Blind Pass (Carolina Comets)

by Teagan Hunter

  “Oh, that?” She grins. “It looks like it’s still being written, but I’m predicting a happily ever after.”

  “I’m predicting you’re right…wife.”

  EPILOGUE

  RYAN

  “That woman is exhausting.” I flop down into my chair and reach for my champagne glass, gulping back half of it in one go. “Remind me to never get married.”

  “Again.” He tugs my hand into his lap, rubbing his fingertips over the gold band that still sits around my finger. He tried replacing it once with a big diamond set, but I refused. I love it too much. “Unless you want to. Have the big celebration and all that, I mean.”

  One weekend when the Comets were facing Vegas, Rhodes and I snuck off after the game and made our marriage official.

  This time, we didn’t share our elopement with the world. Just with Harper and Collin, the way it should have been from the beginning.

  Surprisingly, Grams and Rhodes’ parents were fine with it. I think they were all just happy we found a way to fall in love after the whole lying-to-the-world-and-it-blowing-up-in-our-faces fiasco.

  Every now and then, Rhodes will ask if I want to do it the “right way,” but I always give him the same answer.

  “I already have everything I want.” I trace the rose he has tattooed on his ring finger. He surprised me with it after the Comets ended their season early, losing in the second round of the playoffs. He said even though they lost, this way he’d always remember everything good that happened that season.

  His lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Everything?”

  “Well, I mean, I would like to get out of here, maybe have an orgasm or two. But beyond that, yes, everything.”

  He leans into me, his lips brushing against mine. “I think I could make that happen.” He captures my mouth in a kiss, his tongue quickly pushing past my lips, ramping up the heat.

  I’m lost in the moment, completely captivated by the way he commands my mouth, his tongue sliding over mine as his hand slides up my face and into my long blonde curls, pulling me closer.

  I have no idea how much time passes before I hear a throat clearing.

  “Excuse me, Ryan.” Harper’s mother practically hisses my name. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s never been a big fan of me or because I’m currently making out with my husband in the middle of her daughter’s wedding. “I could really use your help with the—”

  “Caterer? We have it covered, Mom.” Harper places her hand on her mother’s shoulder, pulling her attention. “Why don’t you go dance with Uncle Randy? I’m sure Aunt Blythe would love for you to take him off her hands for a bit. She looks tired.”

  Her mother glances over at the fun, older couple swinging around the dance floor. They both look like they’re having a complete blast, but I know what Harper is trying to do—save me.

  “Oh, all right then,” her mother says. “Randy always was a handful.”

  Harper’s mother sends me one last disapproving look before scurrying away.

  “God, that woman is exhausting.” Harper shakes her head, grabbing Rhodes’ glass of champagne and downing it all at once.

  “That’s exactly what I said!”

  “It’s no wonder my sister moved here after her divorce. I mean, can you imagine having to deal with a cheating ex-husband and my mother?” Harper shudders, her lacy gray dress shaking around her. When she first suggested a gray dress, I thought she was out of her mind, but the beautiful ball gown-style garment fits her perfectly. “Speaking of my sister, have you seen her around here?”

  “Actually, I think I saw her and Lowell step outside for a moment,” Rhodes answers. “They seem to be getting along, which I suppose is good considering…”

  He trails off, but we all know what he’s alluding to. Hollis and Lowell meeting did not go as everyone had planned.

  “Well, I’m glad. I was worried.” Harper waves her hand. “Anyway, you two get back to Frenching. I’m going to find my husband.” She giggles, bouncing on the heels of her black glitter Converse. “Husband—oh my gosh, I have one of those!” She claps her hands and takes off in pursuit of him.

  I peer around the decorated venue and still can’t believe it myself. With the black curtains and tablecloths, spooky décor, and low lighting, these two managed to have a beautiful dark-themed wedding in the middle of July and pull it off spectacularly.

  I wave at Grams, who is currently rocking back and forth with Miller, her date for the evening. How she’s managed to wrap the entire team around her finger in the last year, I have no clue, but it’s adorable to see the grown men fussing over her. They’re always rotating in and out of her apartment, helping to hang or move something, or just there to visit. I think most of them just miss their own grandparents, and since Grams is more than willing to have the company, they take as much advantage of it as she does.

  She shoots me a wink and a thumbs-up. I shake my head, grinning.

  My eyes drift over to Harper and Collin, who are now wrapped around each other in the middle of the dance floor. They look like picturesque newlyweds, heads bent together, smiles plastered on their faces. It’s hard to believe there was ever a time when Harper was so reluctant to love Collin.

  “I can’t believe they’re married.”

  “I can’t believe we’re married,” Rhodes says. “It feels like just yesterday we were waking up hungover in Vegas, the sins of the night before hanging over us.”

  Some days it does feel like just yesterday.

  Some days it feels like a lifetime ago.

  But every day with Rhodes…every day feels just right.

  Unable to stop myself, I lean over and press my lips to his.

  He grins against my mouth. “What was that for, cupcake?”

