Chapter 37
I’M THE DICK
Ryker
In the kitchen, I glare at my best friend. Right now, he feels like my enemy. “You’re a fucking dick,” I say.
Chase is ice as he stares right back at me. “Oh, I’m the dick?”
“How could you do that to her?”
“Do what? Try to fix things? Try to solve the problem?”
I stab the kitchen counter with my finger. “Make her feel like she’s nothing.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. How did you try to make her feel like she was everything? I didn’t see you doing anything. You fucking stood there and grunted.”
A plume of anger rises inside me. “Because you’d already decided how it was going to be,” I say, seething. “Like you did before.”
“We’re still on that? We’re still negotiating that fucking issue?” he asks, shaking his head, then wheeling around and yanking open a cupboard like he’ll rip it off the hinges.
“Because you’re still doing the same shit,” I say.
Shaking his head, Chase grabs a bottle and a cup, pours a few fingers, then knocks it all back.
He sets down the glass with an angry clink.
“And you’re one to talk. What did you do?
You were just Grumpy Ryker. Angry Ryker.
Growly Ryker.” He holds his arms out wide.
“Well, Growly Ryker didn’t solve the problem. ”
I clench my fists. “And you didn’t either, Mister Fix-It,” I bite out, then turn around and stalk down the hall.
He’s seconds after me. “It’s easy to get mad at me, isn’t it?
It’s easy to wrap yourself in this whole persona you’ve created.
The guy who’s unfazed. The guy who’s so tough, he just grunts.
That’s what you do. You create this whole illusion.
And then you use it when it suits you. When it’s fucking convenient. ”
I whirl around, fuming now. “And you’re better? You just stand there and take over. You try to fix everything before you even think about what it means. Before you even consider how anything comes across.”
“I didn’t see you trying to fix it,” he says, missing the point entirely.
“You don’t give anyone else a chance,” I roar.
“So what did you want to say that I didn’t let you say?” he asks, sweeping out a hand. “The floor is yours.”
Fuck him and his empty gestures. “How magnanimous of you.”
“Magnanimous. So typical. You say that stuff to just cover up how you really feel.”
With narrowed eyes, and righteous rage in my heart, I step closer, poking his chest. “And I know what you do. You try to make everything right to cover up how you really feel.”
He pushes my finger off his chest. “Well, Mister Expert. Tell me how I feel then? Or hey, better yet. How do you feel?”
I didn’t tell Trina that I was falling in love with her.
No way am I going to tell him. No way am I going to say I wanted to make a go of this crazy thing we built.
Because no matter how angry I am at Chase right now, I made a deal with him.
He’s not interested in a relationship. So what am I going to do?
Go after her and confess my dumb heart? Ask her to be with just me?
Not an option. I promised that I wouldn’t let a woman come between us and I won’t, even though he’s a world-class fuck-face right now.
“Forget it,” I say, because I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
I head into the room I didn’t use and grab my shit. Three minutes later, I’m out the door too and in my car. My floors are fixed. They’ve been fixed since Thursday. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell Trina. I didn’t need to stay here any longer.
I chose to.
But I’m leaving because I’m not only mad at him, I’m mad at myself. Chase is one hundred percent right.
I hid behind the image I’ve created, not the new one Trina helped shape. I didn’t stand up for her.
* * *
The next day in Seattle, I’m stepping off the plane with Dev, debating whether we should get Korean barbecue or check out some cool new sushi spot in Capitol Hill.
The argument is better than being alone with my incessant thoughts of the woman I can’t have and the friend who I don’t want to talk to.
“Apparently, the sushi is so spicy your mouth will be on fire,” Dev says, making his pitch.
“Please. Sushi has nothing on Korean barbecue,” I say, but mostly I don’t want fish and rice since it reminds me of the first gift we gave Trina.
“Sushi’s closer to the hotel,” Dev adds when Oliver catches up to me on the jetway.
“Got a sec, buddy?” he asks in his upbeat tone.
He’s always upbeat. That’s the job. He’s chipper when he gives you bad news and when he delivers good news.
