It’s been three days since we won the championship 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 training camp start.
My agent has lined up several public appearances 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 really 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 morning, 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 believe 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 deserved 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.
“Play nice, boys,” Grant says, looking between us.
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 sensitive 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 nipple 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. Nothing 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 morning 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.
And then later that day when I changed my sheets and found a few coin-sized spots of blood on the bedding… a fresh wave of confusion and emotion, and finally realization had gutted me all over again. I swallow down my anger, nostrils flaring even now. I still can’t believe I let it get that far between us. That I took something from her that wasn’t mine to take. I feel like complete scum right now.
I know I should apologize, or call her, or do something, but it’s better if she just thinks I was too drunk to remember.
The guys around me erupt in laughter, and I realize Asher is still telling that goddamn story.
“She held her breath for like four minutes, dude. Swear to God!” he finishes, and the guys around us laugh. Teddy punches him in the shoulder and calls him an idiot.
Coach blows the whistle and we turn for the bench. I make a wide, lazy arc and take my time. Part of me is relieved today’s skate is done. But the other part of me knows I won’t be able to avoid Owen any easier at home. Hopping over the wall, I grab a water bottle and I take a long drink.
When I got drafted, my life changed in an instant. Suddenly there were fans calling my name at every game, kids wearing my number on the back of their jerseys, and women in every city who wanted to fuck me, flashing perfect tits in my face, begging to come home with me.
Everyone wanted a piece of me. Everyone except for Owen and Elise. They were true friends. They were there before all this started. Owen and I had been playing hockey together on the frozen pond in our neighborhood since we were eight years old. Elise too.
I grin, remembering back to how we always made her play goalie because she was so horrible at it and we could score fifteen goals a game.
She was the one girl I could just be myself around. And now I’ve gone and fucked that up too. But what else could I do? I can’t exactly apologize for sticking my dick in her, and taking something that wasn’t mine to take. Because what’s done is done. And I certainly can’t confess my crime to her brother. So I’d ghosted. It’s better this way. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. It’s not even a choice – even if I wanted to make something happen with Elise, my life is a shit show. I might have a kid on the way, for fuck’s sake.
Letting her believe I was too drunk to remember what happened is the safer alternative for everyone involved. Because dealing with the fallout? It’s not something I can handle. Owen’s my best friend. My roommate. My teammate. And Elise is way too good for me. Nothing good could come from admitting we slept together.
“Hey, Brady, you okay?” Owen asks, stopping beside me.
I grab my towel from the bench and wipe the sweat from my face. “Just fucking great,” I lie.
Inside the locker room, I strip down out of my equipment and take a lengthy shower. The hot water feels good on my aching muscles and I’m in no rush to leave the shower stall. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for the memories of Elise in my bed to fade, but I hope for my sake they do. The feel of her hands on my chest, memories of her huge blue-gray eyes peering up at mine as our bodies moved together …
I hope to God those memories fade. And not because I want to forget, but because I can barely look Owen in the eye without admitting the whole thing to him. Eventually, the water cools and I have to shut it off and get out. Wrapping a towel around my hips I wander back to my locker, and find most of the guys are already dressed.
“Oh I almost forgot,” Owen says, hoping up from the bench. He grabs a piece of paper from inside his gym bag and hands it to Asher, who’s standing beside him in nothing but a pair of baggy sweatpants.
I push one hand through my damp hair and shake my head, already knowing where this is heading.
“What’s this?” Asher asks, accepting the invoice and peering down at it.
“We had our hot tub serviced. This is the cleaning bill.” Owen drops back onto the bench, satisfied with himself, and stuffs his feet into his shoes without bothering to untie them. “There was a thong clogging the filter,” he adds at Asher’s puzzled expression.
Asher lets out a grunt of surprise. “Two hundred bucks? The girl I was with wasn’t wearing any panties. This is Teddy’s bill. Here you go, TK. That’s all you.” He hands the paper to Teddy, who looks down at it, brows creased.
On a roll now, Owen adds, “And you might want to consider some manscaping. There were pubes stuck in the drain and they charge extra for that.”
“Manscaping? Do you even hear yourself?” Teddy asks, shaking his head. He turns from the locker and shoulders his bag.
It’s a sad reality that I’ve seen these guys naked so many times I actually know their manscaping routines. Fuck, that’s just sad.
“I’m serious, man. The chicks like it. You can’t have hairy balls if you want them to be licked. That’s just reality, bro.” Owen shakes his head, face serious.
“You guys are disgusting animals, you know that right?” I ask.
“Yup,” TK and Asher both answer at once.
Teddy crumples the paper up in his fist. “This is ridiculous. Let’s call it even for all the beer you’ve snatched from my fridge.”
Owen printed the invoice from his computer—even made the letterhead look like a legit cleaning company, so he doesn’t put up a fight.
“You guys want to go eat?” Asher asks.
“Does a bear poop in the woods?” Owen replies, grinning.
I finish getting dressed quickly and follow them out of the building, hoping like hell I can survive the off-season without completely losing my shit.
