by Stacey Lynn
Technically, pissed is not exactly the emotion I’m feeling.
“How’s Sawyer and Tessa? They find her ex yet?”
“Yeah. They found him. He’s in Nova Scotia.” With most of her shit already gone, pawned along his route and no way to prove the remainder is hers. And okay, this might be why I want to rip off my teammates’ heads today.
I jump to my skates and push Mikah’s questions out of my head. I need to chill out and get some damn perspective on my job, my life… hell, freaking Tessa.
I roll my shoulders and try to focus on the scrimmage, on Pierce slapping the puck to Newmann with ease and precision but it only holds my attention for a moment. Across the ice, I find Tessa.
She’s here.
She’s sitting close to Katie and Paisley who’s holding Mikah’s son, Angelo, but I zone in on Tessa and her curls first.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her at one of my games where she’s not on her feet, shouting and cheering.
Instead, she has her bottom lip stuck between her teeth, and she’s looking at me, uncertain.
Fuck it. The only way I’m going to clear my head of Tessa is if Tessa and I finally clear up everything that’s between us once and for all.
Which means once this day is done, I have a lot of shit to right in my life. Starting with my team after today’s craptastic performance.
And ending tonight with Tessa… hopefully, picking up where I stopped her yesterday.
Screw Will. I can handle her baggage because of him and I can help her get to the other side. But he’s taken enough of her life over the last few years and he doesn’t deserve to take another minute more.
Not when last night she made it clear she wants me as much as I want her.
Across from me at one of our team’s favorite places to hang out, Hendrix takes a pull from his beer before paying attention to me. I’ve done the practice today. I put in time at the team family party after, fighting tooth and nail to resist the urge to call Tessa and see where she disappeared to. As soon as we could make our escape without being rude, it was Hendrix and Byron who pulled me aside, grabbed a bunch of other guys on the team and demanded. “George’s. Now. And you’re showing.”
It was a demand from the team captain and one I wanted to ignore. Unfortunately, giving them this is the first step into making up for today. My team needs me and my job on the ice needs to become clear.
It won’t until I can escape George’s Bar, the one place our team can go and hang and have some drinks without being overrun with fans when we need a night to blow off steam or relax. I’m counting down the minutes on the worn and ragged clock behind the bar, waiting until I’ve put in an acceptable amount of time with the team until I can get to Tessa.
So here I am, most of the guys on the team still giving me a wide berth, the old wood paneling of the walls and floors that stick to the soles of your feet even though I’ve been here when George is cleaning. It’s slightly old and run down, but we’re here so often it’s most of our home away from homes.
“So, want to explain today?”
Sebastian Hendrix is one of the guys I’ve played with the longest outside Sawyer. He’s been here six years, steady and loyal with a right hook almost as mean as mine.
Still, he doesn’t look all that much happier than I am right now.
“Crap day. Shit on my mind.” A blonde I want to pull into my lap, kiss her senseless, and hang on to forever like I should have done last night before I screwed up.
“Please.” He huffs and spins his beer bottle. “You’re talking to a guy who’s seen shitty days. And I know one thing, nothing makes a guy lose his mind—especially you, Mister calm and happy-go-lucky—than woman troubles. So spill it.”
“No.”
I’m being a stubborn ass, but it can’t be helped. I’m not ready to come clean with Sawyer about his sister until his sister and I can figure out what’s going on between us. The last thing I need is to cause a rift between us if it’s going to end up being pointless.
There’s still the chance she can leave. While I trust Hendrix to keep his mouth shut, secrets always have a way of coming to light.
“So there is someone.”
“Knock it off. You’re the one who wanted me here, so let me enjoy my drink.”
“I wanted you here because you were a dick today and I don’t want the same shit to happen tomorrow. News is already talking about it. So if you have something you need to get off your chest, I want you here to let it go so we can move on. But shit like today happens again this week and I’ll personally tell Coach to bench your ass for pre-season.”
Like hell that’ll happen. “It’s training camp, Hendrix, fodder for media and fans. Nothing that happens there has a bearing on the season.”
“For the guys on lines with something to prove, it does. And face it, you’re getting old. Maybe you can’t handle the pressure anymore.”
He’s goading me. I still take the bait because fuck that. “Fuck off.” I laugh and take a swig of my beer. Hendrix isn’t wrong, but I’m not, either.
Training Camp is mostly to show off our skills, prep the fans for the season. Get everyone riled up and ready so tickets fly off the shelves and arenas are filled. If any question how good we plan on being, if they’re not impressed with how we behave this week, it has an effect on sales.
Pro sports are a business. We’re a group of grown men who play games for a living and yet the majority of our season will be filled with marketing for the sole purpose of increasing sales and gear so we can keep raking in our millions and making the owner even richer.
It’s not skepticism. It’s fact. And I’m one of the most expensive sales pieces on the board. They won’t bench me unless I’m injured, or doing so rakes in more money.
“No one’s taking my spot on the line.”
“Conan looked pretty damn awesome out there today. You might have seen that if you weren’t so busy scowling across the ice.”
