32. Carter
Chapter thirty-two
Carter
“Glad you could make it.” My agent pushes out a chair with his foot, eyeing my running gear. “This is a nice place, you heathen.”
Shrugging, I drop down into the offered chair and reach for the bottle of water in the middle of the table, pouring a generous amount into my glass and downing it. “They don’t care what I’m wearing.”
The ma?tre d’ had only quietly asked me to sign a napkin. Pretty sure I could have walked in naked and all they would have done was professionally murmur Right this way, sir. Loved the slapshot last night.
If they’d seen me a few years ago, they would have called the cops to stop me from darkening their precious, fancy doorstep. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so fucking depressing.
Miles is studying the menu intently enough that I know he’s buying time. “What’s up?”
He flaps a hand at me as the waitress approaches. I wait while he orders enough food to feed the entire Atlantic division for a month, snapping his finger at me when he’s done. “Ribeye, rare, please. And a side of asparagus, thanks.”
“So,” Miles clears his throat and links his hands together, leaning forward and looking around like he’s about to offer a briefing on national security. I glance around the French restaurant, but nobody’s paying attention to us. “I had a call from Martin a few days ago.”
Doesn’t bode well for me. “We’re having a few issues.”
Miles nods. “It happens. He’s concerned that you’re slowing down on the ice.”
“And he sent you to chew me out?” Folding my arms, I lean back and make a valiant attempt to contain my frustration. “At least I’m getting fed.”
“Bit more than that.” Miles spreads his hands. “He said you’ve skipped a few morning skates. And a few medical sessions. What’s going on, mate? You know how important they are. He’s more than a bit concerned, and so am I.”
Sucking on my teeth, I glance away. “Look. I’ve had some shit going on at home. I need to be around more. I told Coach that.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not happy about it.” Mile taps his hand on the table awkwardly. “I thought Liam was handling that.”
“I’m pack lead.” I refill my glass, buying myself time. “I haven’t been present enough.”
“You need to find a balance.” He sighs. “Right now, it’s in the wrong direction.”
Is it fuck. I’m exactly where I need to be. Keeping a closer eye on things, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. But from the look on his face, I know there’s no point in sharing my plans with him. Not until they’re done, and the pack is disbanded.
A hint of disquiet travels down my spine, and I straighten. “I’ll bear that in mind. Anything else?”
“Your performance.” It’s blunt, and surprisingly brutal. I flinch back, but Miles is unforgiving. “You’d get more slack if you were making it work out there, but you’re flagging, Carter. You know your contract’s up at the end of the season.”
“Fucking hell. It’s not that bad.” When Miles says nothing, anger floods my veins. “Is that what Martin’s saying? What the fuck?”
After everything I’ve given for this fucking team? “You know we’re leading the Atlantic Division, right? What more does he want from me?”
“Nobody’s debating that.” We both sit back while a waitress delivers a bread basket that Miles dives into. His next words are muffled. “He said you’ve hit the ceiling on the approved pain schedule, and it’s having an effect.”
“Yeah,” I say after a minute. “Injury window’s up.”
“Well.” He takes a long glug of white wine, a drop of condensation sliding down the outside of the glass. “That’s Mina’s view. And she’s excellent, of course. I adore her, you know that. But she’s not the only doctor on the roster.”
I slide my hand into my pocket, feeling for the pill bottle. It’s empty, just as it was this morning. “Spit it out, whatever it is you’re dancing around.”
Miles sets the emptied breadbasket aside. Our table looks like a horde of angry pigeons had a party. Reaching for his briefcase, he tugs a piece of paper free and slides it over to me. My gut ices over as I scan it. “What the hell is this?”
“New schedule.” He grins when I look up. “All approved and above board.”
“You know I don’t take oxy.” My teeth find the inside of my cheek as I stare at the signatures on the bottom. I don’t recognize any of them. “Who the fuck are these people?”
“Check ‘em out if you like. All approved. Martin used them when Laine had his knee blown out a few years back.” Miles leans forward. “Look. I appreciate your line on this, mate. I always have, you know that. And I’ve never pushed it. Hell, I’m not pushing now.
But you’re drowning, Cart. This is Martin offering you a life raft with a second opinion. ”
And a prescription for a drug I always swore I’d never take. My hands grip the empty bottle tighter. “You know this shit is an issue for me.”
“You were a kid.” He waves his hands, dismissing my start in life. “We already spoke to the doctors. Wanted to get some things off your plate. They didn’t have a problem with it. I’d take my advice from the professionals every time, yeah?”
When he reaches back into his briefcase, I know what’s coming next. “It’s not my birthday until August.”
But my throat feels bone dry as he sets the small, dark bottle down between us. “We can support it with more acupuncture.”
My name is already printed on the side.
“Keep it on the low down.” My head shoots up, and he snorts. “Don’t want to piss off Mina. It’s all in your records, though. Let me know when you need a refill, and I’ll sort it.”
“I’m not taking these.” But my hand is reaching across the table, my shoulder yelling at me with that small movement. The burn is so familiar to me now that the constant acidic taste in my mouth barely registers.
Miles sees the look on my face. “Whatever gets you to the end of the season, mate. Then we can look at the surgery and go from there. Yeah?”
The end of the season. The end of my pack.
The end of my career, most likely, unless I keep fighting.
My hand slides the bottle into my pocket as the waitress rocks up with my steak and twenty other dishes. Miles nods. “Gotta do what we can to survive. You know that. You always have.”
“Yeah,” I say eventually. “I know.”
