2. Carter
Chapter 2
Carter
A s I thumb the power button, the remote is a lead weight in my hand. The television screen blazes to life, hockey highlights flickering across the darkness of my bedroom. It’s just me, the glow of the TV, and the ghost of Mia’s perfume lingering on the sheets.
I used to like it. Now, it’s nauseating.
I should probably feel bad that she’s gone. But weirdly, I don’t. I’m sad because we dated for almost a year—less when you consider all the time I spend on the road—and now there’s nobody to call when I get home. Nobody to rush to see. No outlet for the pent-up energy when we win—or worse when we lose. No special person to talk through the ups and downs of my job.
But that’s the big reason for the break-up.
She didn’t want to talk about my career. She hated it when I put off things she considered vital because I wanted or needed to watch games, reruns, or game highlights before I hit the ice again. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about hockey even though it’s what brought us together in the first place. She wanted to plan our wedding. We weren’t even engaged. A ring wasn’t on my agenda. But apparently, it existed at the top of her to-do list.
Finn strides into my room; no knock because privacy is a joke when your best friend is your housemate. I make enough money; I really should get my own place—another notch in the con column for Mia. Playing for the High Rollers, we can all afford our own places. But why waste the cash when we’re only around long enough to enjoy it part of the time? So we rent a big house.
“Jesus, Carter, you’re wallowing,” His voice breaks through the replay of our game against Chicago. It’s early in the season. We’re a new team, only established two years ago, so it’s been a couple years of working out the kinks. We didn’t make the playoffs las year but ended in a good position. This year we need to start strong.
“Fuck off, Finn, I’m not wallowing,” I mutter, refusing to take my eyes off a slow-motion replay of myself attempting to steal the puck from the Chicago forward. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” He snorts, grabbing the remote and pausing the game on my frozen form mid-shot. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly. He’s not wrong. I haven’t showered yet, and the room’s a mess. “Just what I needed to hear.”
“Listen, man.” He drops onto the edge of my bed and leans forward, elbow on his knee as he faces me. “Mia knew the deal. You’re nowhere near finished. Hell, you’ve barely started and you’re on fire this year.”
“ Was on fire,” I correct him, thinking of how Mia’s terms for our relationship doused the flames that last game. Of course, she had to drop it on me right before I walked out her door. Hockey or her. As if there was ever a choice. And while I may not be that torn up about the whole thing, no guy likes an ultimatum.
“She wanted the ring, white picket fence, the whole nine yards, didn’t she? Wanted you to hang up your skates and play handyman for her father’s company. You are not a construction worker, my friend. You play for the NHL.”
I can’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “She hated the road trips. Hated that hockey took me away from her.”
“She sure liked what it got her, though.”
I give him a confused look.
“Come on, man. You bought her nice things. You took her to nice places. Frankly, I’m surprised she wanted you to quit.”
“Retire.”
“Same difference at our age. You retire when you’re finished playing, whether that’s because the young rookies are out playing you or injuries take you out. You, my man, are not ready to look in the rear-view yet.” He slaps the mattress for emphasis.
“She thought I could maybe coach part time if I wanted to stay connected.” I remember scoffing at the suggestion. Everything he’s saying is exactly what I said to her.
“Part time? Maybe?”
“Yes, in addition to working some office job or with her father.” Her words replay in my head.
“Carter, you can’t play a game forever. You need to grow up at some point. That’s why your parents paid for that expensive degree you have.”
Juggling the game I loved with school had been a bitch because Mia was right—I can’t play forever. That’s why I busted my ass for my engineering degree. Since the moment an actual career in hockey looked better than promising, I planned to have something in my back pocket for the day I made my last slapshot. That day is not today, and my parents would agree.
“Maybe. But you’re twenty-four. You’ll have a better chance at securing a coaching gig once you’ve had a long career and some experience.” Finn sighs heavily and drops his voice. “She wasn’t right for you, man.” His tone is resolute, and he is committed to his pep talk even though I don’t need it. “You live for the ice, Carter. You have since the day you put on your first pair of skates. She doesn’t want to share you with the game. That’s on her, not you.”
“Easy for you to say,” I grumble, rubbing a hand over my face. The stubble scrapes against my palm, a reminder of the days I’ve spent holed up here, dodging calls and ignoring the rest of the world. It still hurts that somebody I cared for would stoop to forcing me to choose. And I’ve spent the last few days wondering why I’m sulking when I should be relieved. Am relieved.
