JustinIt’s been three days since we won the champi- onship game, and I think half the team is still
hungover. Myself included.
I skate past Owen and he gives me a one-finger salute.
“This fucking blows, dude,” he groans, huffing after me.
I force a smile and nod at him. He wouldn’t be skating beside me, casually shooting the shit if he knew what I did to his baby sister Saturday night. My stomach tightens and I swallow down a wave of remorse, then push myself harder. My lungs burn and my thigh muscles ache with the effort, but the cut of my skates against the ice is the only
thing keeping me grounded at the moment.
It’s a team skate, and the official start to the off- season. Later, we’ll listen to coach’s expectations of us, mostly related to public conduct and social media, and then Grant, our captain, will give a talk too. Finally, we’ll do locker cleanout, which will only take twenty minutes or so, and then we’ll be free for a couple of weeks until the rigors of train- ing camp start.
My agent has lined up several public appear- ances for me in the next couple of days, and I’m going to shoot a commercial next week. I know I should feel grateful and excited for the time off, but considering all I want to do is play hockey, I’m re- ally not looking forward to the downtime.
Plus, more downtime means more time to think. And thinking about my night with Elise is the last thing I can let myself do.
I can barely look at Owen without feeling sick to my stomach over what I did. Waves of nausea hit me—out of fear he’ll find out, or over regret over what happened, I’m not sure.
It doesn’t matter that that night was the best night of my life. It doesn’t matter that in the morn- ing, I wanted to hold her, wanted to kiss her, talk
with her, ask what she was thinking, how she was feeling. Because the second I opened my eyes, I saw the regret written all over her face. From head to toe, she looked so uncomfortable. I let her be- lieve I didn’t remember any of it. What else could I do? And when she’d practically bolted out of my room, I’d grabbed my phone to see a text from a girl I hooked up with a couple of months before while on the road in Tennessee saying she was pregnant. It cemented everything. I wouldn’t infect Elise with my bullshit.
Even if I had been willing to come clean to Owen and risk my friendship, I knew Elise de- served someone better. Not a dirtbag like me who got some girl in another state pregnant. I fuck up everything I touch, and I won’t do that to her.
I slow my pace and let a couple of the guys sail past me, trying to catch my breath, when I turn and get broadsided by Asher shoulder-checking me into the plexiglass.
“We’re three days into the off-season. Already gone soft, Brady?” Asher calls over his shoulder as he skates away.
Fucker.
“Fuck you too!” I call out as he whizzes past.
us.
“Play nice, boys,” Grant says, looking between
The truth is, I’ve never done well in the off-
season. Not even back in high school—though I refused to think about the reasons why that might be—like my parents’ nasty divorce that stretched on for far too long.
Both of them wanting to hang onto me like I was some prize. Fighting over full custody had nothing to do with how much they loved me, and everything to do with the little hockey prodigy I was that would have the potential to earn millions one day. Which I do, in spite of all their drama.
I catch up to Asher, who’s retelling the story about his shenanigans in the hot tub for the third time. Since I’ve heard the story multiple times already, I know which parts to laugh at, which is good because I’m so unfocused, I can’t concentrate for shit. I don’t think anyone on the team can tell something’s bothering me, and that’s exactly the way I want it. I can’t have people asking what’s wrong. Who knows what the fuck is liable to come out of my mouth.
But I’m so distracted by thoughts of Elise, I can barely focus.
The memory of her in my bed, kneeling in front of me as she reached one hand out and rubbed my hard length through my jeans. Her lips on the sen- sitive skin at the base of my throat. Her breath sending goosebumps down the back of my neck.
The hungry sound she made when I touched between her legs. God, she’d been so wet for me. It had been so easy between us. Felt so fucking right.
And I’d been enthralled with her. With every tiny whimper, with every stuttered breath as my lips moved over her chest, taking one perfect nip- ple in my mouth.
Then I’d laid her down on the pillow and knelt between her thighs… pushing into the tightest heat I’d ever felt … my balls ache at the memory. Noth- ing had ever felt better. Yeah I’d been drunk, but I couldn’t blame the alcohol. I knew exactly what I was doing. And besides, I’d been more drunk on her, on the pheromones, on the idea of being inside her than I had been on the alcohol I’d consumed.
But the look of hurt on her face the next morn- ing was unmistakable. The way her lips trembled as she met my eyes. The way her hands curled into tense fists at her sides, and her mad rush to get away from me …that’s what fucking killed me. She got us coffee and food, and put on an Oscar-worthy performance of pretending the night before meant nothing. I didn’t know what else to do besides follow her lead. I couldn’t run the risk of making her feel more awkward around me than she already did.