Chapter 4
Chapter four
BECKETT
My hands are shaking as I shift into park. I shouldn’t have driven home. But I just had to get out of there.
Coach screaming at me. Team doc trying to force me into an exam.
Julius and Grady getting up in my face. I had blown them all off, hit the shower, and hid out in the back of the bus.
Which made me the last one on the plane.
I armored myself in headphones and an eye mask, hoping everyone would leave me alone.
It mostly worked.
We won. Kane sank the puck I shot down the ice with two seconds to spare. So spirits were high. The doc pestered me a few times but gave up.
When we landed, I should have called for an Uber. This wasn’t my first concussion. And it wouldn’t be my last. Even the short twenty-minute drive was a dumb idea.
I bang my head against the headrest and immediately regret it. It’s like someone is shoving ice daggers in my head. If I move too fast, I’m nauseous.
I look up at the house. Liam always leaves the porch light on when one of us isn’t home.
They’re probably in bed by now. The flight was only an hour, but it takes so damn long to get everyone on the plane.
I shut the driver’s door as quietly as I can to keep the sound waves from bouncing around my skull.
My shoulder screams as I heft my gear bag.
I grit my teeth, grab my overnight bag, and focus on not stumbling up the porch stairs.
The house smells wonderful. It always does.
Liam’s caramelly oak scent is the strongest here.
We’ve always joked that Pierce smells like clean laundry, even when he’s nasty from twelve hours at the gym.
You wouldn’t think that goes with my cinnamon, but it does somehow.
That’s how our pack has always felt. Mismatched in the best possible way.
They’re still up. I can hear them in the kitchen. A “fuck you” rings out. Hard to tell if that’s one of Pierce’s affectionate and joking “fuck you’s” or a pissed-off one, because he only has those two operating modes. I drop my bags by the door as my stomach growls. I skipped post-game refueling.
I rub my middle. That could be part of the pounding headache. You burn a lot of calories on the ice.
Liam’s voice slices through the air as he says, “You have to take this seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously. I’m just not going to get all emotional about it.” Pierce is defensive. I can hear it in his voice.
“We have to tell him.”
“The fuck we do.”
“Tell me what?” I turn around the corner and interrupt their little party. Liam is pacing by the stove, and Pierce is sitting on the counter, legs dangling.
“Hey,” he says, jumping off and coming right at me. “You ok?”
“Yeah, fine. What are you not telling me?”
He grabs my face with both his hands and runs a thumb over my split lip. It’s affectionate, sure, but he’s also checking to see if my pupils are dilated. His grimace tells me he doesn’t like what he sees.
“That was some fight,” he says and kisses me. I wince because my lip stings, but the pounding in my head backs all the way off.
“You watched the game?”
“Of course we watched the game,” Liam says, sliding next to me too, rubbing my back. “You want food?”
I don’t have to respond because he’ll make food, anyway. Liam’s love language is snacks.
“That asshole Bugrov was dogging your ass all third period. What’s his deal?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Bugrov wasn’t the problem. I was.
Liam opens the chips and pushes them across the counter for me.
Pierce has dropped one hand, but he hasn’t let go yet.
And I don’t want him to. I don’t feel right, and it’s freaking me out.
But I can’t talk about it just yet. It’s like Pierce knows that, like he knows I just need to come down for a bit.
There’s a full sandwich-making station coming together on the island counter. If it weren’t so late, Liam would have been taking out steaks.
I try not to sigh as I lean into Pierce’s hand. He traces my bottom lip again, and I close my eyes. I just don’t want to see the concern there. Things haven’t been right for a while now. I haven’t been right. And we’ve been walking on eggshells since our pack anniversary dinner.
Pierce hates the fuss, but he gives into it for Liam.
And I think Liam always wants to make a big deal about our pack anniversary for me.
We became a pack just as I got signed to the league.
I got traded after my first season and was devastated.
It was my childhood dream to play for Detroit, and it was a blow to know they didn’t want me.
The Scorpions signed me, with a raise even, and we spent that first off-season basically burning through that money.
Liam made us all get dressed up for our first anniversary here, and we make it a ritual to go back to the same place every year.
Except this year, it was awful. Pierce was late and was a dick about it.
He and Liam fell into a weird pattern of being chipper but not actually talking to each other, like they were filtering their conversation through me.
I caught them more than once having a hushed shouting match through gritted teeth and then acting as if nothing was wrong.
So, I called them out on it. Pierce got pissy and stormed out of the restaurant. Liam followed, as usual.
Pierce finally lets go as Liam puts a plate in front of me.
Roast beef, provolone, and salami on a hoagie roll.
