“I can barely wrap my head around the fact that I willingly and repeatedly banged a hockey player,” I confess, watching his rugged profile as he maneuvers in and out of freeway traffic. “I can’t just jump right into a committed relationship with one. I need baby steps.”
“What’s his name?” Sebastian asks bluntly and glances at me with serious eyes. “Because this isn’t just about what you’ve seen. It’s about something you experienced.”
“You’re perceptive.”
“I am. And a really good listener,” he adds with a flash of his cocky grin. “So spit it out, Shay.”
“His name was Dustin,” I find myself admitting, even though it makes me uncomfortable. “I was already anti-hockey player in college, but I made an exception. And it bit me in the ass.”
“You don’t like your ass bitten. Noted,” Seb quips, and I give him a tight smile. He sees this is really bothering me so he turns serious again. “He cheated?”
“Yep.” I feel shame just thinking about how I found out, so I leave out the gory details.
He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, and then he puts his hand on my knee gently and gives it a small squeeze.
“You need me to prove you wrong,” Sebastian announces in a soft but confident voice that I can’t help but be soothed by. “Prove to you that all hockey players aren’t two-timing, lying, hotheaded dirt bags. And I’ll do that.”
I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say. I mean, I know what I’m thinking—it’s that I really want him to do just that and prove me wrong. I really, really do. But I don’t dare admit that out loud.
Chapter 32
Sebastian
Jordan and Jessie’s driveway is already full of cars so I park at the curb in front of his house. Shay is staring out the window at the large stone-and-wood home. Jordan didn’t renovate like I did. He simply bought a new masterpiece. The house is stunning, I have to give him that. An impressive stone turret right through the middle of the house where the front door is, with a koi pod at the base and clean modern cedar siding on the rest of the structure. It’s unique and eye-catching and clearly expensive. Shay hops out of the car before I have a chance to do the gentlemanly thing and help her.
She walks next to me as we climb the driveway and her eyes glance at every car. “Mercedes, BMW, Lexus, Range Rover. It looks like a luxury car lot.”
“Speaking of cars, do you have one yet?” I ask casually.
“No, but I’ve found one online I’m going to make an offer on,” she mutters back.
“What is it?”
She glances at me sheepishly. “Let’s just say it would stick out like a sore thumb on this driveway.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulder and lean down to whisper in her ear. “As long as it’s reliable, it doesn’t matter. I just need to know you’ll be able to get to and from my place safely.”
I punch the doorbell and wait. My plan is to spend fifteen minutes here, to appease Avery’s ridiculous superstitions, and then take Shay to our real date—which I’d been fervently setting up via texts and emails from my phone all day while I endured that golf tournament. I’ve never, ever gone to this much trouble to impress a girl, and I’m nervous as hell.
The door swings open and Jordan is standing there. He’s barefoot, wearing a bright red apron over his jeans and a T-shirt that says Good Lookin’ Is Cookin’ and he’s holding a ladle in his left hand. “Hey! Come on in!”
We step into his massive entryway and as he closes the door he yells over his shoulder. “Seb’s finally here, Avery. It’s exactly like two years ago so call the league and tell them to just give us the Cup. That’s how this superstition thing works, right?”
Shay smiles at that dig and I chuckle. “You’re such a troublemaker.”
“Someone has to point out his insanity,” Jordan remarks and leans toward Shay. “Sorry you have to witness this. I swear not all hockey players are nutbars like Westwood. Seb will get you out of here as soon as possible.”
She smiles at him, and so do I. Jordan isn’t just the bumbling putz he likes to pretend he is. I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her toward the large kitchen at the back of the house. The smell hits us before anything else. It’s delicious and my mouth starts to water. Shay says, “Smells amazing.”
