Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Abby
My head feels like someone is using my skull as a drum kit. Every beat sends pain radiating from my temples down the back of my neck. My mouth tastes like something died in it, but first that something was marinated in wine. As I try to swallow, it feels like glass shards stab at my esophagus.
I’m afraid to move.
My skin is clammy under the blanket, and I don’t want to open my eyes. I have a sneaking suspicion the sunlight is going to stab directly into my retinas, and honestly, I think death would be preferable right now.
An arm curls around me, and I wonder who I ended up in bed with last night. My memories are fuzzy. I remember drinking and even singing, but somewhere there everything went black. Jesus, I’m a lightweight.
I pry one eye open and thankfully someone had the foresight to close the curtains, but when I peer over my shoulder, I find Tate lying behind me.
“Morning,” he says.
I try to remember when he got here, groaning as I come up empty. “What did I do?”
He chuckles and presses a kiss on my shoulder. “Got extremely drunk, spoke about yourself in the third person, and when you started vomiting, I volunteered to help. The Kanes apparently don’t do puke—their solution was to take you outside and hose you down.”
I snort. “I would have frozen to death.”
“That was the only reason they didn’t, and I was here anyway.”
“I’m so sorry. This is why I don’t drink often—especially wine—but Leila has such a wonderful collection in the cellar,” I say, shifting so I face him. “Remind me again why you’re here. Did I drunk-dial you?”
“Text actually, but it was not readable. I was already considering coming over,” he replies, tucking some of the mussed strands of my bed-head hair behind my ear. “To recap, though, Abby was really happy I decided to give this a shot.”
My eyes widen. “You want to do this with us?”
Tate nods. “As long as to the public you’re happy to be only dating an ex-pro athlete turned assistant coach.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly.
“Let’s get you downstairs and fed. It may help soak up some of the alcohol,” Tate says, sitting up and extending his hand to help me out of bed.
I let him pull me up slowly. The room tilts slightly, and I grip his arm tighter to steady myself. “Go slow,” I mutter.
“We’ve got time,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist as we make our way to the door.
The hallway is quiet, and when we reach the top of the stairs, I can smell something cooking that makes my stomach rumble again.
Downstairs, we find Landon in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove with a spatula in hand. He’s shirtless, his muscular back on display as he flips what looks like pancakes. The coffee is on, and the counter is covered with ingredients—eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and hash browns.
“Look who rejoined the land of the living,” he jokes without even turning around.
“Don’t,” I groan, moving toward the kitchen island and collapsing onto one of the stools. “I’m in no condition for your commentary right now.”
Landon finally turns around, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Abby spoke about herself in the third person last night for a solid hour.”
“Oh my god, no.” I bury my face in my hands. “Tell me I didn’t go on for that long.”
“You absolutely did,” Landon confirms, turning back to the stove. “Abby was very drunk. Abby had very strong opinions about everything. Abby also apparently has a thing about being half naked.”
Heat floods my face. “I’m never drinking again.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” a familiar voice quips from the back door.
Levi walks inside from his workout, based on the way his skin is covered with sweat and his hair is plastered to his forehead. He’s shirtless, too, wearing only his gym shorts and sneakers. He takes one look at me at the kitchen island and grins like the Cheshire cat.
“Ah, the woman of the hour,” he says, coming around the counter and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “How’s the head?”
“It feels like there is a rave going on in there,” I mutter.
Levi laughs and heads straight for the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and a sports drink. He sets them both in front of me. “Drink these. Landon’s making his famous hangover breakfast.”
“Famous?” Tate raises an eyebrow.
“You should have seen him after a big-game loss in college,” Levi says, sitting down on the stool next to me. “This man made the most incredible breakfast spread to cheer everyone up. It became a tradition.”
Landon shrugs, but there’s a slight smile on his face. “It’s not that impressive.”
“It absolutely is,” Tate says from where he’s leaning against the counter beside Landon. “I’m already impressed, and I haven’t even tasted it yet.”
Landon plates up a small stack of pancakes, topping them with butter, fresh berries, and a drizzle of maple syrup.
The smell alone makes my mouth water, despite my stomach’s current state of rebellion.
He follows it up with some bacon and a small portion of scrambled eggs, then slides the plate in front of me.
“Start with that,” he says. “If you keep it down, we’ll get you something more substantial in an hour.”
