Chapter Twelve
Rowan
My fingertips itch to reach out and thread her fingers with mine but I resist the urge and shove my damn hands into my pockets as I walk her to her car.
I don’t know what it is about this girl but the fact that I want to hold her hand every chance I get should be freaking me out. And it is, at least a little bit. I’m not looking for a relationship and something tells me Millie St. James is the kind of girl who wouldn’t settle for anything less.
“You look deep in thought,” she says, the left corner of her mouth kicks up as she looks over at me.
“Nah, just wondering if I should have gone with nachos instead of the cheeseburger,” I say, jokingly. I take my hand out of my pocket and reach up to rub the spot across my chest that’s been tight ever since she casually confessed she was sick as a child.
She laughs, “I thought you always get the cheeseburger.” She drops her voice down an octave as she tries to imitate me, “I like what I like.”
I laugh when her voice breaks halfway through her impersonation. I shrug my shoulder, “It’s true.”
She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes like it normally does. “You gonna tell me what you were really thinking about?”
I shift and rock back on my heels, shoving my damn hands back into my pockets again, just to have something to do with them.
I wasn’t expecting to like her so much and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting the visceral reaction I had when she said she was sick as a child. My mind ran wild with all the possibilities of what that meant and what it could still mean.
She watches me patiently. Something tells me I need to tread carefully here. I’m just not sure if it’s for her sake or mine.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I ask after a beat of silence.
Her eyes close briefly before she opens them again. Her gaze spears me right before her eyes dart off, looking at something off in the distance. “Now?” She shifts nervously, my chest tightens with the movement.
Why is she nervous? Is she still sick? She said she was better than okay at dinner. A million questions run through my mind in a split second but I don’t have time to ask them, and she doesn’t get a chance to respond.
“Cap. Can we talk?” Aiden Graham, who plays center, asks as he comes up beside me.
“Can you give me a minute—”
“I need to get going anyhow. Thanks for dinner, Rowan. I had a good time,” Millie says, abruptly cutting me off mid-sentence. She’s opening her car door and slipping inside before I can stop her.
“Anytime,” I answer, bewildered as she closes her car door and takes off out of the parking lot like her foot’s made of lead.
“Your question couldn’t have waited?” I ask, irritated as I look at Aiden.
He actually has the gall to look sheepish and winces, “Sorry, Cap. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“What would you call it when you see two people talking and walk over to ask a question in the middle of their conversation?” I snap and immediately feel bad. Aiden is a quiet guy that keeps to himself so if he’s asking to talk I know it’s got to be about something important.
“I really am sorry. We can talk later,” Aiden answers.
I blow out a frustrated breath, not at him but at the situation.
I’m confused that Millie would tuck tail and run like that.
If she doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.
I can be patient. It’s not like she owes me anything but her expression right before she drove off has alarm bells going off in my head.
“It’s okay. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to overreact. ”
“You sure? You can go after her?” Aiden’s suggestion is more of a question. One, I don’t know the answer to because even though I want to I don’t think I should. We don’t know each other well enough for me to understand what exactly just happened.
“It’s okay. I’ll catch her later. What do you need to talk about?” I ask. Aiden looks uncomfortable and a little nervous himself which is a rarity for the dude. He’s usually our cool, calm and always collected. Something has him rattled.
“I— umm—” his hand goes up and cups the back of his neck.
“You got a girl pregnant or something, Graham? What the hell’s going on?” I ask, half joking, the other half worried I might be right.
“Fuck no.” He looks offended as he drops his hand down to his side. “I always wrap it before I tap it.” He drops his head before lifting it back up to look at me. “My dad is coming to the game Friday,” he rushes out.
My eyebrows pull together in confusion before the implications of what he’s saying sink in. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” I hear his knuckles on his left hand crack under the pressure of his right.
Aiden Graham is the son of Isaac Graham, a famous hockey player and the bane of Aiden’s existence. “Talk to Coach about it yet?”
He looks off to the side, “No, not yet. I was kind of hoping you could help me out with that. I know you know how I feel about my father, but Coach Cunningham—” He leaves his statement hanging in the air.
I nod my head, already seeing where he’s going with this. Coach will be all but salivating over the prospect of having a two-time Stanley Cup winner grace The Kings of Hart U with his presence. Even though last time he was at a game it didn’t end so well.
