Hard Checked: Ice Kings, #4

by Lynn, Stacey

  Doesn’t mean I won’t take a swing at him, though.

  He leans in and lowers his voice. “Come with us. Have a few beers. We’re worried about you, Hendrix, because we give a shit.”

  “This whole night out planned for me?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it. I seem to remember you hauling my ass out, too.”

  “Yeah, because you were a dick on the ice.”

  “And that swing you took at Thomas today wasn’t you being a dick?”

  He has a point. The winger for St. Louis probably didn’t deserve that, but he’d been playing almost as physically as me.

  “I show up for a drink, will it get you off my back?”

  “Only if you stay for at least two.”

  “Seriously not in the mood for this,” I warn him.

  Jason grins. Now that he’s happy with Tessa and they’re shacking up together and he’s getting laid on the regular with a woman he loves, he wants that goodness for everyone.

  Problem is, when my personal life is imploding around me, I don’t exactly want to be around happy people.

  At least Gigi will be there. She’ll let me drink whatever I want at the bar and help me ignore the guys if I want. I’m sure of it.

  “Fine. I’ll go.”

  The bigger problem is now I’m not sure if I’m agreeing to go to get the guys off my back…

  Or if it’s to see Gigi again.

  * * *

  By the time I get to George’s, I’m of half a mind to turn back on Providence Road and keep heading south to my own home. It’s only the reminder that the house is empty and my live-in housekeeper has already taken care of Bruiser for the night that has me triple-guessing myself in the parking lot of George’s, hands wrapped around the steering wheel of my Maserati, glaring at the wooden sign with the faded paint of George’s Bar in bright red.

  My team is a great group of guys. After years of most of us playing together, our team is successful in part because there’s been very few changes with trades, only welcoming new players during drafts and time to prove themselves. They’re more like brothers. Their wives and girlfriends immediately welcomed as sisters. All except Madison, even though she was in the beginning.

  Unfortunately, the sadder she became, the more upset about our lack of starting our own family, she withdrew when she needed support. And since she refused to allow me to help, allow me to tell anyone what we were going through because she was so embarrassed and upset about it, she continued to withdraw, began refusing to go to team functions with me. I’d had to practically beg her to allow us to throw a New Year’s Party at our home last year, thinking maybe she’d remember how good these people were, how much they cared about us and how much they’d want to help us.

  But even that night she barely kissed me when the ball dropped and then disappeared off to our bedroom. She went to bed and the party continued on.

  Maybe everything would have been easier had I let them know more earlier. At least then they would have understood. Madison didn’t want the pity and false hope in the beginning. So I tried to keep her away. I tried to keep her happy. I tried to ignore the looks from the team when she started being bitchy and bitter they were all having their own kids and we weren’t. I tried to be accepting when the medicine she took made her hormones fly out of whack. Or when I had the flu and she was ovulating, and she still insisted we had to have sex.

  Let me tell you—

  Fucking your wife with a hundred and two temperature while trying not to puke and doing it only to get your sperm inside of her was not fun. Or enjoyable. For either of us.

  I’m not even sure when the last time was we had sex for fun. I don’t know the last time either of us woke up on a Sunday morning, even during the off-season when I had nowhere to be and reached for the other. When we spent a weekend tangled in sheets only pausing to shower and order pizza, which we ate in bed so we could get re-tangled in the sheets again.

  Our intimacy became tied to a doctor’s appointment or a line on an ovulation stick. But even with all of that I tried…

  Damn it. I am so damn tired of trying so hard.

  A pound on my window makes me jolt. I turn to see Duke’s ugly mug grinning back at me. I slap my hand to the window to piss him off and shut off my car.

  He steps back and as soon as he hears the doors unlock, opens my door.

  “Get the hell out of here. Time to stop moping.”

  “I’m not moping.” I wouldn’t call what I’ve been doing moping. I’ve been angry. Confused. Extremely pissed off. Worried. Moping? I haven’t had the time for that.

