Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Jack
We manage to eke out a win against Dallas in the next game, but just barely.
Doesn’t help that Coach benched me again in the third period, all because of my stupid arm.
I tried my best to pretend it wasn’t aching, but after Dallas’s center slammed into me in the middle of the second period, it was sort of hard to ignore.
It makes it that much worse that Abby was here watching, and I can’t say why.
I’ve been thinking about last night on a loop—about the moment where she almost fell—leaving me to hold her for at least a minute while she smiled and teased me. It was like she was an entirely different person, that Abby.
Not to mention the run-in at the bathroom.
I haven’t been able to get that out of my head for even one single second.
It’s a miracle I was able to play at all, given that every time I close my eyes I see the outline of her nipples through thin, wet cotton and miles of creamy thighs poking out of much-too-small sleep shorts.
Whether she looks like Ian or no, it seems my body has firmly decided that Abby is hot as fuck, and that it might even want her.
Which is a completely stupid decision for it to make, considering that she’s Ian’s sister and my roommate—although that first reason should probably be struck from the list, considering the unholy things Ian is doing to my sister on a daily basis.
I catch sight of Abby sitting with Dee when I move down the chute with the rest of the team, noticing her laughing at something Dee has said.
Her real laugh—not the polite one she gives sometimes when she thinks she has to.
I’ve seen the difference between the two now, and what’s more astounding, I’ve even been the one to bring the real one out of her.
It’s a good feeling, what that does to me.
The guys are already horseplaying around when I get back into the locker room, Jankowski giving my ass a hard slap when I pass by. “Good game there, Baker.”
Yeah, until I got benched, I don’t say.
Coach chooses that moment to follow in after us, waving his hands to settle everyone before he gives his postgame spiel.
“We played some good defense out there,” he says. “You boys managed to hold it together long enough for Jankowski here to score that final shot.”
Rankin groans, murmuring, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”
“But,” Coach stresses, “we won only by one point, and it was a close fucking game. Too close for comfort. We need three more wins against Dallas before we can move on to the second round, and I don’t want to see us knocked out in round one.
That’s going to mean that we play a little harder, work a little more, really give it our all out there. ”
I wince, feeling guilt flood me. It’s common knowledge now, my injury.
After the last game, I was sort of forced to tell the guys about it after being benched for an entire period, and while most of them sympathize, I can’t help but feel like they all blame me for how close the game was. If I’d been out there, maybe—
“We’ve still got a ways to go,” Coach says, interrupting my thoughts. “But I have faith in this team. We’ve won before, and we can do it again. Don’t count yourselves out, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” we all say in unison.
Coach gives us a nod before he saunters off to his office, leaving us a sweaty, tired mess behind him as we all start to peel out of our layers.
“So, drinks tonight, yeah?” Sanchez suggests.
Ian rubs at his neck. “I don’t know. I was kind of thinking of heading on home.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Jankowski tsks. “You live with Dee now. You get her all the time. You can come out to drink with us for one night.”
Ian’s ears flush red, apparent by the way his hair is slicked back with sweat. “It’s not about that.”
“Oh, it absolutely is,” Sanchez laughs. “Just bring her with, yeah?”
“Abby rode with us,” he says.
My stomach does something funny as I try not to think about the outline of wet nipples and holding her too close.
I can’t help but wonder what she thought of the game.
I know she isn’t an uber fan when it comes to hockey, but the idea of her watching me sitting there benched and useless makes my throat feel all tight.
Rankin smacks me on the shoulder—the good one, thankfully. “You coming?”
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to keep the melancholy out of my tone. “I was kind of thinking of heading home too.”
“Oh no,” Ian scoffs. “If I’m coming, you’re coming.”
“Always the coming with you.” Ian shoots me an unimpressed look, and I chuckle as I point out, “No one’s making you go.”
Jankowski raises his hand. “I am fully prepared to make both of you. Stop being squares.”
“Who says ‘squares’ anymore?” Rankin laughs.
“Your mom when I saw her last,” Jankowski says with a smug grin.
Rankin shoots to his feet, his eyes narrowing. “Watch it, dick.”
“Settle down, baby boy,” Jankowski laughs. “I’m kidding.”
Ian taps his knee against mine after he manages to shrug out of his pads, looking at me expectantly. “So, you’re coming, right?”