The last twenty-four hours, though, have been all bad.
My agent, Josh, called this morning when I boarded the flight, wanting to know what the hell had happened.
“This podcast episode is everywhere,” he said, sounding like he wanted to track down Bryce and my ex and give them a piece of or else.
“That’s great news,” I’d deadpanned.
To his credit, Josh also asked if there was anything he could do. But since muzzling Selena was not a viable answer, I said, “Nothing, man. But I appreciate the check-in.”
What else could I say? In one podcast episode, all the work Trina did for me during the last week crumbled to dust. If the team didn’t like my rep before, they’ll hate it now. Oliver’s probably about to let me know I’m on the shit list.
“Sure,” I say to him, since what’s the alternative? I’ve got to own my mistakes.
Dev laughs. “If the debate’s over, that means sushi after the game.”
“Nope. Sushi is not the answer,” I say.
But Dev shoots me a cocky grin. “Fish it is,” he says, then continues on his way. Un-reprimanded. Lucky fucker. But at least he didn’t mention my clusterfuck of a reputation on the flight. Or ask for any details about what went down with Trina.
I’ll chalk that up as a small victory.
I turn to Oliver as we continue down the jetway, bracing myself. “What’s up? Nothing good, I presume.”
“Well, it’s not great,” he says, diplomatically. “There was a lot of coverage of that podcast. But,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a here’s the but coming my way. “I get—and the Avengers’ front office does too—that it’s not your fault.”
What? I jerk my gaze to him. “They do?”
“You didn’t cause this problem,” he adds.
“But that piece. It was grist to the sports news mill.”
“It was. But like I said, not your fault. It’s not Trina’s fault either,” he says, and the sound of her name rips at my tattered heart.
“We don’t blame you, or Chase, or the VIP guest,” he says, and she’s so much more than a VIP guest, but I shut my mouth about that.
“It’s just a situation that got out of hand.
We do appreciate what you did to work on your socials.
We appreciate, too, that she helped you out.
” He shrugs, but it’s not a helpless one. “You can’t control what others say.”
True. But still. “I thought you guys wanted the whole good guy image,” I say, doubtful.
He laughs lightly. “Of course we want positive press. We want our players to present well online. You did all that. And then this happened, but there’s nothing you can do. We’ll just keep on moving forward. How does that sound?”
Like I don’t buy it.
“Sus,” I admit as we head into the airport.
He chuckles. “Love your ‘trust no one’ attitude. It’s great for a hockey player. But seriously, it’s fine, Ryker. I swear.”
“What was the point then?”
He stops and I do too. Oliver’s young, but in this moment, he seems wise beyond his years as he meets my gaze straight on.
“The point was to let your fans know who you are.” He takes a beat, still intensely serious.
“Someone who loves his family, who cares about his sisters, his mom, his grandmother. Someone who gives books to a library. Who gets a jersey signed by teammates and helps donate it to rescue dogs. That’s who.
The rest? You can’t control it. Sometimes you let it go and focus on what you can control. ”
I didn’t have get good life advice from the PR guy on my bingo card today, but I’ll take it. I ease up on my doubt. “I appreciate all that. Thank you, Oliver,” I say genuinely.
“If you want to sit out of any press conferences, that’s fine with me.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
But mostly, I spend the day thinking about all the things I don’t think I can control. And trying to figure out if I can control any of them.
Then I get on the ice, and I play my best, blocking passes, rattling the other team, not letting up even an inch, and doing everything I can for the Avengers for all three periods.
It’s a tight game, and it comes down to the wire as they attack in the final few seconds. But I’m all focus as the Seattle center flies down the ice like he’s hellbent on tying it up and forcing overtime.
Nope. Not today.
I’m there, blocking the shot before he even reaches Dev, and the buzzer sounds, signaling our victory.
* * *
Later, I don’t take the easy way out. I retreated last night. I won’t do it again. I talk to the press after the game and I don’t grunt. I don’t swear either.
I do say we played hard against a tough opponent. “But I’m glad we won,” I add, even though I still feel empty.
But I keep that part all to myself.