  “Sure you are.” He throws his arm over my shoulders and shoves me toward the bar with him like I’d run if he didn’t force me inside.

  Not entirely inaccurate, but I shove him off.

  “You smell, Fletch.”

  He shoves up his arm and sniffs his armpit. “Nah. That’s good old-fashioned Old Spice right there.” At twenty-five, Duke reminds me a lot of myself. He’s also married to his high school sweetheart, Regan, who’s a total doll and possible half-angel for putting up with this guy. He’s off the wall bonkers. He’s the guy you want at all the parties. He’s the fun guy, the loudmouth, the beer drinking, down to earth, rabble-rouser as my grandpa would call him.

  Tonight, he’s the last person I want to be around.

  He throws the door open to George’s and for a moment I don’t immediately realize my eyes have gone straight to the bar.

  Where a tiny little thing in a tight black shirt and her hair in pigtails is busy pouring drinks. Black towel tucked into the back of her jeans, I notice when she turns away.

  Shit.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  Chapter Six

  Gigi

  I tense up as soon as Jude and Jason saunter into the bar, grinning happily due to their win earlier. They lift their hands in a hello gesture to me, request three pitchers of a wheat ale and as many clean glasses as I have before taking up a few tables on the far side of the bar near our pool table.

  Steve and Tim are in their usual spots at the bar, sipping their drinks, talking about the game. They tell the guys good game before looking back at the television screens above the bar.

  I grab what Jason and Jude request, bringing a pitcher and a few glasses to start with over to where they’ve made themselves comfortable in a booth by the pool table.

  “Saw that y’all had a great win tonight.”

  “Can’t complain,” Jude says. His dark hair flops over his forehead and he shoves it back. “How’s it been here lately?”

  “Quiet. Dad and I do somethin’ to offend our favorite customers? Y’all haven’t been in much.” I haven’t seen anyone from the team since New Year’s when Sebastian was here.

  “Just got done with a long away stretch. Figured we could blow off some steam before heading back out again in a few days.”

  “Saw the game. You’re playing great.”

  “That’s because I’m the best,” Jude says, grinning and filling his glass.

  “She meant the team, dumbass. Besides, we all know I’m better.”

  Brothers. These guys are a trip.

  “Two hundred bucks says I’m better than you at pool.”

  Jason grabs his wallet from his pocket and thumbs through a thick stack of cash before slapping down two one-hundred-dollar bills. “You’re on, dipshit.”

  “The team coming in too?” I ask as they slide out of the booth, grinning at each other in that way I know there’s bound to be some serious shit-talking coming soon.

  “Yeah. Most of the rest will be here soon.”

  “Good. I’ll bring out the rest of the pitchers when they get here.”

  “Thanks, Gigi,” Jason says. “Your dad on tonight, too?”

  “He’s in the back office right now. Need him?”

  “Nope. Just making sure you’re not here alone. It might get busy.”

  “We’ll get you handled.”

  “A
lways do. That’s why we like it here so much.” He grabs for his wallet again and hands me another hundred dollars. “This is for a bottle of your best bourbon. Bring that to the table with a few shot glasses, too okay? On me.”

  “Maker’s Mark?” I ask before I can stop myself. I haven’t been able to pour a glass of bourbon without thinking of Sebastian and wondering how he’s doing.

  “You know Sebastian’s favorite drink?”

  Unfortunately. I slide the cash into my pocket and shrug.

  I attempt an innocent expression. “Is it for him?”

  Based on the narrowing of Jason’s blue eyes, I fail. “Yeah.”

  “Hey old man!” Jude shouts. We both turn to where he’s chalking up the tip of his cue. “You get so old you need a cane to get your ass moving or what?”

  “Brothers,” Jason mumbles, winking at me. “Little brothers are a pain in the ass.” He grabs his beer and heads toward the table.