“Because I’m right.” Finn continues and stands, towering over me with that determined glint in his eye. “You need to get out of this funk, hit the town, remind yourself there’s more to life than moping over someone who doesn’t get you.”
“Or I could stay in and watch us kick Chicago’s ass again,” I suggest half-heartedly. Thank God, even though my game sucked, Finn’s didn’t, and neither did the rest of my teammates. It helped that Chicago spent a great deal of time in penalties, giving us the advantage we needed.
“Or,” Finn counters, snatching the remote and shutting off the TV, “you could stop being such a fucking hermit and raise some hell with me and a few of the guys. What do you say?”
“Fine,” I relent, knowing full well that Finn won’t take no for an answer. “But if I see Mia there?—”
“You won’t.” Finn cuts me off. “Trust me. She’s probably burning your jerseys and cursing your name somewhere far from any bar we’ll hit tonight. Bunnies don’t like getting dumped. We’ll hit a bar on the strip rather than a local one.”
“She wasn’t a bunny.”
“She started out as a bunny. Once a bunny, always a bunny.”
The sad thing is, he’s not wrong, not that I’d ever admit it. Finn never liked Mia. He had her number from day one, but the pretty blonde had mine. I’ve got a thing for blonds, and once she batted those dark brown eyes at me as she touched my thigh, she’d hooked me. One night turned into two, which turned into twenty. Pretty soon, I had somebody to go home to when I was in home. It felt good.
Until it didn’t.
It didn’t take long before she complained about the road trips, the bruises, my chipped tooth that I still need to have fixed, the guys, and the other bunnies. But like Finn pointed out, she never minded when I spent my hard-earned money on her. She liked to show off in front of the others.
“Mark my word,” he continues, “she’ll be out there trying to score another player when she realizes what she’s lost.” He points a finger at me. “And if she comes hopping around here, I’ll kick you in the nuts if you so much as look in her direction.”
“ Ouch .” I curl my knees up, protecting the goods.
“Remember that.” Finn turns to leave my room. “We’re leaving in thirty, and a few of the guys are meeting us there.”
“You do remember we have practice tomorrow, right?”
“Which is why tonight we blow off some steam. Tomorrow, we hit the ice hard.” Finn throws a glance over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Besides, a little fun never killed anyone.”
When I come out of the shower twenty minutes later, my other roommate is lounging against the doorway with his arms crossed.
“Man, you dodged a bullet, Hayes,” Mike says. The smirk on his face is as annoying as it is familiar. But deep in my gut, I can’t deny the truth in his words. “The moment she put it out there, you had to kick her to the curb. No chick should get to call the shots on your career.”
I glance up once I’ve yanked my jeans up my legs and fastened the button. Sitting on my bed, I shove my feet into my boots and lean down to lace them. My fingers work the leather more aggressively than necessary. “Not everyone thinks like you do, Matthews.”
I’ll never admit to him that he’s got a point. I’m surprised he can fit his gigantic ego through the door as it is. Mike’s not my favorite, at home or on the job, but he needed a place to stay, and we had the room. Plus, although he can be a dick, he’s one of the best defensemen in the league.
“Come on,” he scoffs, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering further into the room. “You’re telling me you’d really give up the game for a piece of ass? That’s not the Carter Hayes I know.”
For just a piece of ass? No. But if I found true unconditional love like my parents have, who knows? “Guess there’s a lot you don’t know,” I retort, unwilling to give into him as I stand to meet his towering frame. Mike may be a solid wall of muscle and defensive tactics on the ice, but here, in the dimly lit confines of my bedroom, he’s just another player who doesn’t always get it. I may not appreciate Mia’s demands, but that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person. She knows what she wants. I just can’t give it to her.
“Please,” Mike chuckles, shaking his head. “At least you didn’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” I roll my eyes, feeling the tension ebb away with the banter. It’s easier to deflect than to confront the fact that maybe I’m just as reckless with my heart as Mike is with his fidelity. “Last I checked, you were trying to juggle three women at once, plus a girl who considered you her boyfriend. I can’t believe you haven’t been caught before now.”
