Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ten years later…
Become team captain, they’d said. It’ll be fun, they’d promised.
But hockey players were fucking liars. He should have known that after almost fifteen years in the NHL!
As Austin Fox watched Leon Alvarez pound his bathroom door with his fists, it occurred to him that he should never have accepted a promotion that came with so much responsibility and no raise.
He hadn’t chosen the job; the entire L.A.
Hawks roster had unanimously elected him.
At first, he hadn’t understood why, but now he knew: He was simply the only jerk who’d felt honored instead of ripped off when his teammates had claimed that he alone possessed the patience and communication skills necessary for the position.
He had to admit, he did secretly agree with them.
If Leon had banged on their winger Dax Temple’s bathroom door, for example, Dax would have long since commented with a middle finger.
Moreau always claimed that Austin was more diplomatic than Switzerland, calmer than a golden retriever, and more intimidating than a T-rex.
He liked to add that this was the only reason fights between teammates were kept to a minimum and that, at least as long as he was watching, everyone got along.
“You’re the team dad. They don’t want to disappoint you, so they behave!
” the goalie had muttered after the new season’s rookies had placed two apples and a can of Red Bull in his locker like an offering last week.
He didn’t care whether it was true or not, team dad or not: Leon Alvarez was his damn problem child.
“Leon, stop it!” he snapped at his colleague, who was eight years younger than him and, although his ID said he was a grown man, showed little evidence to support that theory. God, he hadn’t been such an idiot in his mid-twenties, had he?
“The jerk’s been showering for 45 minutes!” Leon yelled through the door in response. “That’s inconsiderate shit, Devreaux! Especially for a rookie on the team like you! You need to prove you’re good on the ice, not that you can use hot water!”
Oh, dear God. Austin had bought a house with a large lot, with the nearest neighbor 300 yards away. He didn’t want to deal with constant noise complaints and L.A. Hawks players tended to be loud — and here they were!
Leon continued pounding on the door with his fists until Fox had had enough and grabbed the player’s neck firmly with one hand, like he might with an overzealous puppy.
Well, no, he would have been much more affectionate with a puppy.
With Leon, however, he simply pulled back abruptly, thumb and middle finger pressed into the sensitive sides of his neck.
“Ow, damn it, that’s domestic abuse!” he complained.
Fox ignored him. “I said stop. So you fucking stop, okay?” he clarified calmly. “Let him shower as long as he wants. Unlike you, he’s actually living here.”
Their newest addition, Jason Devreaux, had just transferred from the Edmonton Whales, and since he hated hotels and hadn’t found his own place yet, Fox had promptly offered him one of his five remaining bedrooms. He wanted Devreaux to feel comfortable in L.A.
, because when hockey players felt comfortable, they played better.
Right now, he needed Devreaux at his best for tomorrow’s season opener.
“Besides that, three more little things,” Fox continued, abruptly letting go of Leon. “First, showering before practice is stupid. Second, this house has three bathrooms, so use one of the others. Third, and an even better idea, shower at your damn house, not mine!”
“I don’t have any breakfast food at home,” Leon said, irritated, turning as the running water in the bathroom fell silent.
“Do you want me to go to practice weak and hungry? Coach Gray will give me hell for complaining too much, then he’ll give you a piece of his mind for being captain and practically responsible for making sure we show up at the arena rested and fed. ”
Fox glared at him, wishing he wasn’t right. “Leon, I’m not a mother bird who chews your food and regurgitates it for you. You have to feed yourself!”
“And that’s probably why we haven’t won the Stanley Cup in years,” Leon replied unperturbed. “Because you don’t take your job as team captain seriously enough to care about my upset stomach.”
“If you didn’t drink so much alcohol, maybe it wouldn’t be so upset,” Fox remarked dryly.
“Well, I had to go on a bender before we’re only allowed water after our first game of the regular season tomorrow. Thanks to your alcohol ban.”
Fox smiled broadly. “A glass or two of orange juice would be fine by me too.”
The bathroom door opened and Jason Devreaux, the twenty-eight-year-old star player and living proof that not all Canadians were polite, stepped out.
He had a towel wrapped around his waist, while thick drops of water rolled from his short, light-brown hair down his broad shoulders.
“Don’t drink the orange juice here, Leon,” he stated in greeting.