I take a small bite of pancake, and honestly, it’s heavenly. Fluffy and perfectly cooked, with just the right amount of sweetness.
“Oh my god,” I moan around another forkful.
“That’s the response I was going for,” Landon says, plating up food for Levi and Tate as well.
The four of us settle around the kitchen island. I let myself relax into their easy conversation while I eat, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels okay. “So,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence and looking directly at Tate. “You’re really doing this?”
Tate sets down his fork and looks me in the eye. “I came here last night to tell you guys. Drunk Abby just made it more entertaining.”
“What changed your mind?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“A lot of things,” he says. “But mainly I realized I was tired of playing life safe. You guys”—he looks between me and Landon—“are not safe. You’re complicated and messy, and you’re going to turn my life upside down. But I think it’s worth the risk.”
Landon reaches over and squeezes Tate’s shoulder.
“We talked last night,” Levi says, “while you were passed out and then puking your guts up. We think we can make it work.”
“As long as you’re okay with the secrecy.”
“I’m in. All the way in,” I tell them.
Landon reaches over and takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “That’s what we were hoping you’d say.”
My hangover feels a hell of a lot more bearable now.
Instead of letting me sleep, I’m dragged to practice; apparently it’s a perk of dating the assistant coach.
I think Tate may have been re-evaluating his choice when I walked downstairs in my brand-new hoodie with the slogan “Puck Me Dead” in bold letters across the front.
I finished the outfit off with a pair of comfy sweats, a beanie, and oversized glasses.
Landon and Levi just laughed. Both know me well enough to realize I wouldn’t go easily, especially hungover.
But regret still hit me hard as we walk into the arena and the players stare at me and Tate holding hands. “They are going to think you’re dating a hobo. Seriously, why did you let me leave the house like this?”
Levi laughs. “Because it’s funny, you look terrible, and see?” he says, pointing to the man walking toward us. “There is Tate’s big brother.”
“Good luck with that,” Landon says. “Time for us to head to the locker room.”
“Traitors,” I hiss under my breath, and both laugh as they walk away.
“Tater tot, who have we got here?”
Tate sighs. “Thomas, this is Abby. It’s new, and please don’t call me tater tot.”
“Sorry, old habits. It’s nice to meet you, Abby. I would say I have only heard good things, but my brother apparently likes to keep secrets.”
“It’s fairly new,” I say, wrapping my arm around Tate’s middle. “We have been enjoying getting to know each other. I’m so excited to see where Tate works, especially considering he’s already seen me at work.”
Before Thomas can say anything else, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out and glances at the screen.
“I need to take this,” he says, already stepping away. “Tate, you’re running training today. Don’t let the guys slack off.”
“Got it,” Tate replies, and Thomas waves goodbye to me as he disappears toward his office.
The moment he’s gone, Tate relaxes slightly beside me, and his hand finds the small of my back. “You can’t tell him what you do.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I say with a laugh. “Well, not exactly anyway. But content creation would have sufficed.”
Tate leads me into the arena as the players file out onto the ice. The moment they notice me standing there in an oversized hoodie, beanie, and massive sunglasses, the staring begins again. Levi winks at me as he circles around the ice, and Landon looks over at us and nods.
“Coach, your girl looks sad,” one of the younger players calls out.
“My girl has a hangover,” Tate says with a smirk on his face.
“Actually,” I say, stepping forward slightly, “your girl is waiting for warmups. I only came for the ice fucking.”
The entire team erupts in laughter. Several players actually stop what they’re doing to process what I said.
“Oh, Coach, are you not fucking her right?” another player shouts, and Tate’s hand tightens on my back.
I lean toward Tate, loud enough for the team to hear. “Oh no, he does this thing with his tongue . . .”
Tate’s face turns a shade of red that makes me giggle. “Okay, that’s enough, you bunch of perverts,” he snaps. “Get to it. We’ve got work to do.”
Before I head toward the stands, Tate pulls me close and kisses me. “Go,” he says against my lips. “Before they keep acting like teenage boys.”
I laugh and head toward the seating area, and when I sit, Levi shouts out, “This one is for you, Abby.”
I laugh as he begins to hump the ice, but I can’t lie and say I’m not extremely turned on.
“Suicides,” Tate yells out.
Levi doesn’t protest; he takes off, and each time he looks over at me, he has a shit-eating grin on his face. When he finishes, he mouths, “Worth it.”