Shuffling forward, he awkwardly claps my shoulder before sitting back down. “Good lad.”
***
By the time I finish up a session with Gabe at the rink, sit with Remy for an hour playing over the shitshow of the last game and jump onto the ice with a panicking Ryker for a skills shoot, it’s after five and my shoulder’s on fire.
Liam turns as I walk into the hall. “Where the hell have you been?”
He’s already dressed in his tux. Mine is waiting for me on the back of my door, and I can think of nothing I’d rather do less than spend my evening at a fucking party. “Where’s Ro?”
But it’s for charity. More to the point, a kid’s charity that Rosie volunteers with when our lives haven’t been turned upside down, and I know tonight is important to her. So I’m shutting up and putting up. Liam jerks his thumb toward the nest. “In there.”
Where she always is. I’m not sure I’ve seen her outside her nest in days. “Right.”
When I move past him, his hand wraps around my arm. “Everything good with you?”
“Course.” I step out of the contact zone. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’ve been acting off.” He plays with the watch on his wrist, uncharacteristically awkward. “Honestly, you’ve been off since Montreal. What’s up?”
What’s fucking up is that you made my omega feel so unwanted in her own fucking home that she tore her nest apart and filled it with bleach fumes.
My response is short enough that it makes the words pointless. “Nothing a week off and an ice bath won’t fix.”
I’ve been watching him since then. I see the way his eyes shift toward the nest. “And Rosie’s good.”
“You asking or telling me?” I raise my eyebrows. “You’re the one who keeps telling me she’s fine.”
Does he fucking care? Or is he so obsessed with his damned scent match that Rosie isn’t even on his radar anymore? Jonas appears, and I focus on my other point of major irritation. He’s flapping with his cufflinks. “I don’t think these work. Damn it. I ordered them for tonight.”
Of course he did. He never wears the same thing twice if he can help it.
“They’re fine.” Lauren appears behind him, throwing me a quick smile before she fastens them in place. “They look great.”
He plants a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you. And you look perfect.”
I wait for him to look around. When he doesn’t, grinning at Lauren like he’s lost his damn mind, my irritation grows. “You’d better say the same to Rosie when she comes out.”
“To Rosie?” He doesn’t look my way. “Why?”
Jesus fuck.
I excuse myself to shower and change before I completely lose my shit on them. Less than ten minutes, and I’m knocking on her door. “Ro?”
“Come in.” I push it open, looking around for her. “I’m in the closet.”
I take a breath, hating the faint scent of bleach that still lingers before crossing to the doorway. She’s muttering at her own hair as she works it into an updo, and I lean against the doorway to watch with a low whistle. “Looks like I need some popcorn.”
She raises her brows at me in the mirror as she slides another pin into her hair. “Um. What?”
“So I can watch you in that dress.” I slip inside as she chokes on a laugh.
“That was terrible.”
“I meant every word.” Dropping my gaze to the exposed, lightly freckled skin at the base of her neck, I can’t resist a taste. “I don’t think we should go. I think we should stay and play the present unwrapping game. All night. You can be the present.”
She shoves lightly at my good shoulder as she turns. But she’s smiling. “You’re such a dork. Good job you’re pretty, Reynolds.”
Her dress is long and shiny and the deep, dark shade of green that she loves. I run a finger over the single strap that runs over her left shoulder. “Happy to show you that I’m not just a pretty face.”
“Later. We have an event to get to.” Ducking under my arm and leaving me in a half-aroused, half-amused state of pain, she crosses to the dressing table and I watch her slip in a pair of studs. “I promised Ronnie that we’d bid on some things in the auction.”
“Bid on whatever you want.” My fingers reach out to brush her dress as she sashays past for her handbag, and she ducks them with a small laugh.
Music to my fucking ears. She seems to be lighter since our conversation, and it only makes me more irritated that it took me so long to realize how much she was carrying. “I’m going to blow the kids’ inheritance on dinner with their mom, though, so there might not be much left.”
Her skin turns a beautiful, flushed shade of crimson to match her hair. “You’re going to bid on me?”
“Baby.” I slide my arms around her, carefully avoiding her make-up to whisper in her ear. “As if I’m going to let anybody else take you out to dinner.”
Especially not any of the fuckers going to this thing. Half of the NPHL will be there. Pecking her bare shoulder as a safe zone, I back up to let her slip on her insanely high shoes. “Yeah, I’m gonna need to bring my stick.”
She taps my stomach as she waltzes out and pulls the door to her nest open, cheeks still flushed. “No fighting tonight.”
“No promises.” I follow after her. “I haven’t fought at a game in weeks. I’m overdue.”
Nothing to do with having an ongoing injury that I’m trying my best to hide. My last gloves off scrap was with fucking Mercer at Sponsor Day, and I’m still paying for it now. “Hey, give me a sec.”
I slip back into my room and head for the dresser, rifling through the top drawer. Every single packet of drugstore painkillers is empty—dozens of them buried between socks, and I slam it shut with an irritated sound.
My eyes slide to my discarded running shorts.
The dark bottle feels cold as I tug it free from my pocket, and I turn it over in my hands.
The team wouldn’t sign off on a prescription I couldn’t have. Mina is cautious. I always figured it was a good thing.
Until I got an injury that’s derailing my life. And Rosie’s, if I don’t fix it.
Before I can think twice, I pop the cap and swallow one.
Hopefully this has more of an impact than the last lot.
“Carter.” Rosie taps on the door. “Car’s here!”
“Coming!” I shove the bottle in my pocket.
This is my last chance to make it through, and I don’t intend to waste it.