27
Nash
It’d been a shitty game, a shitty lecture from the coaches, and a really shitty start to the evening.
And that didn’t even take into account the past week.
Shittiest week of my life. I hadn’t played well in one single game.
The coaches were riding my ass, threatening to bench me unless I got my shit together, and soon.
To make it worse, I’d only had one real conversation with Kennedy all week, and that was her telling me she needed to stay in California longer because of a promotion. I was proud of her. I wanted her to be successful. Of course I did, but I didn’t like what it was doing to our relationship.
And then there was Trevor. The pictures he’d plastered all over social media from that LA inner-city kids campaign hadn’t helped.
In the shots, he was surrounded by a dozen smiling kids in oversized T-shirts under the bright California sun—throwing a football around, signing shirts, posing like he was everyone’s favorite big brother.
And then there was the one that annoyed the fuck out of me: a grinning Trevor with his arm wrapped around Kennedy.
Kennedy swore nothing had happened, and I believed her, I just didn’t fucking like that he got to have his arm around her while I was here, struggling.
“Let’s grab a beer at O’Reilly’s,” Bryce suggested as we were leaving the arena.
I told him no at first. The last thing I needed was to screw around when the coaches were already breathing down my neck.
But Bryce kept at it, giving me one of his little speeches about how I needed to get out, have some fun, and stop hiding out at home by myself like a hermit.
And maybe he was right. Because the truth was, I hadn’t had a damn bit of fun in a long time.
So there I was with Mitchell, sitting at the actual bar. Normally we’d have grabbed a table in the back and had one, maybe two beers before heading out. But Mitch knew I was wound up tonight, and he was just . . . there. Giving me some breathing room without leaving me alone.
I downed two beers and two shots of whiskey without him saying a word, all while he was nursing one beer.
Bryce—the whole reason we were there in the first place—had disappeared into the back with a couple of women. It didn’t surprise me. There were always women around. Beautiful women. Willing women. Just not the one I wanted.
When Mitchell got up to talk to Sarjenko, it barely took a minute before I felt a soft hand land on my shoulder.
“Hi, Nash,” Amy said, sliding in next to me and waving down the bartender. She ordered drinks for her friends, then turned back toward me, all easy smile and glossy hair.
“Want another one?” she asked, nodding at my half-empty beer.
Yeah, I did. I wanted another beer. And a shot. And maybe a bottle of vodka to go with them. I wanted to blur out the last week until it didn’t exist.
But I knew I shouldn’t.
“No, thanks.”
I tipped the bottle back, drained the last swallow, and set it down on the bar harder than I meant to.
“Easy, man,” Mitchell chuckled, sliding back onto the stool beside me. “You need to slow down, Nash.”
Yeah, I probably should. But did it really matter? My life had been a shitstorm lately. I was wired tight all the time, and the booze was the only thing that took the edge off, made me feel a little less rigid.
All I fucking did these days was play hockey—and not very well—hit the gym, work on a new endorsement for a new athletic line, sleep, and dream of Kennedy.
And from the way things were looking, it’d be months before I saw her again.
I was proud of her. Really proud. She was killing it in California, creating a name for herself, building the kind of career she’d always wanted.
But a part of me hated that it kept us apart. That she’d chosen to stay in LA.
Hell, if I was being honest, there was even a part of me that resented it. That she’d put her career ahead of us. That she’d decided it was more important than our relationship. And I knew that wasn’t fair. A bit hypocritical, even, since I couldn’t leave the New York Empires.
Instead of going home to my empty apartment like I should’ve, I waved the bartender over and ordered another shot and another beer and slammed them both back. I felt Mitchell’s disapproving eyes on me, but I ignored him.
The soft touch on my shoulder came back. Amy was flirtier than normal, running her hands up over my arms, commenting on how strong my muscles were, batting her lashes, adjusting the girls so they almost popped out of the dark low-cut top she wore.
I couldn’t help a small chuckle. The girl knew how to display her assets to draw a guy’s attention. They looked good, though, I had to give her that.
