Chapter 5
Ax
“Are you going out with us tonight, Ax?”
I shrug noncommittally at Rossy’s question as we exit Vegas’s visiting team locker room.
Our preseason game against the Vanguards ended in a satisfying overtime win for us, with Lundy making the goal from my assist to save us from going into overtime.
It was a fantastic shot, and most of the guys are eager to head to the Strip, where someone’s assistant has already reserved a private room for us at Club Aces.
Under normal circumstances, I’d have been more than happy to go celebrate.
In fact, the last time we were in Vegas, Cale and I had a smokin’ hot threesome with a gorgeous and fun-loving showgirl named Katarina.
We’ll see where the night goes from here, but thanks to Halle showing up in my life earlier this week, my mind has been on my past, not future hookups.
“Yeah, I’ll join you for a drink,” I reply, checking the time on my phone as we head to the team bus. “Just one, though. Plane leaves at 8 a.m. tomorrow, so I want to be back by midnight.”
Rossco throws a beefy arm over my shoulder. He smells of strong cologne and mint.
“Aww, come on, you old lady. We only have a practice tomorrow afternoon at home, which means we have all niiight to live it up in Vegas, baby! It’s going to be sick, bruh.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The idea of pulling an all-nighter tonight—especially after three nights in a row of interrupted sleep—doesn’t sound the least bit appealing.
I blame Halle MacAlister for those problems. It’s because of her I’ve been suffering from lack of sleep and a lack of interest in getting fucked up and busting a nut with a hot hookup.
All her fault.
My brain still reels over her appearance in Vancouver without any warning. She must’ve known I play for the Vikings, right? Why didn’t she ever contact me to tell me she was here? At the very least, to say, “Hey, Ax. I live in Vancouver now. Want to meet up?”
I guess I can understand why she wouldn’t. It’s been over five years since we last spoke. She could be married or in a serious relationship and maybe have no interest in seeing me again.
But the mere idea that she would never want to see me again sends a clawing sensation to my stomach, which clenches and churns like an angry sea in a storm.
There’ve been many times over the years when I’ve thought about her, dreamed about her, remembered that last night we had together before we parted ways on our way into adulthood.
At the time, we agreed to part on good terms, no drama, and go our separate ways. Halle’s logical explanation was that she didn’t want a long-distance relationship with a hockey player.
I get it. Honestly, I probably wasn’t mature enough to continue a relationship that stood the test of time across vast distances. It would’ve ended at some point—right? And probably badly, with resentment and broken hearts on both sides.
I’ve witnessed some of my closest friends and teammates go through gruesome, and nasty breakups and divorces due to complications that can come with a relationship that includes a professional hockey career.
Halle and I agreed that we were both too young to make that type of commitment to each other.
But I still regret that we never gave it a try.
We’d been great together and had an inexplicable pull I’d not ever felt before her.
Unlike some other girls I met in juniors, Halle liked me for me, not because I was a hockey player.
Yet, she loved the sport and completely geeked out over hockey stats.
Those four weeks I spent with Halle had been anything but puppy love. Our time together had been vivid, visceral, and it was a knife to my heart when it ended. It took me a while to deal with the fact I’d probably never see her again.
And then suddenly, five and a half years go by and… Boom. She’s alive and well and living here in Vancouver?
Seeing her again brought all those old feelings rushing to the surface and she’s been on my mind constantly. It’s honestly killing my sleep schedule because of how much she’s been appearing in my dreams. It’s a wonder I skated as well as I did tonight because I’m exhausted beyond belief.
Which is the reason I shouldn’t go out tonight.
Rossy, on the other hand, looks like he’s just downed two Red Bulls and snorted a line of coke. Although to be fair, this is his natural state. The dude is like a Labrador puppy, always bouncing like a kid on a trampoline.
Costa thumps my other shoulder with his palm. “I’m going with these idiots. We can skip out together.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s do it, bro,” I finally concede, mainly to get Rossco off my back. I turn to Costa and shrug with an eye roll.
Rossco lets out a hoot of excitement and jabs a fist in the air. “It’s gonna be lit, boys! We’re in Vegas, baby!”
* * *
16 Hours Later
“Get your asses moving, boys! Most of you look like you were dragged in from the back alley today!” Coach Thomas yells from the middle of the rink, where we’ve been doing speed drills the past twenty minutes.
“This isn’t a free skate. We have Florida tomorrow night.
No mercy or fucks will be given if you’re slagging. ”
I’m not nearly as hungover as some of my teammates, but I’m still struggling to rid myself of a headache that’s been lingering for most of the day. That happens when you’re working on less than five hours of sleep, two of which occurred on the plane ride home.
The trip from Vegas back to Vancouver takes less than three hours, but during that time a couple of our rookies, including Case Lyons and Shaw Benning, were in the lavatory hugging the porcelain throne while they puked up the previous night’s excessive alcohol. Rookie mistake.