Daddy Graham has only attended one game and that was Aiden’s freshman year. The whole damn thing turned into a shit show of epic proportions and Aiden ended up in so many fights he was ejected from the game. The only time he’s ever been ejected.
Isaac Graham is a pompous asshole, who craves attention more than anything.
Needless to say his little visit had nothing to do with watching his son play and everything to do with Hart U’s board and admin staff falling all over their asses to keep the man happy.
That and the horde of college puck bunnies that followed.
I wince, remembering when the jumbotron at the game panned to Isaac right as his tongue was halfway down a girl’s throat. A girl that was old enough to be Aiden’s sister and definitely not Daddy Graham’s wife. “What do you want to do?” I ask, not sure how to navigate this situation again.
Aiden’s head rolls back as he groans. “There isn’t shit we can do. I’ve already tried to talk him out of coming but he won’t listen.” He throws his voice even deeper to imitate his father, “It’s important for me to be there, to show my support.”
My scrub my hand down my face in discomfort. This is the last thing I want to deal with right now but I’m sure my discontent isn’t anything compared to Aiden’s. “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” I answer in support.
Aiden shifts uncomfortably, probably because he isn’t used to asking for help. In the three years he’s been playing for us, he’s come to me a whopping one time, two if you include this. One guess as to what the other time was.
“I was kind of hoping you could talk to Coach and ask him if he can tell my dad he can’t come, that it was too big of a distraction last time.”
Now it’s my turn to groan, “I can’t do that, man. Coach isn’t going to do it, and you know it.”
“You don’t think he will consider it? I mean last time the college was in the newspapers for weeks after, the headlines slamming Hart U for his inappropriate display in front of impressionable college students.” He uses air quotes around impressionable.
“Yeah, some of it was bad press but the vast majority of it wasn’t. Coach was practically giddy for weeks afterwards, man.”
I hear Luka call out from across the parking lot as he makes his way over to us.
He’s been talking with Wyatt and Stella since we got out of the restaurant.
After all that shit went down with Stella, Luka has been working on forgiving Wyatt and rebuilding their old friendship.
I won’t go as far as to say I’m jealous but the fact that they seem pretty buddy-buddy now, after everything, kind of grates on my nerves.
“What’s going on?” Luka asks just as he reaches us.
I look over to Aiden questioningly, not sure if he wants word getting out. Luka won’t tell anyone but it’s still not my news to share.
“Doesn’t matter if he knows. Shit’s getting out anyway, whether I want it to or not.”
“He won’t say anything,” I answer in reassurance. “The more heads we put together on this one, the better.”
“What happened?” Luka asks, concerned, just as Wyatt walks up behind him. I bristle at his presence but work to control my reaction to him being here. I need to let the shit go with him, Stella and me. The first step to that is letting go of the urge to punch his face every time I see him.
Aiden nods to Wyatt in greeting. Wyatt nods back. To my surprise he answers Luka, no qualms given that Wyatt is listening. “My dad is coming to Friday’s game.”
“Shit.” Luka’s one word response says it all.
“Assuming you don’t want him here?” Wyatt asks.
“No, man. You remember what I told you about him, would you want that around you?” Aiden gruffly answers.
“I remember and no I wouldn’t want that kind of negativity at a game,” Wyatt answers, then asks, “What’s the plan, then?”
“Aiden wants me to talk to Coach and get him to discourage Isaac from coming but I don’t see that happening or going well,” I answer for him, not making eye contact with Wyatt but rather focusing on Aiden.
Luka’s already shaking his head in agreement. “No, probably not.”
“So what are the options?” Wyatt asks.
It’s quiet for a moment before Luka speaks up, “What if we offer him the VIP special?”
Aiden’s eyebrows go together in confusion, but I think I know where Luka’s going with this and it’s pretty damn brilliant.
“What? Why would we do that? I’m trying to make sure he never comes to another game, not roll out the damn red carpet,” Aiden spews harshly.
“Just hear me out. I’m talking about setting him up in the owner’s box so he’s out of camera view and away from the bench and you,” Luka says.
Aiden shakes his head, “It’s not going to work. He hates sitting up in the boxes. He wants to be down where the action is.”