“Cheers, Nash,” she purred, lifting her glass toward my beer.
“Cheers.”
She kept talking, something about the Empires, new uniforms and training gear. I didn’t pay attention. Mostly, I was aware of her hand brushing against me again and again, and me peeling it off just as many times.
Another beer found its way in front of me, and I drank it. By the time she excused herself to the little girls’ room,” as she called it, the room was spinning. And that’s when Mitchell leaned in with a disappointed glare.
“What the fuck are you doing, Nash?” he demanded, like I was a misbehaving kid.
“Mitch,” I sighed, rubbing my temple. “Don’t start.”
His laugh was humorless. “Don’t start? You’re already halfway down the road to screwing up the best thing in your life. And I’m not about to sit here and just let you.”
I leaned back, meeting his eyes defiantly for the first time since he’d sat down. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
“Really?” Mitchell’s eyes narrowed as he continued to stare me down. “You’re gonna act like a fucking asshole now too? Amy bats her lashes, shoves her tits in your face, and suddenly Kennedy doesn’t matter? Is that all it takes?”
I groaned. It fucking wasn’t.
But Mitch wasn’t finished. He clamped a hand on the back of my seat, his eyes boring into mine. “Nash . . .”
I looked away, catching sight of Amy standing at the bar, her gaze sliding slowly and deliberately down my body.
“The fuck, man,” Mitchell hissed. “What are you doing? Are you seriously planning on taking her home? What about Kennedy?”
“No, of course not,” I snapped, heat rushing up my neck. “I just love sleeping alone while Kennedy’s in LA with Trevor and whoever the hell else.”
“You’re done, Nash,” Mitch shot back, his voice sharper than I’d ever heard it, his blue eyes hard.
“Whatever.”
He studied me, but I wouldn’t look at him. It was easier to be angry and lash out than to deal with the truth and admit how badly I missed her. And how much I needed her.
My hands scrubbed over my face, rasping against the scruff I needed to shave.
He was right. I was a fucking mess.
“Mitch,” I started, but that was as far as I got.
What the hell was I supposed to say? That I missed Kennedy so bad it hurt, and that I hated that she’d chosen her career over me?
That I had no idea how long she’d be stuck in California?
This promotion was dragging her all over the damn state.
Last I heard, it was another three months.
Maybe she’d get a week or two back home, but then what? Another city? Another state?
Where did that leave us?
“Let’s go, Nash,” Mitch said, his voice stern but softer now. He hauled me to my feet, and I swayed like a tree in the wind.
“Fuck, Reed,” he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on my arm. “You need to get yourself together before you blow up both your career and your love life.”
“What love life?” I snorted. “I haven’t talked to her in days. All we do is text because we’re never available at the same time, and I haven’t had sex in months.”
“I don’t think you need to be quite that dramatic,” Mitchell shot back, rolling his eyes. “Pretty sure you and Kennedy stayed plenty busy when she was home over Christmas.”
“That was a long fucking time ago,” I muttered, sounding whiny even to my own ears.
“I know, man.” Mitchell’s voice softened. “I know you miss her. But getting plastered at a bar and letting Amy feel you up isn’t the answer. What do you think Kennedy would do if she knew?”
“Maybe she’d come back,” I whispered, barely audible.
“Or stay away. Permanently.”
Or that.
Probably that.
Fuck.
I closed my eyes, the room spinning like it was on a tilt. Mitch tightened his arm around my back, steadying me. Another hand grabbed me on the other side, and I blinked through the blur to see Bryce looking down at me with concern.
“Nash, man.” Bryce sighed, shaking his head.
My head dropped as shame burned through me. I knew I’d disappointed them as both their friend and their teammate. But what crushed me most was the thought of Kennedy out there, traveling up and down the California coast, further and further away from me.
“I miss her,” I whispered, my throat thick, eyes stinging with unshed tears.
“I know, buddy,” Mitchell said softly. “I know.”