We enter the kitchen and it’s brimming with people. Jessie is standing over the stove, in an apron that matches Jordan’s, stirring a huge pot of chili. Avery is sitting at the island with a Pabst Blue Ribbon in his hand. My sister is leaning on the same island directly across from him. She must have just got here because she’s pulling the Tupperware containers with the cornbread she made out of her tote bag. I glance into the attached family room and see Chooch slumped over on the couch looking miserable. The reason for his misery is sipping a glass of white wine beside him.
I turn to Jessie, and she knows exactly what has my face twisted up in horror. She steps away from the stove and hugs Shay hello and then meets my eye. “Avery invited everyone who was here two years ago. Because, you know…everything has to be exactly the same.”
I turn and scowl at our captain and hiss, “They broke up.”
Avery looks a little guilty, but not guilty enough, in my opinion, and he simply whispers back, “It’s a couple of hours. It’ll be fine.”
Jordan and I exchange glances. Shay catches the exchange. “Everything okay?”
“Sure,” I say and give her a quick smile. “I want you to meet my sister.”
Stephanie puts the last of the cornbread on the island and comes over to us. She gives Shay a bright, friendly smile. “I’m Stephanie. I didn’t get a chance to say hello earlier.”
They shake hands and Shay looks a little embarrassed. Luckily, my sister picks up on it and adds, “I don’t blame you for bolting. I would have hightailed it out there too if two random chicks showed up at my boyfriend’s house at nine in the morning. I just would have run over him with my car first.”
Shay laughs, and the ashamed look disappears from her face. “Sadly, I don’t have a car right now. But I’m glad to officially meet you.”
Stephanie pulls her away from me. “Have you met everyone else?”
“Just Jordan and Jessie. Oh, and Chooch briefly.”
At the sound of his name, Chooch looks over. His round eyes blink, like he’s just remembered he’s at a social function, and he stands up and walks into the kitchen. Ainsley watches him with a cold, hard glare. If he notices, he doesn’t react. He smiles at Shay and waves. “Hi again.”
Stephanie turns to Avery. “And this is Avery Westwood.”
Avery gives her a friendly smile, and she gives him a cool one back that he doesn’t seemed shock to receive, but I am. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Hi, Shayne. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah,” she replies coolly and pushes her long hair over her shoulder; she stands a little straighter. “I mean it’s been forever. If you’d have visited my brother in the hospital, we’d have met years ago.”
Uh-oh. I don’t know the entire history between Avery and Trey Beckford, clearly. I know Trey broke two vertebrae in a hockey game when he played with Avery in college and that he tried to make a comeback from the injury but it didn’t work out. At least that’s Avery’s side. I guess maybe Shay has a different side.
Stephanie glances between Avery and Shay, also noting the temperature drop in the room, and her eyes meet mine, confused. “So, anyone want a drink? Shayne, how about a Corona?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“And Seb will make margaritas,” Avery announces, and I stare at him. He raises his can of beer toward the blender on the counter. “You and Chooch always make margaritas when we do chili night.”
Right. Chooch and I had concocted some crazy coconut mint margarita drink the first year we did it. I glance at our goalie pleadingly, hoping he remembers what the hell ingredients we used because I sure as hell don’t. Chooch points to a bag on the counter. “I brought th
e coconut and mint.”
“I brought it,” Ainsley corrects, and I turn and see her standing in the corner of the room. Her exotic features are somehow softer than they usually are. Less sharp…kind of sad. “You thought we used coconut milk, but it was actually coconut cream.”
Chooch glances at her, his face void of any emotion, and simply nods. “Yeah.”
Ainsley’s eyes land on Shayne and I tense because she’s not known to welcome any woman to the fold without taking a few swipes at her first. But today she just smiles—actually smiles.
“Hi. I’m Ainsley. Welcome to chili night,” and then, because the girl can’t do nice without screwing it up, she adds, “You must be Dawn.”
Jordan actually drops his ladle. It smacks against the granite floor and the sound seems to echo because everyone else is completely silent. Stephanie is frozen, Shayne’s Corona fisted in her hand. Jessie’s eyes are as big as hockey pucks. Even Avery, who rarely shows emotion, is letting his mouth hang open in shock. Chooch, who was turned toward the bag of margarita supplies, tenses. His shoulders rise almost to his ears, and his head turns slowly toward Ainsley.
