Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Lake
The snow is piled up ridiculously high on the sides of the road.
The wind is still flying and there’s ice everywhere.
In other words, it’s sketchy as shit.
But I have practice. I have to get back out into the real world, have to do my real job, even though I want to be back at my house, watching crappy movies—
Or watching Nova watch crappy movies.
When I left, she was sitting in my bed, Steve at her hip, laptop open, editing photos.
I want to be right next to her.
Not pulling into the rink, my shoulders already getting tight.
Not grabbing my shit and walking into the practice facility, moving by the offices and through the kitchen, the player’s lounge, trying to avoid talking with anyone because even though I love playing hockey, love living in Tahoe, I don’t love the roster, don’t love my coaches.
And I sure as shit don’t love walking into a room that’s tense and frustrated.
So palpable, I can cut it with a knife.
I’m the captain. I lead by example.
But examples don’t matter with these guys—or most of them, anyway. Knox is a good guy—with the exception of him orchestrating Nova’s arrival at my house. Leo and Riggs are solid too, and I’m lucky to have them on the team.
The only bright spots.
Our goalie is weird. I mean, goalies are strange in general, but this guy takes the cake—as in, literally, he can’t play well unless he has a slice of cake before a game.
And it’s vanilla cake with vanilla icing, no less.
Eating the cake pregame is weird enough—but I could shrug it off because hockey players are weird with our rituals—but the man has his choice of a hundred varieties of cake and he chooses vanilla? What the actual fuck?
So, asshole coaches, a group of older guys who are lazy, settled in their routines, and not interested in pushing forward, an owner who may or may not be a criminal—the investigation into that was inconclusive, so it’s business as usual, apparently—and a weird fucking goalie.
And then the icing—vanilla or otherwise—on top is that the young guys are so fucking young they can’t even name three characters from Harry Potter—and in fact, half of them couldn’t even name Harry Potter himself when asked by the team’s social media crew.
Yup. My team’s awesome.
I grind my teeth together, ignore the tension, and drop my shit in my locker.
We made it to the playoffs last year before crapping out, and I’m not saying that we deserved to win just because our roster is talented—everyone at this level is talented. But we didn’t do all we should have, all we could have to take the Cup home.
It was an uninspired battle.
One that left me feeling like shit.
Though, I did get to officiate a wedding.
What I wouldn’t give to have what the Gold do—my officiating skills were put to use because those guys are a family that’s made up of more than just blood, and I’m just lucky enough to exist on the very edges of the periphery.
But that kind of trust and closeness isn’t something that just happens. It takes time to build that, especially when I haven’t been all that open to well…openness.
Damn.
I sigh and rub at my forehead then shove it out of my mind to deal with later.
Mostly because I’ve spotted the exact person I want to confront—er, talk to.
Knox.
The bastard smirks as he strolls across the room and sits down in his spot next to mine. He’s in workout gear, clearly planning to do the same as I am—hit the gym before the ice.
“I should fucking blast you,” I mutter.
“Would Nova get mad at you if you do?” he drawls, fishing for information, and still smirking as he shoves his feet into his sneakers.
“Nova’s too nice to get mad.” I glare at him, not that it does any good.
What I say next will, though. “She won’t get mad even though you and your sister’s shenanigans meant that I came across her and her car stuck in a snowbank instead of her snagging my spare key”—something I need to relocate from beneath that damn pot, since everyone, apparently, knows where it is—“and just showing up at my house.”
That grin fades. “What?”
“Yeah, asshole,” I snap. “She doesn’t have experience driving in the snow and nearly killed herself and that fucking dog.”
Another reason I don’t want her leaving my place—anything might happen on the road.
Which is true.
But also…I know I’m lying to myself.
I just…don’t care.
“Who almost died?” Leo asks, sitting down next to me, Riggs on his other side. Those two are my wingers, and along with Knox, are the only guys on this team who seem happy to put in hard work on the regular.
Case in point?
We’re the only ones in the locker room early, ready for our workout, ready to put in the extra effort.
Yeah, Coach made it optional.
But where the fuck is the drive to do more?
Lost in fucking Never Never Land.
Sighing, I yank off my jacket, change from boots and jeans to sneakers and shorts. “It doesn’t matter.”
Knox’s brows lift. “Lake has a woman staying with him.”
Leo and Riggs stare at me, mouths agape.
“And she’s hot.”
“Knox,” I warn.
“Really fucking hot,” he goes on, ignoring me. “Greenest eyes you’ve ever seen, man. And an ass that should be worshipped. If my sister wouldn’t kill me for fucking her best friend, I would totally hit that—”
I react without thinking, spinning toward him, grabbing his neck and slamming him back into the lockers. “Don’t fucking talk about Nova’s ass.”
The fucker clearly has a death wish because he just smirks again, wider this time, before he glances over at Leo and Riggs. “And apparently, our captain likes Nova’s ass so much, he’s feeling possessive.”
I squeeze my hand.
He coughs.