I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m sulking—that I’m sitting here thinking about how we were one point away from losing and it could have been entirely my fault—and I’m sure that if I don’t go tonight, everyone will know something is up.
The last thing I need is for any of them to start feeling sorry for me. If they don’t already.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I can go for a little while.”
“Great,” Ian says, clapping me on the back. “I’ll text the girls.”
The girls.
My stomach does that funny thing again at the thought of seeing Abby so soon, which is weird, really, because we live together. Seeing each other is sort of inevitable.
And yet I’m nervous just the same.
The bar is crowded and loud when we all pile in, and there’s the brief inevitability of being recognized by a few fans who cheer and crowd around to socialize and ask for autographs, and usually—I’m all over that shit.
I sort of live for the praise and the notoriety.
Tonight though? Tonight I’m kind of wishing I’d just gone home.
How many of these fans saw me benched tonight?
How many of them are wondering why the fuck I keep ending up on the sidelines?
I feel a hand at my elbow, looking down to see Dee smiling up at me. “Want to grab a table?”
“Sure,” I say with a nod. “Somewhere in the corner. I’m kind of feeling low-key tonight.”
“Jack Baker feeling low-key,” Dee laughs. “Alert the media.”
I roll my eyes. “I can’t be on for you all the time. I’d have to start charging.”
I notice Abby standing behind her, her eyes meeting mine over the small crowd as she gives me a nod and a small smile. There’s commiseration in that smile—like she’s remembering last night too. Like we’ve truly ventured into some sort of secret friend status.
Even if my dick is very confused still about wet nipples.
I manage to work my way through the throngs of bargoers to push toward a booth in the corner, sliding into the circle bench as Dee slides in next to me, saving a spot for Ian to her right.
This means that Abby has to climb in on the other side, which puts her sitting right next to me.
I can feel the warmth of her through the small gap between us, and it has my mind wandering back to last night again, to when she was wrapped up in my arms and laughing about a stupid key chain I still can’t believe I bought her.
“Ian’s going to be held up for a bit,” Dee notes, watching him chat with a few fans. She eyes me. “I can’t believe you aren’t over there basking in it.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just wasn’t feeling it tonight.”
Her eyes immediately fill with concern. “Is it your arm? How are you feeling?”
“My arm is fine,” I lie, still feeling the ache of it even now. “Coach didn’t even need to bench me.”
“He’s just trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself further,” Dee reminds me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving her off. “I’ve heard the spiel.”
Dee glances back at Ian again. “I’m going to go get a pitcher for the table. Sound good?”
“Sure,” I tell her, watching her slide out of the booth, leaving me and Abby alone.
“I’m sorry he benched you,” she says when Dee is out of earshot.
I startle a little, looking at her from the side. “Oh, it’s…I mean, it’s no big deal.”
“We talked about this,” she says with a frown. “You don’t have to pretend.”
I feel my face fall as I heave out a sigh. “I just can’t stop thinking about how close we came to losing. How it would have been my fault.”
“It wouldn’t have been your fault,” she tells me. “You have an entire team out there playing the same game. It doesn’t all fall on you.”
“Sure, that sounds good in theory, but—”
“Fuck, it’s hot in here,” Ian says, suddenly plopping down into the booth. He looks between the two of us. “What are we talking about?”
“Your mom,” I say, just as Abby says, “Nothing.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Leave my mom out of this.”
“Yeah.” Abby elbows me in the side. “Leave Christine out of it.”
“You two are no fun,” I say with a groan.
I notice Dee carefully carrying a pitcher back to the table then, and Ian jumps up to help her with it, fussing over her as he takes it altogether so he can carry it himself. It kind of makes me want to barf, how cute they are.
Dee sets out some mugs as Ian starts to pour a round for the table, but Abby holds her hand out in refusal. “None for me. I have homework.”
“You always have homework,” Ian points out. “Live a little, sis.”
I notice her cheeks flush at the endearment, but still she shakes her head. “It’s fine, really. I don’t even love beer all that much.”
“Do you want me to get you something else?” I hear myself asking. “Whatever you want.”
She looks surprised by the offer, but finally gives a small shake of her head. “No, really. I’m good.”
“Okay,” I tell her, reaching for my own mug. “If you’re sure.”
Ian holds out his mug, waiting for Dee and me to tap ours against it. “To victory.”
“Barely,” I mutter, clinking my mug and taking a gulp of my beer.