He takes a sip of his drink. Nonchalant little fucktwit. He totally knows what I was staring at.
Or should I say who.
“I didn’t know you loved me so much to pay that close attention to me.”
“I love you enough to tell you to pull your head out of your ass. What’s going on with you two?”
“It’s Tessa. She’s Sawyer’s little sister.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t want her. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“That’s because it doesn’t have an answer. Tessa’s life is screwed up, I want her. Moving forward is the worst thing we can do with how screwed up things are for her and it also won’t stop me. The problem is moving forward and not having it blow up in our faces.”
“My advice?” Hendrix asks. He doesn’t give me time to answer because No, I do not want advice. Although, maybe I need it. “Go for it. You got a chance to have something good in your life, something that could make your life better, you’ll never once regret going for it and giving it your all to make it happen. You will regret giving up and not taking the chance.”
He takes a large pull from his beer, sucking it back and showing me his teeth while he swallows. His face changes. Something in his expression darkens and he loses that gleam in his crystal clear blue eyes.
“What’s going on, Seb?” Sebastian Hendrix has been married to his high school sweetheart ever since high school. He’s over his head in love with Madison who most of the team, including me, thinks has become a complete bitch over the years. We try to hide our hatred for her for his sake and all that team morality bullshit, but it’s no secret she barely comes around anymore. When she does, the word pleasant seems to have been completely removed from her vocabulary.
Whatever look is on his face right now isn’t a good one.
“You’re not the only one with shit going on right now,” he says. It doesn’t answer my question at all but when he looks back at me, I swear a chill flies through the air that’s how cold he is. “But do
n’t bring your shit to the team or to the ice. Lock it up as soon as you lace up your skates.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
One side of his mouth twitches. “Madison and I, we have our own problems. That’s all I can share. And fuck, she wouldn’t even want me sharing that.”
My concern for Tessa and whatever is going on in my own life hops immediately into the back seat. This is Sebastian. Hendrix. Most loyal guy I’ve ever met. Never looked at a woman on the road. Never so much as laughed at even the thought of a puck bunny. He calls his wife on the plane, on a bus. He calls her when he gets to a hotel, ditches out of an away game nights out at bars to FaceTime her. He’d rather be with his wife than anyone else in the world, he loves her that much. That doesn’t mean he’s not a part of the team. He’s one of the most stable guys we have. Him dragging me out here to try to get my head on straight is proof of that.
“Hey. What’s going on? Just because I was a dick today doesn’t mean I don’t care. You know that.”
He’s silent for several moments. Long, strained silence where I have enough time to catch George’s daughter, Gigi behind the bar and lift two fingers requesting refills. She started helping him out here a year ago, spent three years after her own failed marriage traveling the world, backpacking through Europe. One day, she walked right in on a night we happened to be in the bar with dark purple hair down to her ass, a ring in her nose and a bright, multi-colored tattoo of a mermaid and a whole host of other shit down her arm.
George took one look at his daughter, eyes popped open as he asked, “Do I know you?”
She practically leaped over the bar to get her arms around the guy… a major feat considering the size of his gut and the tiny stature of her body… and told her old man to shut up and give her some love.
She lives above the bar and whenever it’s quiet and we’re here, she can throw her shit around with us with the best of them and her stories about her travels are fucking legendary.
I’m about to give up on Hendrix answering my question, he’s been silent for so long when Gigi drops off our beers, clears away my empty. Tonight her hair is shoulder length and hot pink. The mermaid on her arm a teal that shines on her pale skin.
“Thanks Gigi,” Hendrix mutters even though he hasn’t finished his first.
“No problem, hotshot.”
He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “I’m no hotshot,” he mutters, but it’s not to Gigi, she’s already back behind the bar, bar towel thrown over her shoulder as she grabs more drinks for the guys there.
“What’s going on?” I ask again.
Hendrix reaches for his beer and spins it in a circle. “Madison and I have been trying to have a baby. For years. It’s not happening.”
Well, that’s not what I was thinking. Her leave him? Yeah. That I could see. But this?
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing you can say. Something’s fucking broken and I can’t fix it for her and it’s killing her. And us. And it’s a fucking mess. But what I said before stands true. You’ll regret never going for what you want. You won’t regret trying. Even if it explodes all over your face into a massive failure.”
When he puts it like that… who wouldn’t jump in with both feet and risk everything?
“Sorry, man,” I say instead. “That really sucks and I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I have to live it. But that’s not why I made you come here tonight. You want Tessa, that shit’s been clear to anyone with eyes for years except for maybe Sawyer. You want her, she wants you? Who cares the timing sucks? Go for what you want and fuck anything that tries to get in your way.”
He angles his beer bottle toward me, and I clink the top of mine with his. “Can I get out of here now and follow your advice?”
“Yeah.” He huffs. “Do that. And tomorrow, don’t be such a dick to us.”
“Promise.”
Because come hell or high water, regardless of what comes of tonight, or any future with Tessa, my team needs me and I need to be there for them.
