by Stacy Lane
Turns out the reality of pickles and single life aren’t too bad.
At the step in the living room leading up into the gallery, Alex pivots halfway to look back at me. “Your boxes. I almost tripped over one earlier. Might want to move them or one of us is going to get hurt.”
My old companion, dread, washes over me.
The boxes have been sitting in the hallway outside the elevator, and some in the gallery, since yesterday. I should have had better sense to move them out of the way by now, but felt there was no rush.
I was no longer living with someone in constant disapproval.
But, of course, Alex would be bothered by my crap taking up a common walkway. I should have done better.
Casting my eyes downward, I respond with a passive, “I’m sorry. I’ll get them out of here as soon as possible.”
“I’m not telling you to get rid of your things, Chelsea.” He faces me full on. His tone draws my gaze up to his.
“There’s not enough space for all of them in my room. I’ll get a storage container.”
“Put them in Brooks’s closet,” he raises one shoulder in a shrug.
“But you’re using Brooks’s closet.”
“Yeah, but I only need a small area to get to my clothes. Just leave me a clear spot to get to them.”
That’s so…agreeable of him.
Completely uncomplicated.
Alex’s eyes narrow. They crease with question and concern and something harder. Something fierce. It’s all-knowing and unsettling. It’s like I can’t hide anything from him.
I blink away.
When he speaks, his stony gaze is mismatched to his soft tone, “I’ll be gone tonight. See you tomorrow, Chelsea.”
Confounded, I stare at the empty place where he stood.
Though I’m not one for theories, there is another I’ve heard mentioned before. The good men are rare, but they do exist. I don’t know if I’ll ever be lucky enough to snag one one day. But Alex, with his reserved and passionate demeanor, I’d bet he’s proof they are out there.
Maybe theory is not such crap, after all.
• • •
LATER IN THE day, I became a bit distracted, and it wasn’t from anymore naked Alex run-ins. I had been working on moving my boxes out of the hallway and into his closet when Roberto, the concierge, called up to inform me someone was asking to be let in.
That someone was Vic.
I didn’t allow him access, but that didn’t stop him from finding other ways to talk to me.
His need to chat was of no importance. Most of the time it never was. Arguments were started when something wasn’t to his liking. And my moving out struck a chord.
It didn’t surprise me in the least that Vic’s complaint was triggered more by me having the upper hand. His ego was bruised. Not once has he attempted to contact me in three months, but the instant I make the first move to show I’m done with him, he’s acting offended.
Refusing to see him didn’t stop the onslaught of vindictive text messages. I started to believe that the days of Vic ruining what few good ones I had were over. All the times I had to forswear my happiness for his grievance.
The short reprieve had ended. Tainted by his callous words.
Now I was left second guessing my decision to stay in Florida during the off-season. I wanted to be done with Vic completely.
But even in Vancouver, he would know where to find me.
So I allowed myself to wallow, putting off the clutter in the hallway for a little longer. The self-pity lasted a short time. I refused to bake in it for the rest of the day. Sitting there stewing for too long would only burn a person out.
I wound up binging a show on Netflix, curled into pillows and a blanket on the couch. I’d lost track of time, lifting my eyes from the TV and realizing darkness had settled throughout the apartment when the sounds of voices drifted from the elevator.
I recognized Alex’s one-word responses, but they were accompanied by feminine jabber.
My stomach twisted. He would only have a companion this late at night for one reason. The twist kept knotting with clarity as to why that truth actually bothered me.
Could Vic be right about me? Was I so desperate for attention that I sought it out from other men?
Except, it wasn’t men causing erratic flutters in my stomach. It was one man bringing butterflies back to life.
Huddling further into the pile of cashmere in hopes to stay hidden until they pass, I peek over the cream blanket pulled up to my chin.
The hall leading to Alex’s room passes the living room, so I wait.
But they don’t make it that far.
A loud, clamoring commotion shoots off the walls like the ricochet of a bullet. Boxes tumble—evidently the ones labeled breakables—a gasp quickly follows, and then the high pitch of a scream loud enough to make your ears bleed accompanies a sharp crunch.
That last sound was similar to witnessing a hockey player get checked so hard you not only see the impact but feel it right along with him. The kind of play made especially worse by the significant crack of a bone.
I scramble off the couch, pillows flinging every which way as I run toward the noise. My feet come to a screeching halt when I find a dark-haired woman splayed out on the ground and half on top of my boxes. Blood is spilling profusely onto the stark white floors.
Oh, God.
I broke Alex’s date’s nose.
CHAPTER 5
ALEX
THIS IS NOT how I saw my night ending.
Avoiding my new roommate nearly all day with lies about errands and plans to keep me out until tomorrow seemed ridiculous when we’ve only been living under the same roof for less than forty-eight hours.
But she’s so goddamn tempting to be around.
The reason her and I should have worked fine as roommates are because Chelsea’s the least likely person for me to become involved with. She’s as unavailable as one can get. Married to one of my player’s—soon to be divorced is not soon enough—should discourage all attraction.
