Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Sawyer
“They lose their patients,” I say into the phone, watching as Ollie’s face screws up for several seconds. Then he looks over at Lainey. “I don’t get it.”
She bites back a smile but explains. “When you go to the doctor, you’re their patient. But that’s different from being patient, like waiting your turn. So, what happens when doctors get frustrated? They lose their patients.”
His frown doesn’t budge. “But I wait my turn at the doctor’s, Mom.”
Her smile flies free. “That you do, peanut brittle.”
“And I’m a patient.”
She ruffles his hair, giggles. “You sure are—patient and a patient.”
I chuckle. “So, today’s Dad Joke wasn’t a total bust.”
“Just requires a bit of explaining for four-year-olds,” she says as Ollie loses focus and runs off. She smiles at him and turns back to me. “Sorry to bug you this morning. He was asking about you, and I thought…” She trails off, her cheeks going a little pink.
“I’m glad you called,” I say, and it’s the truth.
Plus, it’s a fuck of a lot better than my mom’s call from yesterday.
“What do you have going today?” she asks.
“Hockey,” I joke.
She gives me what I’ve wanted from the moment I picked up her call.
Her gorgeous laughter.
It fills the air and my heart and I savor it as it quiets and still smiling, she says, “Yeah, handsome, I know that much. Ollie and I are going over to Luna’s tonight to watch you guys take down the Sierra.”
“You sound awfully sure we’re going to win,” I joke, leaning back against the pillows, and scrubbing a hand over my face.
I slept through the night without interruption, but I still feel like I’m playing catch-up.
Between the sponsorship contracts and the gym, my mom and coordinating those appointments, then the team dinner and hanging with the guys last night while we watched some tape our video coach pulled for us, there wasn’t a lot of time for rest.
Except for the eight hours of sleep I got last night, so buck up, Hill.
“How’s your neck?”
I reach over and snag the compress she bought me from the nightstand. “Better, thanks to this little gizmo.”
“Do the rooms have microwaves?”
“Most of them,” I say. “If not, the equipment guys could arrange for one—or for someone to heat it up for me.”
“Perks of being a hockey star.”
“Perks of my body being my job.”
Her eyes sharpen, but her question isn’t what I might have expected. “Do you mind it?”
“What?”
“Gray’s mentioned a few times that he’s played on teams where he feels like simply a commodity, like his body is just a resource to be used up. Have you dealt with that?”
I exhale softly. Then shrug. “Somewhat. I mean, we’re paid a stupid amount of money to whack around a vulcanized disc of rubber—putting our bodies on the line is part of that.
But there’s a difference between working hard and giving everything we can, and being expected to give everything we have, no matter what it costs us. ”
“Will you tell me about it?”
“About the difference?”
She nods.
“Injuries are part of the game—blood, bruises, broken bones all happen. But I’ve had coaches who pretend they aren’t, or who don’t give a fuck if you’re hurt.
They only care about getting the next win, the next two points in the standings.
It can be brutal and exhausting and disheartening.
” I shove my hair out of my face. “Luckily, the Grizzlies and most teams nowadays, frankly, realize they’ve invested a lot of money in us and want us to stick around for a good long while.
Concussion protocols are followed, injuries are treated, we’re looked after a little more carefully.
But I also know that if I don’t produce, if I don’t do my job…
I’m not going to stick around for long.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t like how mercenary it sounds.” A beat. “But it makes sense, I guess.”
“I imagine you’ve probably dealt with the same thing.”
Her brows draw together.
“The world of publishing can be pretty cutthroat, right?”
Her face clears. Then her mouth hitches up. “Pretty smart, Hill. Pretty smart.” She snags the phone from where she propped it and starts walking through the house. “Shoes before you play outside, Ollie!” she calls. A few moments later, she’s shrugging into her jacket and following him out.
Maybe I should let her go, let her get on with her morning.
But seeing her like this—relaxed and in her routine, just living her life—is like getting a glimpse behind the curtain.
Then she’s sitting on the step, eyes on Ollie for a moment before they come back to the phone.
“Publishing can be tough,” she admits. “Working so hard on something, putting your heart and soul into it, and getting rejection letters. Or it not resonating with your readers.” A sigh.
“I can say not every book is for every reader a hundred, a thousand times over…but it still hurts to have someone not like what you’ve spent hours carefully crafting. ”
“Fuck, baby. I didn’t think about it that way.”
“Every job has its good and bad parts.” Her face goes soft. “Lots of books can be successful every year, but only one team wins the Cup, right?”
“Right,” I whisper, heart rolling over in my chest.
“So good parts and bad parts,” she says, and then a twinkle of amusement glints in her pretty brown eyes as her voice drops, “And one of the good parts—the really good parts—is that hockey gave you a body like that.”
My dick goes hard.
Just like that.
One sentence, the memory of the taste of her pussy, the feel of her body, the soft hum of her moans in the air…and I’m hard.
“Pages,” I warn.
Her eyes flick over the phone then come back to mine, and the sexy little smile that adorns her mouth makes me wish I was there all over again. “You got to see me naked a couple nights ago,” she says. “It’s only fair I get to see at least part of you the same way.”
“Do you want to see all of me?” A beat. “Now?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation.
And fuck, I go somehow harder.
But before I can ask if she’s sure—or hell, maybe just strip naked and give her the show she wants—
“Mom!”
Her eyes slide closed for one long moment.
Then, “Yeah, baby?”
“Come play with me!”
“I wanted to play with someone else,” she says dryly.
I laugh, and it’s painful. Mostly because my balls are aching and my dick is…well, I’d come up with another word for aching except that my brain is currently absent of blood.
“Sorry,” she whispers before calling, “Be right there, peanut!”
“Nothing to apologize for, Pages. He comes first.”
Those eyes lock with mine.
Her expression gentles…then turns just the slightest bit wicked.
“Win that game tonight, and maybe we’ll see about all those things you can show me.”
“Baby,” I choke out. “What happens if we lose?”
A sexy smile. “You’ll owe me.”
And I’ll pay her anything she asks for.
Fucking anything.
Still, I can’t help but ask, “Owe you what?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” A wink. “Win or lose, call me when you get to the hotel, handsome.”