Chapter Twenty
Tessa
* * *
I open the door to the building’s rooftop deck and am almost suffocated by the blast of hot, humid air. It chokes me almost as my own thoughts have been all day. I’ve had no idea which way is up or down or right or left since I joined Katie in the bleachers at the training camp today. I sat with a bunch of the wives and girlfriends. Paisley happy to bounce Angelo on her knees and show him off to Mikah. Katie was nervous as Jude took to the ice for the first time since his injury during last year’s season. Hell, even Mikah’s nanny, Viola, was there, thrilled and laughing with women young enough to be her daughters.
Everyone was in a celebratory mood. Everyone but me.
I sat with Debbie while she carried a pale green hue on her face, silently cheering for Sawyer and watching him skate around, zipping across the ice with his insane speed for a defenseman his size.
Then Jason took to the ice, looking pissed off. Unfocused. Angry with his team, throwing things around when he hit the bench. He glared at his coach, at almost every person who said something to him including Mikah, and I swear at one point he was ready to throw off his gloves and punch his own friends in the face.
And is that what I do to him? He makes me feel like I’m losing my mind, but he’s the one who walked away from me. Twice. Worse, afterward, he put in his minimal time with the open skate and then hauled off to the locker room. I begged off the family party afterward even though Debbie insisted I should be there, at least for Sawyer. However, heading back to a quiet apartment that isn’t mine and filled with things I don’t own only depressed me further and made me more confused.
I belong nowhere. My shot with Jason went down the toilet. I have no idea where I should be or what I should be doing and it’s all left me having no energy to go for a run, but still needing fresh air.
So, I finally left Jason’s apartment. It took going down to the main floor lobby area, finding a map of the building to find the deck and I almost backed out from the work.
I’m tired. It’s late.
The smartest decision I can make is to go back to the bed in Jason’s guest room, crawl into bed and not only try to forget this weekend, but reevaluate my decisions in the morning with a clear head. Perhaps the absolute smartest thing for me to do is return home, go back to the job I can at least deal with. I can piece the mess of my life back together without this constant conflict making my head spin. It’s causing me heartburn.
Flipping off the long, cardigan sweater I always wear when I’m inside Jason’s apartment because he likes to keep his temperature similar to that of the ice rink, I fling it to the faux grass turf near the small dog park. There’s a bench nearby so after I pour myself a glass of wine and settle my back against the bench seat, I slide the bottle beneath. My shoes get kicked off to the side and I take the first sip of my wine, gazing at the dark horizon. Shadows and shapes of trees and buildings lit by small glass windows and street lights.
It’s quieter than I imagined this area of Charlotte to be. During the day, the narrow, tree-lined streets are packed with cars, the sidewalks filled with commuters and men in suits and women in dresses hustling on their way to work. There is a constant stream of women pushing strollers, college students hauling heavy backpacks while carrying their Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cups. But at night, hours after rush hour has settled, the streets are quieter. There’s a peace from being able to see it all from the tenth floor of Jason’s building.
Unlocking my phone, I pull up a classic rock playlist on my music streaming app, cross my ankles and close my eyes. Other than the gentle hum of cars far below and the whisper of the wind, my music fills the night sky. I will my thoughts to settle. This isn’t the first time since being back in Charlotte I’ve had to disappear to find some peace, and yet, these moments have been the few I’ve had since I can remember.
Going b
ack to Toronto will not bring me this. But can I stay? I’ve made a mess of everything.
A whining sound pierces the night and I jump on my sweater-made blanket, twisting toward the sound and then grin.
A man is on the roof and the sweetest looking chocolate lab is leading the way, clearly pulling him toward the park near where I sit. I turn back to my wine and turn down the music. No use blaring it for all to hear when I have company.
As they get nearer, the guy crouches down at the gated entrance to the dog area and unclasps the leash. “Go on, girl.”
The dog bounds into the enclosed dog park, grabs a tennis ball already there and flings it toward the far fence.
The man turns to me then, profile lit with the numerous freestanding lamps on the roof. “There was no need to turn the music down on my account. I like Journey.”
I grin into my wineglass. “Me too. Cute dog.”
Cute guy, too. His body is lean, that of a runner, perhaps a bit of weight on him that shows he might not live in a training room, but he’s handsome and when he sits on the far end of the bench where I’m settled, his grin is even more attractive. “Name’s Scott.”
“Scott?” Well, that’s a strange name for a dog. I narrow my eyes and look at the animal racing laps around the fenced-in area. “Looks more like a tornado to me.”
The guy laughs quietly and points to the dog. “Her name is Queen, and trust me, she lives up to that completely. No, I was talking about me.”
“Oh.” I’m stunned. He’s polite… no, he’s bold and confident. He offers his name and a smile and place near me even though there’s room for him elsewhere but he’s chosen to be close to me. As if he can’t imagine I wouldn’t want him near me. “I’m Tessa.”
“Just move in? Can honestly say I don’t see many women alone up here at night, wine in hand.”
“Pity. More people should do it.” It’s a quip before I realize he’s digging for information and possibly flirting?