  “Cupcake?”

  He shrugs. “Trying it out. Not a fan?”

  “No. Not a fan, buttercup.” His face pulls into the scowl I’m all too familiar with, and I laugh. “Not a fan?”

  “Not even a little.”

  A quick shutter noise catches our attention.

  “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” The photographer grins at me. “Thanks again for recommending me for this job, Ryan. Photographing a Carolina Comets player’s wedding…” He shakes his head in disbelief. “This is going to be such a bright spot in my portfolio.”

  “I’m glad you could fit them into your schedule, Winston. Who knows, with the way this team seems to be pairing off, you might have more projects in your future.”

  “Grams and Miller do seem pretty cozy,” Rhodes remarks.

  Winston laughs. “Speaking of cozy, I really don’t want to miss this moment.” He takes off to grab a few shots as Miller drops Grams down into a dip, her mouth falling open in shock.

  “That kid is way too smooth for his own good.” Rhodes shakes his head then rises from his chair and holds his hand out to me. “All right, let’s go show them up.”

  “You want to dance?”

  “What? I dance.”

  I lift a brow. “Since when?”

  He leans down, lips against my ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember our evening in Vegas. I distinctly remember someone asking to be spanked as we danced.” My cheeks flame red, and he chuckles darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

  He straightens and extends his palm once more with a cocky grin pulling at his lips. I place my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet.

  We make our way out onto the floor, and Rhodes spins me into his arms, tugging me close. My body lines up against his like we were made to do this together, pressing against one another in all the right places.

  The song that’s playing isn’t even slow, but we don’t care, swaying leisurely anyway.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asks quietly.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you remember why we decided to get married? The first time,” he amends.

  I shake my head. “No. That night is still fuzzy.”

  He nods. “For me too. I can
remember feeling safe with you, feeling comfortable. And happy—though that could have been the alcohol.” I laugh. “But I can’t remember the moment we said fuck it and did it.”

  “I can’t either. Sometimes I wish I could, but other times…I don’t know. I kind of like the magic of it. They say you tell the truth when you’re drunk, and maybe our truth was this.”

  “I had a crush on you, you know.”

  I pull my head back, looking up at him. “What? You did not.”

  “I did. That first time I saw you, under the arena lights, I thought you were gorgeous, and I had a crush on you. I mean, I didn’t realize it then, but I do now. I think a big reason I was always extra grumpy to you was because you intimidated me.”

  “I intimidated you? I’m sorry, but have you seen your scowl?”

  He laughs. “I’m being serious.”

  “I am too! You’re scary when you’re all…growly.”

  “Growly?”

  “Yeah. You know…beastly.”

  “I’ve always hated that nickname.”

  “I can imagine why.”

  “But I don’t hate it anymore.”

  “No? What changed?”

  “I found my beauty.”

  I grin. “That was cheesy. Like romantic comedy cheesy.”

  “You loved it.”

  “I love you.”

  He captures my lips in a searing kiss, so quick and hot that I’m lucky he’s holding me up right now because my knees can’t take it.

  “Do you think anyone will notice if we sneak away?”

  “I sure as hell hope not.” He grabs my wrist, hauling me off the dance floor in an instant.

  “Rhodes!” I admonish. “What are you doing?”

  “Kidnapping you.”

  “Taking me to your big, dark castle.”

  “Later. But for now…” He wrenches a door open, peering inside. “This will have to do.”

  “I am not going into a storage closet with you.”

  “You are too.”

  “Am not.”

  He takes a threatening step toward me, and I have to tip my head back to meet his heated stare. “Has anyone ever told you that you argue too much, Ryan? Someone really ought to spank you for it.”

  His words from our night in Vegas send a spark through me, and I arch a challenging brow. “Are you offering?”

  “Yes.” He takes another step, his lips ghosting along my ear. “Now, get in the closet…wife.”

  He doesn’t have to say it again.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading BLIND PASS!

  I hope you enjoyed Ryan & Rhodes.

  * * *

  Want more Carolina Comets?

  ONE-TIMER (Lowell & Hollis) is up next!

  One-Click ONE-TIMER Now >

  * * *

  Want more Ryan & Rhodes?

  Sign up for my newsletter for a bonus scene!

  * * *

  Looking for more Collin & Harper?

  PUCK SHY is available now!

  * * *

  Keep swiping for a preview of PUCK SHY, an online/mistaken identity hockey romcom…

  PUCK SHY PREVIEW

  Collin

  * * *

  “No, no, no…”

  Smoke billows from under the hood of my old beat-up Land Cruiser that has certainly seen better days. With a groan, I navigate it onto the shoulder, and just as I get the last tire off the main road, the car dies completely.

  Dread sinks into my gut.

  I’m more capable of handling a hockey stick than a wrench, but even I know smoke like this isn’t a good sign.

  I sigh and yank up the emergency brake, then slam my hand against the steering wheel in frustration. I’ve already been stranded in a podunk town for two days while I had to wait on new tires to be delivered to replace my two popped ones.

