugs. “The way you were celebrating I figured it had to be.”
We get into position for the face-off.
“Nothing to say, Shepard?” He chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have more ahead of you.”
Travis is nearby and must overhear Victor because it’s him who chirps back. “How’s your sister, Aven?”
I freeze. So does Victor. His jaw tightens, and he glares at Travis, which is exactly what he hoped by the smirk on my teammate’s face.
For a moment I’m panicked, trying to figure out how Travis knows about Whitney and me.
Then I’m transported to last fall when me, Trav, and Hannah ran into Victor at a whiskey bar opening in Moonshot.
He said he was visiting his sister, who lived there.
Holy shit. I’d completely forgotten about that night.
Whitney wasn’t with him when we saw him, but she was there.
She was right fucking there and I never saw her.
“Don’t talk about my sister.” Victor’s tone is as icy as I’ve ever heard it.
“Why not? You have no problem talking shit about everyone else.” Trav beams. “Maybe I want to meet her. Is she still living in Moonshot?”
“Wife already leave you?” Victor’s words are still tight and clipped.
“I wouldn’t be interested in your sister if she was the last woman alive. Does she look like you?” He winces.
My stomach churns. Victor lunges for him, tossing off his gloves and taking a swing. I move after him, catching his arm as he throws a second punch. Travis dodges him, still smirking. In the midst of holding Victor back, I take an elbow to the mouth.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter, tasting blood.
I shove him more out of instinct than anything.
Victor turns on me. His eyes are wild, and his fists are clenched at his sides.
I toss my gloves. I’m not much of a fighter, but I’m not about to back down.
Victor moves first. He grabs for my jersey to hold me in place, then punches.
He misses, but not by much. I’m ready, firing back.
But before either of us lands a hit, the referees skate between us and push us apart. Victor’s given a five-minute major penalty and so am I.
We move to the penalty boxes, still glaring at each other.
On the flight home, while the rest of the team is relaxing and basking in tonight’s win, I’m lost in my thoughts. All of them about Whitney. Did she see the game tonight? Is she pissed that I fought with her brother? I run my tongue along my cut bottom lip.
“Do you want in this hand?” D-Low asks, nudging me with an elbow.
I blink out of my haze and look to the table in front of us.
Nick and Travis are sitting on the other side and Penn is across the aisle.
All four of them are watching me closely.
I’ve been quieter than usual all week, and it looks like I’m a few minutes from an intervention if I don’t snap out of it.
“Yeah,” I say, sitting forward.
D-Low deals the cards. Crazy eights is our game of choice on the road. It’s easy and quick and helps pass the time. For a couple of minutes, no one talks while we get started and go around once.
Travis is the first to break the silence. He stretches his neck from side to side and groans. “I cannot wait to get home and sleep in my own bed.”
Houston was the last of our three-game road trip. We have two days off, then another home game before we head out again.
“Is Hannah back from visiting her family?” Nick asks him.
Trav’s smile stretches across his face. “She got back this afternoon.”
D-Low chuckles. “So when you said you couldn’t wait to sleep in your own bed you meant—”
“Oh no, I meant sleep. I toss and turn when she isn’t in bed with me. It’s the weirdest thing. My body can’t relax or something.”
“Toss and turn.” D-Low snickers.
“You are a child.” Penn shakes his head, but he laughs too.
“He’s the one saying it.” D-Low waves a hand toward Travis. “And also, you might want to look into a new mattress.”
“My mattress is fine. We test it out regularly when we . . . toss and turn.” Travis smirks.
“See?” D-Low looks to Penn, who is still laughing under his breath and shaking his head.
“Keep laughing, old man. You need a good toss and turn.”
“I need painkillers and a massage,” Penn mutters, and puts the eight of hearts down.
“Are you really telling me you’d rather a massage than sex?” D-Low studies him seriously. “What kind of massages are you getting?”
Penn rolls his eyes. “Worry less about my sex life.”
“Fine. Fine. Only trying to help.”
“Yes, this all feels very helpful.” Penn sounds all grumpy, but he’s still smiling.
He catches my eye and holds it for a beat like he’s checking in on me.
He hasn’t asked me about Whitney. But that’s Penn.
He rarely pushes me to say more than I want.
Or fuck, maybe he assumes I screwed it up again and doesn’t want to make me relive another dating disaster.
Actually, now that I think about it, that has to be exactly what he’s doing.
Neither he nor D-Low asked, though they both know I talked to her that night at the high school hockey game.
Before I can figure out what, if anything, to do about that, my phone vibrates on the seat next to me. I take my turn and then pick it up, expecting my parents. They text me before every game, and sometimes after as well. They’re the best. Every step of my career, they’ve supported me.
But it isn’t my mom or dad.
“Whitney?” I whisper.
“What’s that?” Travis asks as he discards.
I look up and around at my teammates, but no one seems to have heard me.
“Nothing,” I say, and read the text a second time.
Whitney
I guess I should say congrats on the game.
My mouth pulls into a smile that’s mixed with relief and worry. If she knows we won tonight, then she probably also knows Victor and I fought.
Me
In that case, I guess I should say thanks.
Whitney
Headed back to Moonshot?
Me
Yeah. We get in late tonight.
“Your turn, Shep,” Nick says.
I glance up and now everyone is looking at me.
“Sorry.” I set my phone down and take my turn. When my phone vibrates again a minute later, anticipation hums in my veins. It takes all my willpower to make it through the game before I check her text.
Whitney
You didn’t text this week.
Me
I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.
Whitney
I wasn’t sure if I did either. Then I saw you on TV throwing punches with my brother. Does he know?
Oh fuck. She probably thinks the fight was about her. Technically it was but not for the reason she thinks.
Me
No. I didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t. I haven’t told anyone.
Whitney
You just so happened to fight my brother days after we hooked up? That feels a little too coincidental.
I have no idea how to reply to that. Luckily, she keeps the conversation going without my answer.
Whitney
How’s your face?
Me
Busted lip. No big deal.
I want to talk about anything but her brother. I didn’t text after the night at her house, but it isn’t because I didn’t want to talk to her. I just wasn’t sure how to wrap my brain around her being Victor’s sister. I wondered if I could deal with it. I think I know the answer now.
Me
I’m sorry I didn’t text. It should come as no surprise to you that I wasn’t sure what to say.
Whitney
I get it.
Me
Forgive me?
Whitney
For not texting or beating my team?
Me
Not texting. I’m not sorry about the other thing.
Whitney
I never met a hockey player who liked to lose. And forgetting everything else, you were impressive out there.
It’s the second time she’s used that word. The first time at camp after she watched me do a skating drill and I was so surprised by her compliment that I could barely thank her. It still feels hard to respond and all I have to do is tap out the words.
Me
Thank you.
I wait a beat, then send another before I can talk myself out of it.
Me
Impressive enough that you might want to see me again?
She makes me wait three painful minutes before she replies, but when she does, warmth spreads through my chest.
Whitney
I’d consider it.