Chapter 34
NOT CAPTAIN FOR NOTHING
Stefan
Since we fly to Detroit in the morning, the three of us agreed to take the night off from our festivities.
Shame. But the sex reprieve gives me a few minutes to pop into The Great Dane before it closes. I like to check it out while customers are here to make sure the vibe feels right, like it did when I ate here with Ivy and Hayes.
The thought of her does funny things to my chest. Things I’ll have to deal with quite soon.
But for now, I swing open the door, say hello to Yasmine, then head to the bar, sitting down next to a guy with horn-rimmed glasses and suspenders.
He looks vaguely familiar, so I give a friendly-ish nod and order a scotch.
“Coming right up, Mr. Christiansen,” the bartender says and once he gives me the drink, the man next to me turns my way and clears his throat. “Hey! You’re Stefan Christiansen. Number Eighteen.”
Ah, a fan. That makes sense.
Except, wait.
As I say hello I get a better look at the guy, and he feels awfully familiar—in a stupid hat kind of way. He’s holding a canvas bag, and he sticks out a hand.
“Xander Arlo, The Dapper Man.”
Irritation curls through me at the sight of this fuckface—the asshat, toxic ex-boyfriend who treated my girl like shit and dumped her for someone with more followers.
I clench my fists.
“I’d been hoping to catch up with you. I see you’re a food man,” he says, glancing around.
No shit, Sherlock. “Yes. I like food,” I say dryly.
He gestures to me, indicating my suit. “And tailored duds.”
“Sure,” I say, cautiously. Why the fuck is he here?
“Well, I’d love to give you a chance to get in on a great opportunity.”
He’s come here to pitch me on something?
Oh, this is rich. He slides over the bag, then opens it to show me a loaf of wrapped bread.
“It’s my special sourdough recipe. I’m going to open a brand-new shop,” he says, then makes a camera frame with his hands.
“I’m calling it Dough and Duds. It’ll sell my homemade bread and my hand-selected bespoke suits.
Small batch for what you put on your body and in your body.
” He slides me a folder with a shiny cover.
“There’s a presentation in here. I only have a few slots for investors, but I’d love to have you on board. ”
Is he for real? I barely know what to say to an idea that’s so fucking ridiculous. “You’re opening a bread and suit shop?”
“Homemade bread,” he corrects.
“Pretty sure it’s not homemade. It’s bakery-made, or what we call house-made in the business.”
He taps the wrapped loaf. “Try it. It’ll blow your mind. Like I said, I only have a few slots left, but I’ll hold one for you.”
The chutzpah of this asshole. The motherfucking chutzpah. I’d like to punch his face. Rearrange his nose. Dislocate a shoulder.
But, however momentarily satisfying, those would be career killers.
I take the bread but slide the folder back to him. “I don’t need to check out your presentation to know this is a hard pass. And, frankly, so are you.”
Oh. Would you look at that? I was a dick after all.
Sometimes it happens.
* * *
On the way home, I swing by a nearby park and walk to the duck pond. Henry’s usually here at night. He keeps a tent near the ducks, and sleeps there. The older man comes by the restaurant most nights, and we give him food, when we have extras.
I find him on the bench, doing a crossword puzzle. “Henry. Didn’t see you tonight,” I say.
Looking up, he sets down the pencil. “This one is hard. It’s taking me some time.”
“No worries, man. But here’s some bread for you,” I say, then hand him the loaf.
He leans in to smell it. “Smells good.”
Well, at least Xander can bake well. “Enjoy. But don’t feed the ducks,” I say, pointing to the sign by the pond advising against it.
Henry gives me a look like are you for real. “Kid, I know.”
I wave, then turn around. “See you soon.”
“See you soon,” he echoes as I leave with no food waste.
That’s one issue disposed of.
* * *
But isn’t it just the way things go—when you shake off one problem, another creeps up on you.
Hayes’s mood starts worrying me as soon as we leave for Detroit.
He keeps to himself on the plane. That’s no good for a guy who wants to feel like part of the team.
Before the game, he’s all about his earbuds and his rock music.
Fine, that’s not so strange—every guy has a different way they get into the zone.
They do something before a game, then nab a much-needed assist on the game-winning goal, and that becomes their thing. Maybe quiet mode is Hayes’s thing.
But I’m not captain for nothing. My job isn’t just to look out for the guy I’m sharing a girl with. My job is to look out for the whole team. When a teammate is out of sorts, I’ve got to either pick him up or kick him in the pants.
I choose the former.
When the afternoon game ends in the early evening, the team jet takes us to Chicago in an hour, giving us plenty of time for dinner.
I round up Dev, Brady, and a bunch of other guys and take them to my favorite Chicago pizza spot.
The deep dish is approaching ten out of ten levels, but I’d like to think it’s my masterminding ways that loosen up my buddy.