But the reasons were not adding up. Chelsea popped up everywhere, and the places she didn’t, I caught myself searching. Following her scent from the living room to the patio, or hearing her voice in the kitchen from my bedroom. I craved whatever piece of her I could steal without notice.
She has a radiance.
It’s enchanting.
And it flickered out when her mind drifted off somewhere only she can go. I’ve caught it a couple times. She gets lost, and the light dims.
My sense of control slipping away was concerning.
I’m a conscientious person. I’m a goddamn professional.
I needed to remain disinterested for a little while longer. I’d be moving out soon, and she wasn’t staying in Florida forever.
In a few more days, I’m to be announced as the new GM of the Fury. I can’t go and catch feelings for my player’s ex-wife.
Which is what led me to bring a woman home from the bar. I needed to keep my distance in more ways than just physical. I needed to quell whatever attraction was beginning to form.
I spent the rest of my day at Triplets going over the books with Cam. He knew what he was doing, I didn’t have to check in on the business we ran together. But it gave me the excuse to get out of the apartment. It gave me time with my brothers. Felt good to hassle Brooks about selling his portion of the bar. He was useless. We all knew it, which made it all the more fun to fuck with him.
I met Steph when the crowds grew heavier. Her forward intentions were evident, and I was very clear this was going to be a one-time hookup. It’s possible it felt wrong from the minute those words left my mouth because I haven’t had a one-night stand in a couple years. Unlike my slutty brothers, I actually dated and had relationships.
But I haven’t been with anyone since California. That relationship should have never been, to begin with. She was the farthest thought from my mind, but something still felt wrong.
The hour was late, and I assumed Chelsea would have been long gone to bed by the time I brought Steph back with me.
Regret swept over me the second the elevator doors opened. But I wouldn’t acknowledge why that was. Chelsea was my roommate and nothing more.
Steph’s voice was nettling my senses. My ears hurt so bad my head kept twitching throughout the car ride and the trip up in the elevator, growing worse with each minute spent with her.
I’ve never brought a woman home and worried I wouldn’t be able to perform. So this was a first.
She walked out ahead of me. I wasn’t paying much attention to where she was going, there’s only one way off the elevator, and I needed that added moment to collect myself. To remind myself why I couldn’t have the woman down the hall.
But the next thing I know, Steph is laid out flat across the floor with blood spewing from her nose. The chronic head twitch worsened at the sound of her wails.
Not my finest moment, but I just stood there, wondering if the elevator doors were still open so I could escape.
The bloody mess sprawled across the ground was put on the back burner as soon as Chelsea came barreling in from the living room. Her mouth was held aghast at the disaster of our hallway.
My mind couldn’t figure out what it wanted to soak up more of—Chelsea, or the red running wildly out of the nose on the other woman.
“My nose! I broke my nose!” Steph’s high-pitched howls snap my attention back to the actual problem at hand.
I tore my hungry gaze away from Chelsea’s cozy sweater and tiny shorts to bend down beside Steph. Helping her stand, I position her head to staunch the bleeding. “Chelsea, can you get a washcloth, please.”
“Yes.” She rushed toward the bathroom, returning in a flash. “I’m so sorry,” she says as she hands the rag over.
“It’s not your fault,” Steph replies, eyes drifting down as much as she can to see Chelsea beside her. “I tripped. Oh my God, I can’t believe I broke my nose.”
“Yeah, but those were my boxes you tripped over.” Chelsea winces.
“It was an accident,” I say, catching her gaze. She tries to blame herself for everything.
Chelsea only nods in return, but the subtle movement doesn’t convince me she believes that.
Steph holds the rag to her face while I direct her back to the elevator. “We need to get you to the emergency room. Chelsea, can you drive us to the hospital?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” She slips on a pair of sandals, taking the keys from me as we step through the doors.
“This is not how I saw my night ending,” Steph whines, voicing my same thoughts. “I was finally going to hook up with a Labelle.”
For someone who just broke her nose, she’s awfully chatty.
I slip a quick glance toward Chelsea on the other side of Steph, who stands between us. She’s staring at the floor, pressed lips, but no other emotion on her face. I don’t know if she wants to laugh or apologize again.
I sort of want to laugh. Not at Steph and her broken nose. This is not how I thought my night would go either, and yet I’m not mad about it.
At the moment, uncomfortable, though.
“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Chelsea asks her.
Right. I didn’t think of that. If we call someone, they can take Steph off my hands.
“No one can see me like this,” she answers with vehemence. A little bit dramatic.
There’s emotion on Chelsea’s face now. Pretty sure she thinks less of me for bringing this vain woman home.
“We’ll get you to the hospital, and the doctors will fix it good as new.”
Chelsea slowly turns her head toward me. We both know that’s a lie. A broken nose will never be like new again.
“Really? So afterward I could still come home with you?” Steph twists with a stiff movement to try and see me. The slant of her eager eyes makes this whole fiasco worse.
Chelsea nibbles on her thumbnail, and now I know she’s trying not to laugh.
“Uh, I think it’s best for you to go home and heal.”
“I mean, it’s just my face,” she tries to appeal. “That’s not the part of me you wanted anyway.”
This is fucking awkward.
