Chapter 21
Silas
The whistle blows, and I dig my blades into the ice as I race my teammates to the far end of the rink.
Sweat trickles down my neck despite the chill of our practice arena.
Rooks and Colton slip past me, but everyone else stays locked behind me.
Even still, one of our younger defenders yells, “Getting slow, old man.”
I growl and clench my jaw as I fight back the urge to lay the kid out. I am physically and mentally wrecked and itching for something to take the edge off. A fight with some know-it-all punk might do it for me, but it’s exactly the kind of thing a captain shouldn’t do.
Thorn blows the whistle twice, and I skate to the bench to grab my water. Rooks hops over the boards and lifts a bushy brow at me.
“What?” I ask before I squirt water into my mouth.
He and Thorn exchange glances, and that thread of anxiety turns into full-on background noise.
“The kid is right, Harrison,” Thorn says, shifting from coach to friend. “Colt is quick as a whip, but you usually blow past Rooker. Are things okay?”
I stare at the ice where most of the younger guys are joking around with each other, seeing who can keep their balance as someone else whacks them behind the knees.
A year ago, I’d have been right there with them.
Thorn and Rooks share another glance over my shoulder.
“Hit the showers, then get the youngsters caught up on next week’s schedule,” Thorn says.
Rooks looks between the two of us like he wants to add something, but he eventually nods. Orders from Coach Cason are not to be ignored.
Once the last guy clears the ice, I settle onto the bench by Thorn. The silence is as painful as it is awkward. There are so many wounds to pick at that I don’t want him to have the first dig.
I scuff my blade against the ground as I acknowledge the elephant in the room.
“I’m thinking about hanging up the skates,” I mumble, my voice raw with emotions that I can’t stuff down.
The idea of willingly giving this up when I know, physically, I have years of play left in me is not a discussion I can take lightly.
But if I’m being forced out, it’ll be on my own terms. Trying to balance Aubrey’s fear of being left behind with my inability to meet every need while playing professional hockey feels impossible.
“I can help with practices or some things, and I will aid whoever takes over my line, but—”
Thorn cuts me off, a crushing grip on my shoulder. “You are not hanging up your skates this early, Silas.”
I shake my head as my throat tightens. “I can’t be captain, starting center, and her full-time caretaker.”
He nods like we’ve been circling this for weeks, and the lack of surprise on his face almost makes me wish I’d kept my mouth shut. “It’s what all of us have been trying to tell you.”
I shake my head as I push to my feet, the need to get out of my gear suddenly a driving factor to end this conversation before it can go any further. “I can’t leave her with a nanny.”
“Not a nanny,” he says, and I freeze mid-step, because I know damn well what he is about to say.
“No.”
“Oakley.”
“No. Not going to happen,” I say without turning around. My fists clench and release, and my breathing turns shallow as the edges of my vision darken.
Thorn winces. “What if I told you it already is?”
One second, I’m nearly in the tunnel; the next, my stick is in several pieces on the ground.
Thorn steps closer, his hands open by his head—as if a six-foot-five broad man can look harmless—and keeps his eyes on mine.
The sound of my own breathing startles me.
I drop my arm, back away from the shattered stick, and scrub a hand over the back of my neck as I try to make sense of what just happened.
“What the hell?” I rasp as I drop back to the bench.
Thorn palms the back of my head until it’s between my legs and pours cool water along my neck. “Just breathe, man.”
I glance up at him through sweat-soaked hair. “I don’t know what that was.” My breathing is still shaking, and the pounding in my chest might be cause for concern.
“I’m hoping it was the tipping point for you.” He points up toward his office where a large window overlooks the ice, the outline of three individuals clearly visible, one much smaller than the other two. When my vision finally focuses, it’s a gut punch.
“Why is Oakley Kate upstairs with my sister and your wife, Coach?”
Instead of answering, he nods over my shoulder. As I turn to see what he is looking at, I realize it isn’t a what. It’s a who.
Noah Slater stands at the edge of the tunnel, arms crossed and back against the wall, concern written all over his face.
“Oh, hell no.” I push to my feet and hope my knees don’t buckle in the few seconds it will take me to get to the locker room. “You called Noah?”
I push past the guys to escape to the locker room but come face-to-face with Rooks.
Without hesitating, I stride forward and lay a solid punch to his gut.
Granted, it’s mostly muscle, but he still folds with a grunt.
I let the sound ground me for a split second before heading to my stall to strip my skates and top layer.
If I stay near him right now, my fist is likely to connect with his face.
Our PR team would have a field day explaining that one.
Even still, Rooks follows me. “Si—”
“Get out of my sight if you know what’s good for you,” I growl without looking up.
He snorts. “Clearly, I don’t know what’s good for me, because I put up with your surly ass on a daily basis.” He turns to Thorn and briefs him in on whatever is happening in the film room.
I dump the rest of my gear and head for the showers. At this point, it’s pretty clear the guys aren’t going to let me off the hook for whatever bullshit they’ve concocted. A few minutes under the hot, heavy spray help me pull myself together, letting logic slowly sink back in.