“Her name is Shayne,” he tells her in a low, deep voice oozing venom. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ainsley looks like she’s just been wounded, and it’s the first time I’ve seen an honest emotion, other than hate, cross her face. “What? You told me he was dating a girl named Dawn. That was like two weeks ago.”
Shayne shifts, moving a step away from me. Oh, fuck.
Chooch spins to face Ainsley full on now and steps toward her. His voice gets lower, more like a rumble. “That was over a month ago. Now shut up. Go home.”
Tears tumble from Ainsley’s dark brown eyes. She puts her wineglass on the counter and then wordlessly strides out of the room and down the hall.
Jessie sighs. “Fuck.” She pulls off her apron and follows Ainsley down the hall.
“Sorry, Shayne,” Chooch mumbles without looking at her.
“It’s not your fault. I can see why she’d be confused,” Shay replies, and I don’t like that one bit.
“I need some air,” Chooch mumbles and wanders out the door in the den that leads to the backyard.
“Ainsley can’t leave before the chili,” Avery says suddenly, and my fists clench.
I have to shove them into my pockets to keep from punching him. Instead I level him with a stare and am about to tell him to go fuck himself when Shay turns to him. Her gray eyes are clear and cool as she meets Avery’s eye. “Aren’t you worried that this superstition stuff is bad for your brand?”
“What?” Avery asks, his normally calm, collected tone dipping into something apprehensive.
Shay isn’t backing down. “You know, if helping a friend restart his life in a positive way is bad for your brand, believing chili will win the Stanley Cup is probably going to make Reebok think twice before having you peddle their skates. But maybe Taco Bell will hire you as a spokesperson.” She glances up at me and then at Jordy with false innocence all over her pretty face. “Is Taco Bell good for a hockey brand? Excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom.”
Jordan points to his powder room, which is off the front hall. Without another word, Shay saunters out of the room. We all silently turn our gazes to Avery. He stares at us and then moves his eyes to the beer can in his hand. He looks guilty as shit. He knows exactly what Shay’s scorn is about, even if the rest of us have no fucking clue. Finally Stephanie says, “I feel like we should applaud or at the very least snap.”
My sister turns to Avery and swishes her arm out in front of her, snapping twice, once to the left and once to the right. Jordan laughs so hard he snorts. I grin, relieved for a break in the tension. Avery heaves a heavy breath. Stephanie drops forward on the island between her and Westwood and leans toward him, resting on her forearms. “So what did your brand do to her?”
He hesitates, his left index finger flicking at the tab on the can in his right hand. “Trey developed an addiction to painkillers when he tried to come back from his injury.”
Oh. I didn’t know this. How did I not know this? Because you’ve been fucking not talking, my brain reminds me. I glance at Stephanie. The smirk has left her lips and she looks suddenly serious. Avery doesn’t know my sister’s past. In fact, no one on the team does. It’s not that I’m ashamed. It’s just that it’s in the past and that’s where it’s going to stay unless Stephanie decides otherwise. He looks up now, his face clearly awash in remorse. “I was leaving college to start my first year here and my dad…you know how he is.”
Jordan and I make eye contact and both grimace. Yeah, we know how Avery’s father is. The man is a fucking asshole, to put it mildly. He’s a relentless, domineering, micromanaging dick.
“He told me it would be best if I distanced myself from Trey, so I never stopped by to see him in the hospital or rehab,” Avery explains. “I mean he had a point. It was a big scandal that the college and the team didn’t catch his drug use. A lot of people were saying the coaches knew and turned a blind eye and that he wasn’t the only player to have substance issues. My dad thought if I was seen being sympathetic, it might be construed as approval or even, you know, like I was using too.”