  Now, less than four hours from home, I’m fucked again.

  I knew driving the old beater vehicle across the country probably wasn’t the best idea. I should have listened to my pops when he suggested I flatbed it. He knew the car wouldn’t make the trek from the middle of nowhere Kansas all the way to North Carolina.

  I was determined to have the last few days of my break to myself though. Just me and the open road, nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.

  Turns out that was a bad idea too because my thoughts suck as much as this car does.

  The end of last season has been on perpetual repeat in my brain, and I’ve spent the entire drive thinking of all the things I could have done differently to not cost us the Stanley Cup.

  Such as not taking a penalty just moments before the end of the tied regulation, which led to a goal and the loss of Game Six in overtime. After we won Game One, we were feeling good, ready to take it to the end. But after losing Games Two, Three, and Four—in overtime, no less—we were feeling defeated. We rallied for Game Five and barely scraped by with a win, but that spark was back. Then Game Six happened and we folded like a house of cards at the last minute, blowing the series.

  It was a total punch to the heart.

  I wish I could say that was the worst of it for me.

  A car speeds by, shaking the SUV and pulling me from recalling one of the worst moments of my life.

  I don’t need to take a trip down memory lane. Right now, I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do to get back home. Coach expects the team to report tomorrow at 8 AM, and after letting him down last season, I can’t be late. This year has to go better than last. I have a contract on the line. I need to get my shit together, prove I’m worth the time and money. I want to stay with the Comets, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

  I pop the hood and hop out of the car to take a look at the damage.

  When I peer in at the engine, it’s obvious I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. There’s errant fluid, and a low hiss echoes on the otherwise quiet road; it’s coming from around where the smoke is rising.

  A tow is definitely in order.

  I wipe my hands off on my jeans—something my mom would kill me for if she saw me—and round the car to grab my phone from the cup holder.

  I search for the nearest mechanic and hit GO on the results.

  And I wait.

  Then wait some more.

  Nothing.

  There’s not enough service to get the results to load.

  I walk up and down the road, but it’s no use. I’m in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing for miles.

  With my frustration growing, I trek back to my car and survey the area. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. A rescue maybe? I didn’t pass many cars when driving, so I’m not expecting anyone to come flying down the road anytime soon.

  I’m about an hour and a half from sunset, maybe less, and I think there was an exit about five or so miles back. If I hustle, I can probably make it before it gets too dark out.

  “Fuck it,” I mutter to nobody but myself. “I’ll walk.”

  Hell, maybe it’ll be good for me. Help clear my head.

  I grab my wallet from the center console and a flashlight out of the glovebox just in case I need it, then lock up the car.

  I shoot off a text to Rhodes, the one guy on the team who doesn’t want to choke the shit out of me, hoping it’ll go through eventually and he can send someone to help.

  I slip my phone into my back pocket and, somehow—despite having done it a hundred times before—I miss.

  The overpriced hunk of metal crashes to the ground. I don’t even have to pick it up to know the screen is shattered because that’s just the kind of luck I have lately.

  Not that I give a shit about the phone being broken. I can buy another with no problem.

  My issue is that everything that could possibly go wrong since blowing the Cup has gone wrong.

  The week after we lost, a few guys from the team—the ones still talking to me—got together at a local bar to drown our sorrows. After one too many drinks were slung around, a brawl
ensued after I witnessed some asshole manhandling a woman.

  I did the right thing. I stepped in and handled shit.

  But guess who got slapped with the cuffs after it was all said and done?

  Me. That’s fucking who.

  Luckily the asshole ended up dropping the charges when the truth about what started the fight came out.

  The damage was done though. I was branded a hothead when the press began digging into my past, and a file that should have been clean suddenly wasn’t.

  Two arrests for assault? Not a good look on the team.

  With my name and face being splashed across headlines and social media, Coach suggested I lie low for the summer, get my head on straight before the upcoming season. So, I packed my bag and headed out west to my parents’ farm.

  The flight out to my parents’ house? Rescheduled…twice. To top it off, my luggage was lost, and I ended up having to wear my brother’s too-small clothes the first three days I was there.

  Mom forgot to mention she turned my old bedroom into an office, so I crashed on the same lumpy, uncomfortable couch we’ve had since I was in middle school. At six foot three, the couch is the last place I need to be sleeping. That first week home was spent with a kink in my neck, and I swear it’s still fucked up.

  That was just the beginning of the shitstorm that would follow.

  I thought going back home for the summer would be good for me, thought being away from the city I let down would be for the best. I could put the loss and the gossip behind me and get my mind right. But everything that could go wrong did, and the more shit went wrong, the more I couldn’t help but think it was all my fault somehow.

  I pinch my nose between my fingers, inhaling and exhaling slowly to remain calm.

  Figuring shit out under pressure isn’t typically a problem for me. You don’t become a first-round draft pick in the NHL by not being able to handle the heat.

  But today, my ability to stay cool is being tested beyond belief.