“I didn’t get your name.” Steph adjusts her head to the other side.
“Chelsea,” she smiles, though it doesn’t reach as high as it usually does.
The doors slide back, an older couple waiting to get on gapes at the image that greets them. To make it worse, Steph yammers on, taking their surprise to a level of disturbance.
“Alex didn’t mention he had a girlfriend. But that’s cool that you guys have an open relationship. More couples should, in my opinion. Makes things sooo much simpler.” The broken nose has only worsened the sound of her actual voice.
“I’m sorry, an open what?” Chelsea steps out first, turning on her heel to watch Steph with a narrow stare.
“We’re not a couple.” I grab Steph by the arm to escort her off the elevator.
The older woman shakes her head at me with disapproval.
“An open relationship. Where you both can hook up with whomever you want, and it doesn’t count as cheating.”
Chelsea stands there with her mouth ajar.
“Jesus,” I whisper. Hardening my voice, I say, “Let’s just get to the hospital, okay?”
And find out who her emergency contact is so I can leave her there without guilt.
“You look really familiar, though,” Steph says, trying her best to look at Chelsea. “Have I seen you with the Fury before?”
Chelsea’s shoulders stiffen. Her eyes flicker over my way before slowly drifting back to Steph. “You’re a puck bunny.”
Steph shrugs a shoulder. “That’s how they label us. It’s not like it’s our fault that hockey players are our type.”
Fuck my life.
I did not know Steph was a puck bunny. She wasn’t with any friends when she walked up to me. It’s not even game night. And I haven’t been around the team long enough to recognize the regulars.
“So you know Amber?” Chelsea asks in a scary calm voice.
“Yep,” she replies, perky and oblivious to the tension rolling off Chelsea’s body.
Chelsea barely gives me a second glance as we walk to the truck. Once Steph is settled in the back, I catch her before she gets behind the wheel. I should let it go, let her think the worst of me. But even at my worst, I crave her approval.
“I didn’t know.”
Amber was the woman she caught Vic with.
“All you hockey guys are exactly the same.”
That stings more than I would have anticipated.
“Chels, I don’t hook up with groupies. If I had known she was a regular, our conversation would have never even started.”
“I’m impressed she even knows how to have a conversation. These bunnies must be evolving.” Chelsea snaps out of my hold, yanking the driver door open and hopping up inside.
I release a breath of air.
My stomach drops as I climb in the back of the truck with Steph.
Whatever, let her be mad. Let Chelsea believe I’m like the rest.
I sit beside Steph to make sure blood does not spill on Cam’s tan seats. It’s a miracle we made it to the hospital without the girl passing out. The ten-minute trip was a bumpy one. Literally. The streets of Tampa are not the greatest, but the number of potholes Chelsea hit on the way had me believing it was on purpose.
Steph whimpered and howled, and Chelsea never once apologized.
• • •
“ALRIGHT, SHE’S IN with a doctor, and she’s going to call a friend to pick her up. We can go.”
Chelsea stayed in the waiting area while I helped Steph get checked in. I found her sitting in a chair, arms crossed, one leg over the other bouncing with agitation. This was the first time I’d seen her in two days without the bright red lipstick.
With a heavy, exasperated sigh, Chelsea says, “We can’t go.”<
br />
“We can’t?”
“No,” she replies with irritation. “I want to, but I won’t be able to fall asleep wondering if she made it home okay. I might not like her, but she’s a human being, and it’s not right to leave her stranded and alone.”
“She’s at a hospital. She’s not alone.”
Her response hits closer to home for me that she could ever know.
The hospital was home for me a couple years ago. Standing in the waiting room was putting me on edge. I wanted to get the hell out of here, but I also knew what it felt like to be deserted in a packed hospital by someone you thought cared about you.
“It’s the decent thing to do,” she says, foot pumping faster. Not entirely believable.
“I’m the one who brought her home—”
“Oh, I know.”
“—so it’s not your obligation to stay.” It would likely piss her off if I smiled right now.
“Except that it is. You told me to move those boxes, and I didn’t. Now your bunny can’t wiggle her nose. How is she supposed to sniff out her next player?”
I laugh, which I learn quickly is an odd reaction inside a hospital waiting room.
Her leg stops bouncing long enough to glare at me.
Calming some, I cross my arms to match hers. Looming above where she sits, I ask, “Would it make you feel any better about leaving her if you knew that the friend coming to pick her up is Amber?”
Chelsea stops moving altogether. Standing, and leaving me behind, she replies while walking away, “Let’s go.”
I tuck my hands in my front pockets, smirking as I follow her out.
We exit the hospital and relief loosens the tension in my neck.
Leading up to the injury that ended my career, doctors and hospitals were so frequent their check ups felt like part of the job. It wasn’t until my final game that I understood the severity of all those visits. My mindset had only been to play the game. Injuries and pain were a part of that.
I was young. I should have bounced back.
The hospital reminded me of my misfortunes. Whether in regards to my career or my love life, I had lost both. One was due to the other. I was so wrapped up in my job, I never saw what a fake she was. Not until the game was permanently unattainable.