“Fox gets the kind with lots of pulp. It’s like he doesn’t want us to stay. ”
Fox snorted. “And this from the guy I’m letting stay here for free while he finds his own place.”
“The mere pleasure of my presence should be payment enough,” he said contentedly.
“And man, what great shampoo do you have? I like roses in my hair much better than in my hand. You Americans sure know how to make yourself feel prettier.” Devreaux shot him with a pair of finger guns that should have been banned since the nineties.
“Melody gave it to me; it’s kids’ shampoo! And it smells like raspberry, not roses,” Fox replied, rolling his eyes. Here was I guy who didn't know how to accept a surprise gift from his best friend’s daughter.
“Ah, I knew it was something red. That kid has taste,” Devreaux said contentedly. “By the way, we need more shampoo.”
“We?” Fox said incredulously. “How about buying your own shampoo?”
“What, toiletries aren’t included in the service?” Devreaux flipped him the bird. “What kind of cheap hotel is this?”
“None at all!”
Leon clicked his tongue. “I told you, Fox, if you want your five-star rating, you’re going to have to work a little harder.”
Fox gritted his teeth, finding it almost a shame that he had so much patience.
God, sometimes it would be nice to just let loose and lash out.
At…everything that came out of Leon’s mouth.
Not hard — just so he wouldn’t be able to move for a few hours.
“Get your ass in the damn shower, Alvarez, we’re leaving for practice in half an hour. ”
“Oh, I’d better grab some breakfast,” Devreaux said, heading down the stairs to the kitchen.
Fox sighed and followed. As an early riser, he’d been ready to leave the house for an hour, but today, one problem after another had literally walked through his door. Besides the first two, another was sitting at his kitchen table: Blake Ford, the Hawks’ second goalie.
Devreaux glanced over his shoulder at Fox with pity. “Man, you can’t give every rookie a key to your house,” he said, shaking his head. “First Alvarez, now Ford…”
“Did that asshole just call me a rookie?!” Leon shouted angrily, having unfortunately just appeared in the doorway behind them. “Hey, Fox, you don’t have any more clean towels. I need one.”
“Yep, I heard that word rookie too,” Blake confirmed, popping a spoon into his mouth. “Leon, if I were you, I’d fight him and defend your honor…and hey, Fox, is this oat milk crap all you have? I need my calcium!”
Fox leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, questioning his entire life.
Yes, admittedly, after being promoted to captain, he shouldn’t have told his teammates that his door was always open.
It had been even more stupid to give them all a symbolic key to his house in the same breath.
But he believed that hockey players needed someone who would listen to their worries at any time.
He certainly could have used someone back then.
And who the hell would have expected that everyone would actually use the key?
If he had received a dollar every time he found one of his teammates at his kitchen table, then…
well, he’d be a lot richer than he already was.
Moreau burst through the door the next second. He was the last person Fox needed to see right now.
While completely ignoring Fox, his best friend, who didn’t seem surprised, Moreau glanced at Ford, Alvarez, and Devreaux and barked, “What did I tell you, Ford? No chocolate cereal for breakfast. You need damn protein! I’m not training you privately anymore if you don’t follow my rules.”
Ashamed, Ford slumped in his chair, Devreaux sat on his way-too-bare butt, Alvarez grinned broadly…
and Fox sighed. Yes, he had more patience than most. He was always diplomatic.
It was his damn job to keep his sheep together.
But someday, he’d shear them all and throw them into some field to deal with their shit on their own.
Today, however, wasn’t that day.
“Okay, everyone shut up,” he said loudly. “Leon, towels are in the closet across from the bathroom. Devreaux, put on some damn underwear before sitting at my kitchen table. Ford, I made eggs, eat them before sweets. And Moreau…what the hell are you doing here?”
The men grumbled, but everyone did as they were told while Moreau just nodded toward the living room door and disappeared through it.
Great, that couldn’t mean anything good.
He made sure Ford took one of the plastic plates out of the cupboard, not the ceramic – hockey players broke more than a bull in a china shop – before following Moreau.
“What’s up?” Fox asked, approaching his friend, who, with his arms crossed, was staring out the right side of the two fully glass-walled walls into the gigantic garden.
