Chapter 27
Cold air slices across my face as The Hellions skate around me. I let my head tip back, eyes shutting for a second, just long enough for the loss to settle in the air.
I’ve never been one to hate a team before, but lately, every time I see The Hellions, all I can think about is the blinding swish of red flashing behind our net. The way the crowd gasps, it’s as if they’re taking the punches with us.
We lose, and it fucking sucks. Every emotion tied to the color hits me as they intercept the puck and score the winning goal on our home ice.
I know Logan is already beating himself up about it, but when he mumbles his apology to Hayes for the pass and can’t meet anyone’s eyes, his disappointment in himself somehow hurts more than the actual goal.
They had their player placed in the perfect spot. Remembering how it unfolded, we practically passed the puck right to them. The second they took possession of the puck, it was over.
My movements are sluggish as I skate off the ice after shaking hands with the other team. The Tornadoes walk down the tunnel, heads bowed, in quiet agony.
Silent and defeated.
We fought hard. My legs are jelly, and I know we gave it everything we had. But tonight, The Hellions performed better, and we paid the price.
The smell of sweat, ice, and frustration linger in the locker room. Gloves, sticks, and helmets smack the metal and tiles. Someone mutters a curse. Logan slams his fist into his locker, but no one says anything.
We’ve all been there.
It sucks, but he needs to deal with it in his own way. Just as we all have. It’s a tough loss, but we’ll turn it around.
We always do.
By the time I get home after post-game interviews, I want to collapse on the floor.
Even stripping off my clothes is the equivalent of lifting weights, but I know if I crash straight into bed, I’ll regret it in the morning.
I jump in the jacuzzi, letting the soothing jets pelt me from every direction.
It’s pure bliss.
Steam curls around me, but it’s not enough to drown out the images of Erin on her doorstep four days ago—her eyes glassy, her lips trembling, and the way she held her breath.
I lift my phone from the drink holder and tap on her contact. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, but before I can type out a message to her, the group chat starts pinging with notifications.
WE’RE THE TORNADOES, BITCHES!
Rudy: Does anyone know why Goose is acting weird?
Rudy: And by anyone, I mean you, Pretty Boy.
Oliver: Weird, how?
Rudy: She’s been sending one-word replies, and when I asked if she wanted to hang out tonight, she said, ‘some other time.’ @Chase did something happen on your date I should know about?
Hayes: Does tagging the person you want a response from do anything special when they’re already in the group chat?
Oliver: Aww, look at Dad asking the tech questions.
Hayes: Again, I’ll remind you I’m the same age as you, dickhead.
Rudy: @Chase, please answer at your earliest convenience.
Austin: Pretty sure if he did do something he’s not going to tell you. You did threaten to be the reason he doesn’t have any offspring.
Me: It was hardly a threat.
Oliver: So… did something happen on your date?
Me: I kissed Erin, and she sort of freaked out. We haven’t talked since.
Hayes: Did she not like the kiss?
Me: She liked it…
Oliver: Then why is she avoiding you unless you’re a lousy kisser?
Austin: Yes, please explain.
Oliver: Did you use too much tongue?
Austin: I’m going with teeth. He looks like a biter.
Rudy: Please, can we not use kissing and tongue in the same sentence when talking about my sister.
Me: I’m an excellent kisser. Thank you. Very. Much.
Hayes: Then why is she avoiding you?
Austin: I think she’s avoiding his mouth.
Oliver: Hey, Rudy, will you let me date your sister? I promise to be a better kisser than Pretty Boy.
Me: Don’t even think about it, fuckboy.
Oliver: Hey, there is no need for name calling.
Rudy: I mean, if you want to ask her out, I guess that’s fine. But I would say you’re wasting your time.
Oliver: I’mma ask her to go to the movies with me. I’m sure there’s a cute chick flick coming up.
Hayes: You hate going to the movies.
Oliver: Yeah, but I’m an excellent kisser.
Me: I know where to find you.
Hayes: Easy, Liam Neeson. He’s not kissing anyone.
Rudy: And for what it’s worth, I think Goose is head over heels for Pretty Boy.
Me: Thank you Rudy, I’ve always liked you.
Oliver: Well, of course you’d say that. You’re trying to get into his sister’s pants.
Austin: There won’t be much of that if he’s a lousy kisser.
Me: I am NOT a lousy kisser, and I’m not trying to get into her pants.
Rudy: Not that I want to talk about you getting into my sister’s pants, but if that’s not what you’re trying to do, then what are you trying to do?
Me: I want to date her.
Austin: And then you want to get into her pants?
Me: Please, can the admin of this chat remove him?
Hayes: He’s saying that he doesn’t just want to get into her pants. He wants more.
Oliver: As your friend, I’m willing to take a step back and let you shoot your shot.
Me: Ever the gentleman.
Oliver: You should kiss her again—best outta three.
Austin: Na. I don’t think he can improve that shit. If you’re a lousy kisser, you’re a lousy kisser. Plain and simple.
Me: And once again, you are liked the least.
Austin: Pretty sure Erin likes you the least right now—and your lips.
Hayes: So, what exactly happened when you kissed her?
Me: I’m not sure. It was like a switch went off in her head. One minute she was there with me, and the next she seemed like a light-year away. She was afraid.
Rudy: Of you?
Me: No. It almost seemed like she was afraid of herself. I don’t know. I didn’t want to leave her, but it just seemed like she needed space and time to process whatever freaked her out.
Oliver: I think you did the right thing.
Me: Then why do I feel so awful?
Hayes: I think you know why, Pretty Boy.
Oliver: I’ll be damned.
Austin: Always thought Hayes would be the first.
Rudy: ???
Me: I’m in love with Erin.
Rudy: You’re in love with Goose?
Me: I have been for a while now. And not knowing what’s going on with her is killing me.
Hayes: All you can do is give her time and be patient. Whatever’s going on with her, it sounds like she needs to figure it out on her own. So let her do that. Let her come to you when she’s ready.
Me: I know. I’m trying. I just hate that she’s hurting but don’t know why.
Rudy: Guy’s night? My place.
Oliver: I’m in.
Austin: I’ll bring donuts.
Hayes: Be there soon.
Me: Yeah, that sounds great.
I pocket my phone and get dressed. Maybe a guy’s night is what I need to take my mind off things.
I grab my keys for my truck. Once I’m inside Byrdie, I hesitate just for a moment when I picture Erin alone.
Vulnerable. Fragile.
My fingertips grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. All I want to do is go to her. I want to hold her close to me and never let go.
I can still taste her on my lips—honey and nerves. It hits me all over again how fast everything shifted when those first tears slid down her cheek.
My body aches as images of Erin curled up in her room slam into me in a way I can’t fix. I just want to protect her and take every ounce of her pain. I want to find the switch that shuts it all off so she can fall into my arms without fear or doubt.
Erin is worth the wait. I know she’s the one that needs to take the next step if she wants this.
Wants us.
Right now, it’s clear she’s overwhelmed, and even though backing off seems like stepping off a cliff, if that’s what she needs me to do, I’ll do it.
She knows where I stand.
Now, it’s her move.