A puck goes soaring down the ice, just out of reach of Rhodes’ blade, and Colorado has iced it. They’ve been playing this game with us for the last five minutes, flipping it down the ice any time it comes near them over and over again, running out the clock.
We’re behind by a point, but there’s still enough time on the clock to score again. We know it, and so does Colorado.
Eye contact is made between the players on the ice, and the message is clear: Don’t try anything fancy. Don’t try to be the hero. Throw everything we got at the net.
And that’s what we do.
Except an errant pass skips over a blade and then Colorado has possession and they’re flying down the ice…right toward our empty net.
And just like that, our winning streak comes to an end.
With our heads hung low, we skate off the ice, heading to the dressing room coated in the stench of sweat and defeat.
We were only one win away from beating a franchise record, so this one stings harder than usual.
So, so close.
“We went out there and gave them hell. Be proud of that.”
Coach’s eyes scan the room, landing on each of us for a solid moment before moving on to the next.
“It’s behind us. There’s nothing we can change now. We’re moving on.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get on the bus. Get home and get rested. Got it?”
We all give some form of verbal affirmation and get our asses into gear.
“Hey, man,” Rhodes says from beside me, stripping off his pads. “That was a sick pass to Miller.”
“Yeah, too bad Colorado picked it off and scored on it.”
“That’s on the kid, not you. He should have been there.”
I shrug.
He can say that all he wants, but we both know it’s not true.
It was a dangerous pass, a total risk. And the reward was just not there.
It’s the middle of November and we’re doing fine in the standings, holding third place with no problem. But I know if we don’t keep our momentum up, we’ll slide right to the bottom in no time.
I don’t want to be at the bottom. I want to help carry my team to the top, all the way to the Finals. And this time? I want to fucking win.
“We’re just tired, man. Been on the road too long. We have a solid stretch of home games, and we always play better on our ice.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He’s right about part of that. We are tired. We’ve been on the road for almost ten days now, one of our longest stretches of the season. The hotel life isn’t the worst thing ever, but it does get old after a while. Wears you down.
I am more than ready to be back in my own bed again…and have a certain someone in there with me.
The dressing room is quiet as we shower, gather our gear, and throw our suits back on for the bus ride to the airport. Sometimes we wait until the next morning to fly back home, but tonight, after being away for so long, we’re all eager to get back, so we board our flight immediately after the game.
It’s late—or early, depending on how you look at it—when we land back on the East Coast.
I’m fucking beat. Bone-ass tired. I don’t hang around to chat and hop right in my car, taking off for home so I can get some sleep.
Except I pull into Harper’s apartment complex, and it’s only then that I realize what I’ve done.
I meant to drive home, and I drove to her.
For a long time, I sit in my car trying to figure out just what the hell that means.
It’s not casual, that’s for damn sure.
And it’s not love because there is no way Lowell and Rhodes are right. I’m not in love with her.
I can’t be. For so many reasons.
This thing we’re doing is just supposed to be something to keep my mind off the game. It’s supposed to be fun and easy, no strings. Just relieving tension. It’s for the team.
Besides, if this did mean something—which it doesn’t—I can’t invest in someone else right now, not when I don’t know if I’ll be here next season or not.
But…I meant to drive home, and I drove to her.
I swallow down that hard truth, and when the clock hits 3 AM, I have a sinking feeling in my gut that maybe…just maybe…Lowell and Rhodes were right.
I think I’m in love with Harper.
I’m dressed in a suit every playing day of my life, so I never feel like they’re special attire anymore.
But standing in front of Harper, her jaw dropped and pure, unfiltered lust in her eyes? Yeah, I’m feeling really damn good right about now.
I smirk down at her. “I told you.”
“Huh?” She slowly—and I mean slowly—drags her eyes up my body and back to mine.
“That I look good in a suit. I told you so.”
Her tongue slides across her bottom lip as she lets her eyes roam once again. “Yes, you did.”
“Why do I feel like you’re about two seconds away from hauling me into your apartment and having your way with me?”
She quirks a brow. “Would you complain if I did?”
“Hell no.” She lunges for me, and I sidestep her libido-driven reach. “But Ryan might.”
“Who?” she feigns.
“Best friend. About yay big.” I hold my hand up about where Ryan comes to on me. “Fiery and slightly terrifying. AKA, the woman I am definitely not going to double-cross.”
Harper tosses her head back, whining. “Do we have to go? I hate peopling.”
“Yes. We have to go.”
“But…sex.” She pouts.
“I thought it wasn’t all about sex.”
“You said that, not me. I’m just here for the sex.”
I brush off the sting of her words.
“Come on. Let’s go support your friend.”
I pull her out the door, waiting while she locks it, then guide her to the elevator. When we step in, she peeks up at me.
“You know I was just teasing about the sex thing, right?”