I look down at the food. Liam knows exactly how I like my sandwiches.
And how I like my shirts folded when he does my laundry.
That I want the left side of the bed when we sleep together.
We’ve been a pack for eight years. He knows everything about me.
I’m an open book, but sometimes I feel like they aren’t.
Pierce and Liam grew up together. They can do that thing where they have a whole conversation with raised eyebrows and half-smiles.
I met them one summer while I was at a hockey clinic.
They were over the top and instantly became the only thing I cared about besides hockey.
And when their best friend died in a horrific car accident, they took off for a fresh start and joined me in Detroit.
That first year was rough. They were grieving and dead broke, but it didn’t matter.
They threw themselves into my career, helped me train, practice, anything and everything.
When we finally settled in Nashville, they built me my own gym for the off-season, then they opened it to other players and their packs. Now, it’s a thriving business.
I roll my shoulder and play with the food on my plate. They’ve nursed my injuries, put me back together when Detroit traded me. And yet, there’s still this wall I can’t get past.
“Tell me what?” I say it quietly as I pick sesame seeds off the bun.
“Nothing, just money stuff,” Pierce says.
Pierce lies.
He has a hang-up about money.
“I make five million dollars a year. There is no money stuff.”
“Drop it.” Pierce flashes to pissed off and storms to the other side of the counter, taking all his warmth with him.
“I can’t do this.” I put my hands on the counter and hang my head.
Liam fidgets and dumps chips on my plate. The crinkling of the bag feels extra loud in the dead silence.
“After eight years, you can still make me feel like an outsider in my own pack.”
“You want me to apologize for dinner again? I’m sorry. I was a shithead. You didn’t deserve that. I’m a bad person.” Pierce crosses his arms and leans against the fridge.
“You ice me out all the time.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I chalk it up to you two growing up together,” I say to my plate. “Childhood trauma bonding and losing Reed.”
I can feel them both flinch when I say his name.
I met him that summer too. Reed had more confidence than anyone I’ve ever met.
But he was cool-headed, where Pierce was not.
They presented as alphas the same week, or so they said.
And when he died in that car crash, they were both devastated.
Hell, I was too. Having spent the summer running around with them in between training, I was in love with him too.
“I keep telling you, you’re projecting some weird insecurity,” Pierce says, but Liam cuts him off.
“Let’s not do this.”
“No, let’s. Let’s fucking do this. That is exactly what you said at dinner, and it’s still just as insulting.
” I push the plate away. Any desire to eat is gone now.
“If I’m being insecure, it’s because you’re making me insecure.
It’s like when we first got together all over again.
You two would always whisper behind my back, hiding how much you were hurting over Reed.
And then it was all the money bullshit. We’re a pack, it’s all pack money. That’s your insecurity right there.”
Pierce makes a disgusted noise. “I’m not insecure about money. There is no money issue.”
Liam squeezes his eyes shut.
“Then you just lied to me. Both of you.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s not do this right now. Finish your sandwich and go to bed.” Pierce throws his hands up and stomps toward the door.
“No.” I grab his arm as he passes. I mean to just stop him, but I fling him back into the wall instead. “This is what you do all the time. You storm out or get me into bed to win every argument.”
“OK, let’s take a break,” says Liam, ever the peacemaker.
“And you, too.” I shrug off Liam’s hand on my arm. “Pierce storms off, and then you come in playing peacekeeper to smooth it all out. Fuck that.”
Liam shouts, “Hey” to my retreating back. I snatch my gear bag off the floor and curse under my breath. I should have seen the doc. I can’t afford an injury right now.
“Where are you going? What are you doing?” Liam has a note of panic in his voice.
“Pierce gets to storm off all the time. My fucking turn.”
Pierce is suddenly in front of the door. “No. You’re not getting in the car. You’re not driving. Your pupils are all jacked. I bet it’s another concussion.”
“I’d rather have brain damage than be here right now. Get out of my way.”
I body-check Pierce, sending him stumbling into the couch.
“Don’t—”
“Fuck you,” I cut Pierce off.
I pound down the porch steps and throw my bags in the car.
“Beckett, please. He’s just…” Liam holds the door as I turn the key and the engine revs.
“He’s just what? A dick?” My jaw hardens. “I need some time away.”
“Please, look, he’s right, you shouldn’t drive. I could…”
“Stop mothering me, Liam. And stop covering for his bullshit.”
He steps back.
“I don’t want to be half in a pack,” I say, but I can’t meet his eyes.
“Beckett, please…”
I slam my door and tires squeal as I peel out of the driveway. Pierce is right. I shouldn’t be driving. But I just can’t be here anymore.