I’m so blown away by this new information—about Avery, but even more so about Shay’s family—that I’m almost dizzy. I step back and lean against the counter as I try to absorb it. Jordan isn’t so stunned, apparently. “Fuck, Avs, when my brother Cole got injured, he needed his friends and teammates around him more than ever. And he didn’t have his family pressuring him the way I’m sure Glenn Beckford pushed Trey. You of all people should know the pressure his dad was probably putting on him.”
Avery coughs, and his brown eyes are pleading as he says, “I know. I fucked up. That’s why I wanted to bring all you guys to his opening. I wanted to show him I support him.”
“Well, I guess that’s something,” I say, finally finding my voice. But I know that there must be more to it. I can tell by the look on Avery’s face. “So…why is she still pissed? Is this about the endorsement?”
“Trey wanted me to do a commercial for him. I was going to, but…” He swallows hard and looks at his hands again.
“Your father thinks it’s bad for your brand,” I finish for him.
“Fuck, Westwood, come on. That’s fucking brutal,” Jordan blurts out, running a hand through his blond hair and shaking his head.
Avery stands up suddenly, his voice raw and shaky. “I know, okay? But Trey’s better off this way. The whole city is going to hate me in a few months anyway, so they won’t want to go anywhere I recommend. I’m honestly doing him a favor.”
“Why is the city going to hate you?” my sister asks, speaking for the first time since Avery’s story began. I glance at her. She looks pained. I wonder how much of Trey’s story is bringing up her own horrible memories.
Avery looks at me and then at Jordan. “My contract is up at the end of the season and…I’m probably not going to re-sign here.”
“What?” Jordan and I bark it out at the exact same time. Honestly, if someone had just driven a Mack truck through the kitchen I would be less shocked. Avery Westwood is the Seattle Winterhawks. When they drafted him, the Winterhawks did something that has never been done before or since, they gave him a jersey with a C already on it. That’s right; he had the captaincy handed to him the second he made the team.
Avery chose to go to college before he took it, though, which was unheard of, and I’m sure it was the one and only time he disobeyed his dad. Still, when he was done, he walked right onto the team and into the C. Winterhawks fans were instantly in love with him and the management gave him the biggest, longest starting contract in NHL history. And then he led us to the Cup, and after that I thought that he would be here till the day he hung up skates. And then he would coach here. That was the unspoken path that was effortlessly laid out in front of him. So why the hell wasn’t he going to walk down it?
&nb
sp; “It’s not just about the hockey. I love you guys, you know that,” Avery explains and scrubs a hand over his face.
Before he can explain exactly what the fuck it is making him abandon his golden ticket and the city and team that has had his back from the beginning, Ainsley marches back through the kitchen. She stops, looks around the room, clearly either oblivious to the tension in the room or too self-absorbed to care and says, “Where’s Michael?”
Jordan points to the backyard and she heads outside.
Stephanie is the only one who doesn’t watch her go. Her eyes never leave Avery and she jumps right back into the conversation like the interruption never happened.
“It’s fine to look out for your brand. It’s even the right thing to do from a business perspective,” she says simply, her gaze holding Avery’s with an intensity that only I know is about her own struggle with addiction. “But looking out for your friends…and standing up for what you actually know is right…that’s the right thing to do as a human being.”
Suddenly Jessie appears in the kitchen entry. “Seb. Umm…Shayne is leaving.”
Chapter 33
Shayne
I honestly just intended to use the bathroom. I wanted a quiet place to take a few breaths and calm down. However, when I find their powder room, Jessie is standing outside the closed door and Ainsley is locked inside. Jessie gave me a sympathetic smile. “You can use one of our bathrooms upstairs.”
“To be honest, I don’t have to go.” I sigh as I run a hand through my hair. “I just wanted to get away from Avery before I said something I regretted.”
Jessie’s sympathetic smile deepens. “He’s definitely not that easy to understand. But I think deep down, if he would just think for himself, he’s a good guy.”
I glance at the bathroom door as I lean against the wall beside it. “So what’s up with this?”
Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4) Page 19