I’m a communicator. I always have been. I’m good with words, with reading a situation, figuring out how best to approach it, and making sure people know what I feel and why when it matters.
Except somewhere along the way, I stopped communicating entirely.
Ever since Aubrey became my responsibility, the rest of it fell away.
Late-night chill sessions with the guys.
Grabbing a drink or a meal with the team, Tuesday nights notwithstanding.
Thorn and Rooks keep prying for details. Noah straight-up asked, then showed up.
And as for my captain responsibilities? Forget it. I’m pretty sure Rooks has been handling any team issues for weeks now, because clearly, I don’t know my stick from my skate.
And now, Noah is here again. He is a caretaker like me, sure, but he works as an elevator mechanic in Atlanta. The guy doesn’t take time off work unless Jett needs him. And yet, this is the second time in a week that he has come without hesitation.
I curse under the water as my hands rake through my hair. Cutting off the steady stream of water, I ask myself what I am doing. Something has to change. Wasn’t I just moments ago telling my coach I was ready to quit?
I dry off and pull on some gym shorts, an old hockey shirt, and my slides. Instead of sneaking out the back door like I want to—Rooker probably locked it anyway—I head back to the locker room. It’s time to face the music, or in this case, three oversized teddy bears.
Well, Noah isn’t quite that tall, but his presence fills a room.
Three sets of eyes zero in on me as I step into the locker room, scratching the back of my head and avoiding eye contact as I make myself admit it.
“I know I need help managing everything. Contrary to popular belief, I am fully aware that I can’t do this on my own and should have accepted help sooner.”
Noah is first to react. “I didn’t tell Oakley anything except that Hannah wanted an extra set of hands to keep Aubrey busy today.” He shoves his hands in his pockets as his shoulders shrug up. “It’s still your call. We can pretend that’s all it is.”
“She left pissed at me almost a week ago and hasn’t talked to me since,” I admit.
He nods but ignores it as if it’s no big deal.
“We can dog-pile you about why this lone-wolf routine sucks, or you and I can talk. You’re on a plane in two days.
You need a game plan. Let us help,” Noah says.
When I open my mouth to protest, he shakes his head.
Just once. “You get on a plane in two days to kick off the season. You need a game plan. Let us help.”
Thorn and Rooks clear out as I concede.
“The lounge down the hall should be empty,” I say as I walk past my friend.
As we settle into the game chairs, I tip my head back, eyes closing. “I honestly don’t know what to say, Noah.” Pushing forward to let my arms drop onto my thighs, I sigh as I finally look at him, a thousand thoughts warring with each other.
“Then don’t say anything. Just listen.” He leans forward, mirroring my posture. “How are you handling Oakley being back home?”
The question is so far off what I expected that the expression on my face must be shocked. I tilt my head, knowing there is a quizzical look on my face. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t. I know you’re still in love with her. And I know whatever happened back then was complicated, but if it had been your doing, she wouldn’t still be your loudest fan.”
“Heh. I should have known that’s why you didn’t hate me when she left.”
His brown eyes stare into mine, gaze never wavering. “You are a stand-up guy, Silas. And exactly who I’d pick for my sister if I had the ability to make that choice for her.”
“Yeah, well, I am far from her favorite person. Things got a little heated—”
“I said you were right for Oakley. Not that I wanted to know details.”
I roll my eyes as he shudders at whatever image just flashed through his head. “I said something and she took it the wrong way. She stormed out. Aubs was asleep, so I couldn’t go after her.” I lift a hand before he can interrupt. “Called Rooks. He picked her up and drove her home.”
“She said your guy is helping her prep for surgery.”
“Yeah.”
“So she’s still going through with it?”
“Small pin in her ankle. Outpatient.”
He nods, thinking it through. “Then she won’t be down for too long.
A walking boot and crutches should cover it, and between the two, she’ll still be able to do most of what Aubrey needs.
” He gives me a look that is half challenge, half suggestion.
“You don’t necessarily have to call it a nanny situation if you don’t want to.
Just let her take some of the load off.”
Not knowing how much Oakley has told him, I ask, “What about her job?”
The look he gives me draws a laugh from me. “I know she quit, no thanks to you or my girlfriend. Mom let it slip. But it means you guys could work something out.”
“And if she says no?”
“Oakley likes to be in control.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I ask.
“I think you know it better than anyone else in her life. Which is why you’ll offer this opportunity to her. It puts the ball in her court, but we both know she’ll say yes.”
“And if she leaves? I don’t think I can watch her walk away again, man. Aubrey asked if her Kate was leaving again. I can’t put that little girl through more pain if your sister changes her mind and decides she isn’t hanging around Steele Valley. Aubrey needs consistency.”
Noah whistles. “Damn.”
I don’t know what else to say. Nothing else seems relevant.
“Talk to her. Tell her what you need. Tell her why you’re worried,” he says as he stands and walks toward the door. “If she doesn’t give you the answer you need, then Jett and her friend Kelsey will figure out a schedule so that at least one of them is available whenever needed.”
“Your girlfriend is not riding to the rescue, Noah.”
“Then go talk to my sister.”
I push up, throat tight, and head for the door. No more dodging the tough shit. It’s time to face it.