Chapter 3 #2
I’m six foot five, two hundred and thirty pounds. I’m a power forward used to throwing around my weight to protect my teammates. Weakness isn’t something I’ve ever felt, not until a puck bunny was bouncing on my dick while I had a dream that it was my wife, and I couldn’t get her fucking off me.
It took two people to get me free, and I’ll never forget Caelia’s face. She was pale and trembling but still did her damndest to protect me with her stun gun. I wish I could be more like her, because being me sucks.
Fuck, I’m wallowing. I fucking hate when I’m like this. I can’t even stand myself.
Lyle, Silas, and Easton are silent as they pull on their skates and lace up. There’s no conversation or push for southern etiquette. They simply step out onto the ice and follow me around as I build up speed.
It almost feels like I’m flying at one point, which is why I love hockey so much. There’s a euphoria I feel while I’m out here, but all of the usual things I do to chain my demons aren’t working.
I’m beginning to sweat as I slow my speed down, and Pack Mayor fan out to surround me.
“Is there a reason you’re avoiding us?” Silas asks, brow raised.
Shit. He’s the nicest out of the three of them. I hate being on the wrong side of his facial expressions.
“I’m an asshole,” I grumble. “I’m trying to protect you from my shitty attitude.”
“Don’t bother, we already deal with Easton’s,” Lyle chuckles.
We’re drifting on our skates without any real direction now, and he shoves his hands in his pockets with a small shrug.
“You’re in our city now, Troy. You don’t need to keep suffering in silence.
You’ve been here for six months now. We bought tickets to your games last season and watched how you’re playing in an effort to check for proof of life.
When you refuse to tell us where you’re living, we find ourselves resorting to dubious methods.
I have to say, this team needs some work. ”
Ugh, you know shit is all fucked up when the lawyer admits he’s stalking you.
“Tell me about it. I agreed to come on because they promised to squash the rest of the media rumors for me. It’s been two years, and they were still digging up what that woman did to me.
” I refuse to defend my team because I’m very aware of how much work we still have to do before we’ll begin winning championships.
Tossing my hair out of my eyes, I’m reminded that I need a haircut.
I’m not taking care of myself, and this is a glaring example. “I should be over this by now, right?”
“Who the fuck says you should be?” Easton snorts. “There’s not a road map for this. Ella is a bitch and couldn’t handle being there for you. I’m not surprised, she’s always been a selfish cunt.”
They were there for my wedding, and they didn’t approve of her then either.
“Ella is Ella,” I say helplessly. It’s hard for me to talk shit about her, even now.
“When was the last time you ate?” Silas asks. My traitorous stomach growls, and I sigh with a shrug. This shit isn’t going to fly with the trainers, not when they log how much I eat and get on me about a proper diet.
I’m going to need to begin looking for another meal prep business, because I don’t have the patience to prepare meals.
I used to do it without a problem when I lived in New Orleans, but I have a feeling I’m depressed.
The looks Coach has been giving me lately make me think there may be a more serious conversation coming soon since he’s already discussing my mental health.
“I guess I could eat,” I sigh.
“Good, because we aren’t above kidnapping,” Easton says.
“La la la,” Lyle sings, skating back to the bench while I gaze confused between them all.
“Lyle doesn’t like it when we joke about doing illegal shit,” Silas explains. “He forgets that he’ll be right beside us doing it if it’s necessary.”
My lips twitch in amusement, though I’m not sure how serious he is about this. Silas is the equivalent of a social planner in Savannah, but I don’t know if he actually works or not. He doesn’t need to because Lyle makes really good fucking money as an attorney, while Easton works as a dispatcher.
Silas could spend his days underwater basket weaving for all anyone would care and the world would think the sun shines out of his ass. The alpha has a way of brightening my day whenever I’m around him.
I can already feel the tension surrounding me begin to loosen and I take a deep breath as I skate off the ice to change into a pair of tennis shoes.
“There’s a nice little hole in the wall we like that’s within walking distance,” Lyle explains. “I figure it’ll help you continue to decompress. How long have you been skating?”
“A while.” I didn’t have practice today. In fact, the first real one back from our break is tomorrow. We had a week off before hitting it hard again, and I’ve been at the rink every day this week. No wonder Coach is worried about me.
Skating until you’re too tired to see straight isn’t the best way to deal with your bullshit, but I meant it when I said I didn’t want to burden other people with my bad mood.