But that wasn’t the biggest blunder that happened last night. That mistake was eclipsed by my friend and our team captain, Costa, ended up getting married.
Mother fucking married!
Never in a million years would I have expected a typical night out on the Vegas Strip to end up with me standing as best man for Costa.
Being Vegas, our quick celebration went from low-key to wild when we got invited to join a bachelorette party in progress. Next thing we knew, Cale’s getting hitched.
This is the guy who doesn’t even order a meal without considering all the options. When he bought his house, it took over a year for him to finally settle on a place, for fuck’s sake. But within hours of meeting someone, he ends up married to her?
I’m still in shock over his spontaneous out of character decision. We’re currently doing drills at the moment, and as I weave in and out around the cones with the puck, I lift my eyes for the briefest of seconds and catch a dopey-ass grin on Costa’s face.
The toe of my stick stutters against the ice, and before I can regain control, the puck veers wildly off course.
“Fuck,” I gripe, slapping the butt of my stick. I skate off to the side, where the chuckles from the guys along the wall make me even angrier at my loss of concentration.
Coming to a stop next to Costa, I bump his shoulder pad with mine to gain his attention.
“What’s up?” he asks casually, looking like he didn’t just pull an all-nighter.
“Bro, how can you be so calm right now?”
Should I have stopped him from making this life-altering decision? If the tables were turned, I’d want my best friend to step in and be the voice of reason, right?
Costa shrugs, his eyes scanning the drills taking place around us, and then gives me a look of incredulity, like he doesn’t know why I’m asking such a question.
He doesn’t even seem the least bit fazed that he is now legally wed to a complete stranger. I asked him three times at the altar if he was sure about what he was about to do.
“It’s all good. I’m doing the right thing.” That’s all he said to me before getting fucking married.
I’m still wondering if he really was as sober as he said he was.
I shake my head. “That was a fucking crazy-ass decision you made, don’t you think? Why aren’t you freaking out right now?”
His green eyes crinkle, and there’s a flash of a crooked grin as he lets out a laugh. Then he responds in his typical thoughtful, very Costa-like manner.
“It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“The right thing?” My voice goes up an octave in utter disbelief. His entire attitude is just plain weird. “Did you knock her up or something?”
Costa chuckles. “I don’t think it happens that fast.”
I mean, okay. A lot of quicky marriages happen during crazy drunken nights in Vegas, but most end once both parties sober up and realize what a mistake they’d made. I figure that’s why Vegas also has a high rate of quickie divorces.
But from the sound of it, Cale and his new wife—I don’t even know her name, for fuck’s sake! —are planning to stay married. I swivel on my skates so I can fully face him, eyeing him with all the skepticism and censure I can dredge up from my emotional bank.
“Dude, you don’t know that woman. At. All.” I punctuate the last two words with a stick tap on the ice. “She could take you to the fucking cleaners. Or worse, sell you out publicly if things go south. You have major assets and financial interests to protect.”
Why I’m so overly invested and concerned about the state of Cale’s relationship status is beyond me—Except for that I worry about him getting married on a fucking whim. That’s a big fucking deal.
I huff out an exasperated breath as I continue to glare at him. He just grins back at me, slipping a glove back over his hand and tapping the top of his stick against my helmet. A whistle blows to indicate a change on the ice, and he pushes off the boards.
“Good talk, buddy,” he calls over his shoulder as he skates toward the middle of the ice, where his line mates are circling up. I stare aghast at his nonchalance as he passes around the puck like it’s just another day of practice.
My skin suddenly flushes hot, irritation peaking and about to spill over. Why the fuck does it matter to me that he’s married?
Maybe it’s the fact that he’ll no longer be my single friend and wingman. As a married man, he won’t want to go out and party with me any longer. Look what happened to Keeners.
That must be the reason I’m so annoyed. Nobody likes to be left behind as their friends partner up. This is all good old-fashioned abandonment issues on my part.
Another whistle blows and Coach wraps up our practice with a quick pep talk before we all head off to the locker rooms.
As I leave the ice, I give myself a mental shake and make a promise I’ll get my head back in the fucking game. I should be focusing on playing excellent hockey tonight instead of worrying about Cale’s love life.
Or Halle’s.
Heading down the tunnel, I deposit my stick and gloves with the assistant equipment manager and head toward the locker room.
During this trek, I decide that it’s time I track Halle down and confront the elephant in the room—at least, the one that’s been taking up headspace for me this past week.
I just need to be an adult about it, have a conversation to catch up, find out how she’s doing, what’s going on in her life now, and then I can get her out of my mind.
Just as I come to that conclusion, Coach Thomas calls out my name.
“Hey, Ax. Ballas wants to see you in his office.”
I snap my head toward Coach and wrinkle my forehead. “What the hell for? What’d I do?”
He just shrugs. “Don’t know. Guess you’ll find out.”
Christ. Being called into the GM’s office is like getting sent to the principal in high school. It’s never a good thing.
Let’s just add something else I need to worry about.