Fox had always wanted a property with enough space for barbecues with the entire team plus families, with enough bedrooms for all the players to sober up in the next day…
so he had bought it. It didn’t matter that he was single and the house was obscenely large for him alone.
He’d wanted enough space for his family — and the players were his family.
He’d jump in front of a bullet for any one of them and he knew they’d all return the favor.
And shit, if Leon continued sleeping with so many vengeful women, that danger would soon become reality.
“Have you looked at Christine’s Instagram today?” Moreau asked warily.
Fox’s entire body tensed. Theoretically, he didn’t have the emotional capacity to hate anyone.
It took too much energy; everyone had their bad sides.
But shit, his ex-wife’s name still sickened him a bit.
Christine had single-handedly ensured that he no longer trusted any woman except his best friend and agent, Hazel — and that might not be fair to the female sex, but shit, Christine had fucking destroyed him.
“You know perfectly well I ignore her as much as possible, Moreau. So, what’s going on?”
The goalie sighed. “I wanted you to hear it from me, not anyone else, or, worst case scenario, from her. She’s pregnant.”
His jaw clenched, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.
What was I supposed to do, Fox? I love you. I didn’t want to lose you! You want kids, I don’t… You would have left me. I know you would have!
Well, he had left her. But not soon enough.
“Congratulations,” he replied tonelessly. “How wonderful for her.”
Moreau sighed. “She gave an interview and…you won’t like what she says in it.”
“Show me,” he said coldly.
“Well, you’re used to her talking nonsense about you, but…”
“Show me!”
Moreau grimaced. “Don’t do it to yourself, Fox.”
Fox ignored him and promptly pulled his own phone out of his pocket and found the interview within seconds.
He skipped most of the part where Christine talked about how happy she was and what a great feeling it was to create a new life, until he got to the final question…
“You’ve been married before, Christine. Back then, it was public knowledge that you didn’t want children – what’s changed?”
“I was just with the wrong man.” She laughs. “I had a great time with Fox, but I always knew he wasn’t father material. I guess I was just waiting for the right partner!”
The lines blurred before Fox’s eyes, blood whooshed in his ears, and the phone cracked in his hand from the tightness of his grip. Of all the things she could have said…
“Austin,” Moreau murmured, feeling his hand on his shoulder.
Fox didn’t want to imagine how angry he looked right now since his best friend was using his first name and hesitant about physical contact to calm him down.
“It’s bullshit, it's below the belt, and everyone knows that. She’s not worth it. ”
He closed his eyes. “I’ll grab my gym bag. We have to leave right now.”
“Fox…”
“Make sure everyone’s ready. We won’t be late under my watch!”
“Fox! I know this brings back some shitty memories.”
“I’m over it.”
“I wouldn’t be over it…”
“The divorce was five years ago,” he snapped. “I don’t care what the hell she says.”
“She’s a bitch, okay?”
“Yeah, I wish I’d known that back then,” he whispered harshly as he turned abruptly, hurried up the stairs to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
Only then did he press the heels of his hands so hard over his eyes that stars danced in front of them when he dropped them.
His heart felt strangely numb and sore at the same time, as if someone had carefully pulled it from his chest, sanded it, and then replaced it. Moreau was right; he was used to Christine dragging him through the mud. But this…this was diabolical, even by her standards.
But what did he expect? There were unforgivable things and then there was what Christine had done.
He took a deep breath before sitting down on the bed.
He would calm down and then not give it another thought.
He was done with it. That phase of his life was over.
It was okay if he never had children. He’d always wanted them, but after what happened with Christine…
No, maybe it was better that he remained single and childless forever.
Then at least his heart would be intact and he’d remain functional.
God, at least nothing else could surprise him today.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed downstairs, back to the kitchen.
Ford grumpily ate his eggs while Moreau sat beside him, sporadically saying, “Another forkful!” Devreaux had followed his instructions and put on boxer shorts, if nothing else, which made it even more amusing when his coffee spilled and he jumped up cursing as it splashed his bare legs.
Leon entered a second later, smelling like an entire raspberry bush.
“Devreaux is right! That shampoo is da bomb,” he remarked with satisfaction. “I’ve never smelled so good!”
Fox snorted but smiled. He had an entire team, a family of his own, to take care of as captain.
It was enough.