  I trudge back to the bar and try to shake off the sudden, strange tingling sensation in my fingertips.

  Sebastian and I have done nothing wrong. So why does it feel like I lied to Jason for no reason?

  If he’s surprised I know what Sebastian drinks he either doesn’t realize I’m a bartender and that’s my job, or Sebastian hasn’t told anyone of his night getting skunk drunk at my bar.

  I’m back where I belong, filling pitchers and setting up more glasses on a tray to take when my dad makes his appearance, first going over to where Jude and Jason are and shakes their hands.

  He’s moving slower these days. He gets mad at me when I ask him about his health, but he isn’t losing the weight the doctors have told him he needs to. Fortunately, when he was hospitalized and I got the phone call from my aunt, it wasn’t anything serious and the doctor said he was overworked and needed to slow down. Not that he’s done much of that, either.

  “When it’s my time, it’s my time,” he always mumbles when I try to get him to do something different.

  The problem is, when it’s his time… it leaves me alone. And I’m not ready to think about that yet.

  For now, I smile as he clasps Jason and Jude on the back, watch as he jokes with them and hangs out while they shoot pool, and I slowly brace myself for the arrival of Sebastian. If another bottle of bourbon has been ordered, it means he’s most likely not in any better of a mood than he was the last time I saw him.

  I’m aware of the exact moment he walks into the bar. I’m serving Sawyer a fresh bottle of beer, and I’m not facing the door at all, but I still know it’s him. Partly because Sawyer turns in that direction and he tenses. The bottle of Maker’s Mark Jason paid for earlier is still sitting untouched, unopened, like he’s not letting anyone touch the thing until Sebastian arrives.

  “Thanks, Gigi,” Sawyer says, shoving a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar.

  When I turn back toward the door, I catch Sebastian. Another of their defenseman, Duke Fletcher, is at his back, and he’s pushing Sebastian toward the table, pointing.

  Sebastian’s features are tight and he looks worn down. It’s one glance I give him, a moment, where I watch him but as I catch him turning to look at me, I quickly glance away.

  I’m here to work, not worry about how a guy I barely know is doing.

  I head to my dad’s friends. “Hey Steve, Tom. Need anything?”

  Steve lifts his almost empty glass. “One more round, I think, butterfly, then it might be time for Tom and me here to take off.”

  “You got it,” I say, but my dad’s hand on my shoulder stops me.

  “I’ve got Steve and Tom. You go see if Duke and Sebastian need anything.”

  “I think they’re covered.” They’re already at the table where Jason and Jude have full pitchers of beer and the bourbon.

  Sebastian is untwisting the bottle while Jason says something to him, and then he stops. Scowls at Jason. The bottle.

  He turns and faces me, one brow arched.

  I have no idea what he’s trying to silently communicate but I give a quick shake of my head. No. I didn’t tell them anything. Promise.

  He dips his chin, opens the bottle and takes a long pull straight from it while Jason watches him.

  Worry is stamped all over his handsome, but not nearly as sexy as Sebastian’s, face.

  “Damn,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone.

  This isn’t good. It’s also none of my business so I check my inappropriate curiosity, shove it into a box in the far corners of my mind and make my way across the bar, grabbing a few emptied bottles on my way and stopping to say hello to the guys.

  By the time I reach Sebastian’s table, he’s at least two shots in, sitting back on the booth bench across from Jason. Both are scowling at each other.

  Odd how it wasn’t that many months ago I saw these two men in a similar position, except that night, Sebastian had been smirking and doing most of the talking while it was Jason who was scowling.

  Now, you couldn’t smash the tension between these two by dropping an anvil on the table.

  I power through the thick fog of fury wafting between them and put on my happy smile. “Anything else I can get for either of you?”

  “Nope.” Sebastian doesn’t look at me as he talks, but he slams another shot and clunks it back to the table.

  He’s no longer slouched, but ramrod straight. The stupid part of me wishes he grew tense from me or is at least reacting to my presence.