“Hey, it’s an art form,” he grins, unapologetic. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out, quickly glance at the screen. “And speaking of art, I’ve got a masterpiece waiting for me, two actually. Not going out with the boys tonight, I’ve got plans.”
“Plans,” I echo, smirking as his grin widens into something downright wolfish. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“Probably not.” Mike slaps me on the shoulder on his way past.
But as the front door closes behind him a few minutes later, I can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s a lesson to be learned from Mike’s relentless pursuit of pleasure.
Shit, what am I even thinking? I grab my wallet from the top of my dresser and head downstairs to wait for Finn. If nothing else, a night out will clear my head.
When I got drafted by the new Las Vegas team, I wondered if I’d even like the city. I’d never been before, and I’m not much for heat or crowds, but it’s grown on me. We usually frequent bars off the main boulevard which I generally prefer because they’re quieter and you can talk to the person sitting beside you without yelling. The bars in and around the casinos are full of tourists and loud. But when you want to disappear in a throng of people, they’re ideal.
“Plan is to grab a drink, scope the scene, and then—” Finn starts, already raising his voice.
“Wade through a sea of sweaty bodies and spilled drinks while trying not to think about tomorrow’s practice?” I interrupt.
“That too,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder with enough force to push away some of my brooding.
As we jostle past people, all thoughts of Mia, hockey, and everything else recede to the back of my mind. Finn spots a few of the guys from the team in a back corner and leads the way. Before I can say puck, I’ve got a beer in one hand and a bunny under the free arm, but I’m not interested, so I politely disentangle myself, screaming some sort of excuse in her direction before I turn to walk away, ignoring the look of disappointment on her face. I should feel shitty, but I don’t. I didn’t come here to get laid, regardless of Finn’s intent for tonight.
“Hey,” Finn nudges me with his elbow and tips his head in her direction. “Remember, we’re here to forget, not to brood.”
“Who says I’m brooding?” I tip my beer to my lips and gulp back half the bottle while I scan the sea of bopping heads.
“Your face, mostly,” he fires back. “Come on, Carter. Loosen up. Maybe you’ll find someone tonight who makes you glad you’re single.” With another slap to my back, he seems satisfied that he’s done his best friend’s duty. “Here,” he hands me a shot and another beer.
I knock back the bitter liquid, the burn scorching my throat before I chase it with the cold brew. “You’re trying to get me drunk,” I accuse, but there’s no bite to my words.
“Absolutely,” he admits with unapologetic honesty. “Best way to enjoy the night.”
“Hungover is not the best way to practice tomorrow though.”
“You have all night and tomorrow morning to get over it.”
I survey the crowd, noting the sway of hips and the loop of arms around necks. This really isn’t my scene; it never has been. In fact, meeting Mia in bar much like this one had been a fluke. Give me the cold, the ice, the adrenaline—that’s where I thrive. Not here, amidst the press of flesh seeking connection in the most transient ways and music thumping through my bones.
But my friend’s not about to give up. “Come on,” he urges, planting his hands between my shoulder blades and shoving me toward the dance floor. “Let’s find you a rebound.”
We maneuver our way into the crowd of mostly women on the dance floor, and I try to lose myself in the movement. I can pretend just for tonight. Besides, if I show a little interest, it will get Finn off my back.
“Anyone catch your eye?” My best friend yells close to my ear, his eyes scrutinizing the crowd with practiced ease.
“Still looking,” I lie. It’s easier than admitting that every face is a blur.
We approach a group of four women who appear to be having a good time, and the heat from the gyrating bodies around me seeps into my skin as I start to relax.
“Hey!” A delicate hand lands on my shoulder, her grip squeezing.
I turn, bracing myself to dismiss another groupie, angling for a chance with a player. But I choke on my words when I spot her—she's a knockout standing there in the middle of the chaos. Her wild blonde hair, which was likely sleek and orderly when she first arrived, now cascades in tousled waves, partially tucked behind her ears, damp tendrils clinging to her flushed pink cheeks. Bright blue eyes, slightly glazed, sparkle with unrestrained excitement.
“Hey, you’re cute. Wanna dance?” she blurts out, shouting to be heard, her words slightly muddled.
I chuckle softly. She’s pretty, and I think she’s had a few drinks already tonight.
Finn gives me a shove, his grin egging me on.
Fuck it.
“Sure,” I say, finally allowing a genuine smile to break through. “Let’s dance.”