Over dinner, he and Brady shoot the shit about a home improvement project the new dad is working on, then they trade Netflix recs, with Brady admitting he’s a diehard Bridgerton fan and Hayes confessing he’s a Schitt’s Creek kind of man.
That’s as good a lubricant as any. Back at the hotel, as the other guys peel away to their rooms, I steer Hayes to the lobby bar and a booth in the back.
After we trade tips on the formidable Chicago defensemen we’ll be facing tomorrow—and whether any are better than Tom or Dimitry on our team—I cut to the chase. “What’s really going on with you?”
Hayes tilts his head, like he’s shocked I asked. But he doesn’t play the surprised game for long. With a heavy sigh, he takes another swig from the beer bottle, though he says nothing.
A year or so ago I might have stayed quiet. Hell, in my twenties, I might never have asked hard questions. But I’m thirty now, and I’m just not interested in miscommunication. Avoidance tactics don’t fly with me anymore.
I learned that the hard way. I sensed something was off during the last year of my relationship with Annika, but I never asked her about it.
Figured if neither of us said anything, then nothing was truly wrong.
But she was missing home, and I didn’t realize it.
Didn’t ask her enough questions. Didn’t deal with the way we were drifting apart.
Doesn’t matter if this thing with the three of us is temporary. Doesn’t matter if there’s an end date bearing down on us. Happiness is fleeting, and I’m fucking enjoying it, so I’ll fight for it, dammit.
After I swallow some more scotch, I face him, point blank. “You’ve been quiet ever since Ivy gave us the socks.”
The label on the beer bottle must be fascinating because Hayes fiddles with it for a while, then finally looks up and meets my gaze. “It wasn’t the socks, man. It was talking to her before the game,” he says in a dead voice.
It’s like he’s already resigned himself to…whatever he’s resigned himself to. Concern weighs down my shoulders, but I push on. “And why was that a problem for you?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters.
“Bullshit.”
His jaw is set hard. “Why is that bullshit?”
I level a serious stare at him. “Because you fucking know what’s going on. You know what’s going on inside you, and you just don’t want to say it.”
It’s a challenge to his competitive side. We need to face this head-on, whatever this is. It’s easier for Hayes to be quiet. He’s an only child. Silence is his friend. I’m the opposite. I need noise, boisterous conversation. “So talking to her before the game set you off?”
He shoves a hand through his hair, still agitated. “I just wanted to see her so badly,” he grumbles.
“And that’s getting you down?”
“Yes, because I don’t have time for something more than sex,” he says, seeming desperate. “I don’t have the space for this. I can’t get involved.”
I had an unhappy suspicion that was where this was going. “But you’re feeling like that’s happening? You’re getting involved with her?”
I wish this felt like good news. It doesn’t.
He closes his eyes, clearly pained. When he opens them, he says, “I just can’t, Stefan. That’s the issue. I arrived in San Francisco with one goal in mind—land a contract to stay. You don’t get it. You’ve been with the same team your entire career. I’m just bouncing around.”
A new pressure builds inside me. A need to impress on him that he can handle this. It drives me on. “But you’ve had a great start to the season.”
“We’ve only played six games, man. It doesn’t amount to shit.”
I’m not going to blow smoke up his skirt when he makes a fair point. “It’s better than starting with a run of bad games. You’re playing like a rock star. Don’t forget that,” I say, hoping I’m getting through to him.
“Thanks, but romance is a distraction I don’t need.” Slumping back in the booth, he drags both hands through his hair. “How am I supposed to handle her, and this, and hockey, and my dad and Cora and a contract and…everything?”
He sounds at the end of his rope already. But maybe if he can see an alternative to disaster, it will help him hang on. Help him climb up, even. Because I can see it so damn clearly. “So what are you going to do? Just walk away at the end of this arrangement?”
Hayes shoots his focus to me. “What are you going to do?”
I say nothing. Because what felt like the answer to my empty nights has quietly become more.
I suppose that was inevitable. Some people have hurdles.
Some have blockades. Me? I just had a few small complications that I relished untangling.
The trouble is, once you clear the complications, you open yourself up to new hurts. To fresh wounds.
I didn’t see this one coming—wanting so much so soon.
Hayes jumps at my silence. “You’re falling for her. I know you are,” he says.
It’s not an accusation. It’s just the truth, the observation of a friend.
I shrug in admission. “Obviously.”
He seems to consider that grimly for a beat, then says, “I’m not going to hold you back when this arrangement ends.” His tone is heavy. “I know you don’t need my permission, but I’d support anything you two choose to do. If you want to go after her, you should. You know that, right?”
Is that what I want? Ivy to myself? The thought weighs me down even more than I’d expected. I guess that’s the problem with two men falling for the same woman when only one of you is willing to let himself fall.
I leave Chicago the next day with a loss on the ice, and a problem I can’t solve.