  The smart girl inside me kicks that girl in the butt and turns to Jason.

  “Jason?”

  He graces me with a smile I’m sure sends his girlfriend Tessa into fits of lust right before she jumps him, but fortunately, does nothing for me. “No, Gigi. I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  I scan both of them. Sebastian hasn’t once looked at me and that hurts.

  It’s not like I expect him to be besties with me after spending a night in my bed—alone—but to all out ignore me?

  Whatever.

  “Fine,” I grumble. “Enjoy your night.”

  * * *

  The stupid, insignificant moment has cast a pall on my mood through the night. The guys didn’t show up until eleven, and it’s growing closer to last call. Some of them have left, but it appears that the Taylor brothers are in absolutely no rush to leave without Sebastian, so the three of them along with Klaus and Duke have still been piled around a table. I can tell from where I’ve planted myself behind the bar that none of them are exactly having a blast. There’s been no more pool playing, no more brotherly teasing.

  As far as Sebastian, his rigid posture and steely gaze directed at the men across from him have given me enough of a clue as to how his night is going. Fortunately, the bottle is only half-gone, so at least he’s not getting smashed out of his mind again.

  I also hate I’ve been paying attention, looking for any indication of that smile I like so much, or the hungover, but slightly amused expression he gave me that morning in my apartment.

  “Hey Dad?”

  “Yeah, butterfly?”

  His back is to the bar and his eyes are glued to a basketball game. Since I don’t give a flying fig about basketball, I’m busying myself with cleaning up the bar, putting away the clean glasses, Kollin, our dishwasher, completed before he clocked out an hour ago.

  “Go home.” He has dark circles under his eyes and I hate how the late nights here have seemed to make him more rundown in the last few months. We’re not rolling in it enough to hire a large staff, but we have enough set aside to at least hire another bartender. We have Dom, but since he’s a college student in Charlotte, his schedule is erratic and he’s unable to work a lot during the school year.

  “I’m closing down.”

  Stubborn old fool. “No. You’re not.” As I scold him, he hides a yawn behind his fist and shakes his head. “Go home, Dad. You’re tired. I’ve got this.”

  “Hate this for you,” he says and turns, finally facing me.

  “What?”
/>   “This.” He swings out an arm. “Hate this for you. This was the bar I wanted because I always wanted a bar. This isn’t you. You’re here because you’re worried about me and you should be scaling Mt. Everest or something equally crazy.”

  “Dad. We’ve talked about this.” He scowls at me and to erase it, I quickly add, “I hate the snow and cold.”

  His responding eye roll couldn’t be any more exaggerated. “If I wouldn’t have had that scare last year, would you be here?”

  I’m not sure what’s brought on this argument we’ve had a half-dozen times since I’ve been back, but between the already difficult night and this, I’m raring for a fight.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But I am here, and I like being here. I like being with you. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t.”

  “You say that, but—”

  “No buts.”

  He sighs, thick shoulders heave with the weight of it. “Your momma. You’re so much like your momma. Stubborn to the core, beautiful to the soul. Don’t know what I’d do without you, butterfly.”

  My eyes burn, like they do every time my dad mentions my mom. Linda Barnes was beautiful. Taller than me, but I have most of her looks. Sometimes my dad gets a sad smile on his face when he looks at me, and I know as much as he loves me, he still misses her a thousand times more.

  “I like being here. And I don’t want to have this conversation again. If, or when, I decide to take off again, or go find something different, I promise you I won’t hesitate.”

  “You haven’t seen old friends since you been back.”

  That’s mostly because I’ve been busy working. With very little staff, I do most of the late shifts, kicking my dad home before it gets too late and he gets too tired. Tonight’s one of the rare ones where he’s stayed.

  “Evan got the friends in the divorce.” I flip my towel in his direction. “Now go home. Stop worrying about me and start worrying about your health. I’m good. Promise.”