Sometimes, I can shake it for long enough to feel normal.
It’s not for long, and the depression just crashes back around me afterward.
“Do we need to tell you we’re worried?” Easton asks, sliding his loafers onto his feet. The three of them have been skating in nice button downs and slacks. I feel like a bum in my long sleeved t-shirt and shorts.
I don’t usually skate in this, but my anxiety practically chased me out of my apartment today. I’m sick and tired of feeling out of sorts.
“How the hell do I fix this?” I ask. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to look at a woman who flirts with me in a bar and not wonder what her intentions are.”
“No one says you have to date, or that it has to be a woman,” Lyle grunts, standing. Easton packs their shit up into the duffle bag they brought, and we begin to walk out of the rink.
Pulling out my phone, I text Coach that I’m done. My backpack hangs from my shoulder, and I purse my lips as I think about what Lyle said.
“It’s not about the dating, and more how I react when I’m dragged into a bar to hang out with my teammates,” I admit. “I keep getting asked if I’m celibate, and at this point I guess I am.”
“Then tell them that if it’ll shut them up,” Lyle says. “It’s really none of their business. Feel free to tell them you’re fucking a pack of silver foxes if you really need to get them off your back.”
“You’re coming on a little strong,” Silas sings under his breath as we walk.
“Are you serious?” I ask, confused.
“Is it going to freak you out if we were?” Lyle asks.
“All done, Mr. Evans?” Devon Phillips is the guard I typically see when I come in during the offseason and breaks, and I nod as I thank him as we walk through the atrium toward the exit.
Devon unlocks the door to allow us to leave, and I mumble a half hearted goodnight.
“I don’t really know,” I finally say to Lyle in reply to his question. “We’ve known each other for a long time, but I think relationships and I are on the outs.”
“No one said anything about a relationship,” Easton teases as Silas rubs the bridge of his nose. I think we’re stressing him out.
Silas is the only one in his pack that isn’t quite graying, and the scruff on his face makes his smiles even more sinful. Am I attracted to him and his pack mates? I think I’d be crazy not to be if I’m honest with myself.
I have never entertained doing anything with men because I’ve always had Pack Mayor in my life. We’ve been friends for longer than I was with Ella. These men know how much fun I used to be, and I miss that.
Ugh, I’m all twisted up in knots. Fuck.
“I haven’t done casual in a long fucking time,” I grunt. “Half the time I don’t make any damn sense to myself, guys. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Easton pops the trunk to his SUV as we walk past it and smoothly tosses the duffel inside before reaching up and shutting it.
His corded muscles bunch as he does it, and I’m reminded that he’s technically a cop.
“Here’s the deal. We want to be in your life more, Troy.
If you want to go for a run, we’re in. Whatever you need. ”
“Fuck it,” Silas sighs. “We’ve been very excited about your move back to Savannah. We promise not to crawl up your ass, and we’re not needy. We know you’re busy, especially with the season starting again. All we’re asking is that you not hide from us.”
“Speaking of that, where the fuck are you living?” Lyle asks, lips pursed.
“I’m sub-leasing an apartment a couple of blocks from here. My neighbor likes to bring people back to fuck and they are never quiet about it,” I grumble. “It feels as if I’m back in college.”
Silas hides a smile, while Lyle doesn’t bother as he chuckles.
It’s low and husky, and his brown eyes glint with amusement.
Despite his casual clothing, he appears every inch the distinguished lawyer with his short, dark hair quickly turning gray.
There’s even white at his temples, and I swallow hard as my cheeks heat.
“If it gets to be too terrible, we have a guest house you’re welcome to,” Lyle says. “We keep it stocked for people who need a safe place to land.”
He says this so nonchalantly as we begin walking again, and my heart fucking clenches. Shit. Why do they have to be so damn good?
“I definitely can’t take you up on your offer then,” I grin half heartedly. “What if someone needs it more than I do? I’m just an insufferable hockey player who doesn’t want to be a big boy and buy a place to live.”
That’s only part of the story. I don’t really have the money at the moment to buy anything.
Ella’s alimony is draining me dry. I’m going to be making more money with this team and I’ll be able to begin saving money, but I’m kind of in a bind until then.
I refuse to suck the fun out of tonight by telling them any of that.
Lyle suggested allowing him to help me find a lawyer and I refused then.