Then because it won’t be great for our season to kill one of the few decent guys on the team, I let him go.
“He saved her and her dog from a snowbank,” Knox rasps, rubbing his throat, his snark and bullshit not tempered in the least. “Now he’s gone full caveman and claimed her. Should I get you a stick to bang her over the head with too?”
I retie my shoes—only so I won’t throttle him again. “Dead. Fucking. Man.”
Knox laughs.
Leo leans back, crosses his arms, studies me. “You like her.” Not giving me shit. Not pushing my buttons. Just an observation.
Riggs nods in agreement.
Fuck, this is why I don’t do this shit.
But…I opened up to Nova and she didn’t run away screaming. She opened up to me and—
Normally, I would have told them all to fuck off then hauled ass to the gym. Today…I want something different.
Something more.
I ignore how fucking stupid that sounds—even in my own head—and mutter, “Yeah. She’s cool.”
Knox snorts. “Cool?”
“Dude,” Leo says. “Do you want him to murder you?”
Another nod from Riggs.
“Cool, though?” he says. “That’s seriously how Lake Jordan, sexiest athlete around, glistening cover model, vodka slinger, and big, tough hockey player is going to describe the first woman he actually likes since I’ve known him.”
Murder.
M.U.R.D.E.R.
“Baby steps, man.” Leo yanks off his sweatshirt, shoves it in his locker. “Take the win, take that he’s not still choking you, and let’s move the fuck on.”
One more nod from Riggs.
But not from Knox. He just opens his mouth—
And I lose it, the words exploding out of me. “She’s beautiful and cool—really fucking cool—and I’m going to keep her, okay? So fuck off and let’s go work out.”
Silence.
I backtrack through my words.
Realize what the fuck I just said out loud.
Fucking. Stupid.
“Dude,” Knox says.
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
“Dude,” Knox says again.
“If you know,” Riggs interjects, “then you know. So just shut up, leave the man alone, and don’t do anything to fuck with his woman, yeah?”
More silence.
This time because…
“That’s the most words I’ve heard you say at once,” Knox says, eyes wide.
I agree, albeit not out loud. Riggs is one of the quietest players on the team—very much of the head down, keep skating mentality. And he’s a good guy. Solid, dependable, and fiercely loyal once someone has gained his trust.
Hence him putting the quiet aside to interject on my behalf.
“What other opinions is he hiding?” Leo asks, tapping his chin.
“Jesus Christ,” Riggs mutters, pushing up from the bench. “Are we ready?”
“For Lake to kick our asses?” Knox asks. “That’s a no.”
Riggs rolls his eyes.
Leo reaches for his workout clothes, glances at me. “So, what are we doing today?”
I grin. Is it evil? Sure as fuck is. “I’m thinking A to Z.”
All three of them groan, which makes me feel significantly better.
Because A to Z is a series of twenty-six exercises, each corresponding to a movement, starting with Archer pushups and ending with Zercher squats. It’s brutal. It’s something I do when I want my body to hurt so much that my brain shuts down.
And thinking about what I just declared—and the possibility of Nova leaving anyway—thinking about that shit happening inside my heart, thinking about what I want deep down and how it goes against everything I’ve been holding tight the last couple of years…
Well, I would really like for my brain to chill the fuck out.
“No, man,” Knox begs.
“It’s good for us,” I say, grabbing my towel because shit is about to get sweaty.
And…it’s payback, muahaha.
Leo shakes his head. “No man. It’s fucking torture.
” He yanks on a Sierra-branded tee and bends to tie his shoes.
“I mean, I’m going to do it because I’m not going to bitch out on our agreement”—that we would push ourselves on days like this, push ourselves to be better—“but, just saying, you don’t have to punish us all when Knox is the asshole. ”
Riggs nods in agreement. “Word.”
Which almost—almost—makes me laugh.
Because, as Knox pointed out, he uses so few of those.
But I don’t comment, don’t argue, and I sure as shit don’t give them an out. I just go into the kitchen, grab some bottled waters from the fridge, and come back, tossing one to each of them. “Hydrate, boys. We’ve got to get to Z.”
They groan again.
But they follow me to the gym.
And all the way down to Z.
And Leo’s right.
It is torture.
Especially when we have to get on the ice right afterward.
But I’m right too.
It’s good for us.
And for those couple of hours, I stop thinking about Nova and the complicated feelings in my head and heart.
I stop thinking about everything.
At least until I walk into the house and she’s lying in my bed, a movie on the TV, the smell of something delicious in the air, her expression relaxed and her face warm.
She smiles at me.
And the punch to my heart almost sends me to my knees.
“Woof!” Steve barks, tongue lolling happily as he tries to get up and greet me.
I move toward him, scoop him up, and get a kiss on my cheek.
And another punch to the heart.
Christ.
My mind is working—too much and too fast, erasing everything I thought I knew and wanted and reducing it down to this woman in front of me.
I want her.
But how do I let go enough to actually keep her?
Forever.