I’m not so sure. “I know.”
“Good. Because I do like you, Collin. I like what we have. It’s fun and there are no expectations. Things are good like this.”
They could be better.
We could be better.
I’m in love with you.
But I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I tug her close to me and cover her mouth with my own, hoping my kiss does the talking for me.
“Okay, so explain it to me again.”
We’re standing in front of Ryan’s interactive project.
There’s a fancy camera set up in front of a plain white background. Ryan is currently behind the camera, shooting the couple standing before her.
Harper leans over, pointing a finger at the pair currently in front of the camera. “See the headphones? You record something in that booth over there, a message to one another. Something funny, something sweet, whatever you want. Then, you stand in front of the camera and listen to them. Ryan will give them a signal of when she’s going to turn it on, and then she just lets the camera capture their reaction. I think her final plan is to take stills from the footage and print them.”
“Huh,” I say. “So it’s just capturing your reaction to hearing something?”
She nods. “Yes, your initial one. It can say so much about a person, you know. I bet the photos are going to be stunning.”
“You artsy people are weird.”
She glowers up at me playfully.
“You know we have to do it, right?”
“Really? You want to be part of this human experiment?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “Why the hell not? Besides, I’d love nothing more than a photograph of your face when I’ve said something dirty. I’d hang that right in my living room.”
“You don’t have any photos in your living room.”
“Not yet.” I wink.
“Do you really want to do it?”
“Yes, I really want to.”
“All right. I’ll tell Ryan.”
The long, deep green dress she’s wearing that clings to her curves until about her knees and then flares out swishes against my leg as she walks away.
She says something to Ryan, who claps her hands excitedly, then waves me over.
“Oh my gosh,” she squeals when I approach. “I am so excited you guys are doing this! I mean, I was going to force you to do it anyway, but I am thrilled you’re volunteering.” She shimmies her shoulders. “All right. So what you need to do is just go into the booths and record a message. It can be as short or as long as you’d like. When you’re done, just flip the light switch, and I’ll come get you when I’m ready. You’ll just stand here and listen and I’ll capture it all. Then you’ll go back into the booth while the other one goes. Sound good?”
“Easy enough.”
Ryan leads us over to the booths. We each take a room, and when the door clicks shut behind me, there’s silence.
It’s totally soundproof in here. I can’t hear a thing from the showing outside.
Sitting in the middle of the room is a stool and a tape recorder. There’s a notecard with basic instructions, and that’s it.
Nothing else.
I pick up the recorder and sit, waiting for something to hit me.
A few things run through my mind, especially dirty ones because I wasn’t joking about wanting photographic proof of the way her eyes light up when I say something inappropriate.
But nothing sounds good enough. Nothing sounds right.
So I close my eyes, relax my shoulders, and clear my mind. It’s the same thing I do before every game. I take a moment to breathe, to center myself.
It takes several seconds to get my head right, and when I do, I lift the recorder to my mouth and speak from the heart.
“Okay, are you ready?” Ryan asks, her voice muffled but audible through the noise-canceling headphones.
I give her a thumbs-up.
“All right.” She holds up three fingers. “Three…two…one.”
She hits the play button, and for a long time, nothing happens.
It’s silence.
But if I hold my breath and listen closely, I can faintly hear the soft rustling of Harper’s dress as she settles onto the stool.
She must have hit record as she picked it up.
“What the hell am I going to say?”
Her voice comes over the headphones in a whisper, and it’s clear she has no clue she’s recording.
“Ugh, I can only imagine what he said. It’s probably cunt. Oh, man. I kind of hope he says cunt. That word really does something to me.”
I chuckle.
“But no,” she continues. “He’s probably saying something great. Something epic. Because that’s just who he is. He’s perfect.”
She groans, her voice growing louder. I think she’s dropped her head into her hand, her mouth closer to the microphone now.
“Ugh. Why does he have to be so perfect? Why? All the perfect ones end up being the biggest heartbreakers. I should know. My father was perfect too. The best dad, the best husband. But none of that mattered because in the end, he was nothing but a lying, cheating jerk who broke my mother’s heart in the worst kind of way. I mean, what asshole goes out for a piece of ass in the middle of a snowstorm and gets himself dead? My father, that’s who.”
There’s a crackling as she readjusts herself.
“But god…the way he looks at me sometimes. It’s like he’s peeking into my soul. Like he sees me in all my awkward glory and actually likes it. Likes me. It…it feels so good to be wanted like that.”
She sighs heavily.
“I think I upset him earlier when I told him it was just sex for me. It was a lie. It’s not just sex, and it scares me so much. It scares me because I think maybe he might be falling for me and I…I can’t. I can’t fall for him. I can’t put myself out there like that. I can’t let him be the second man to break my heart. He’s… It’s not worth it.”
She exhales sharply.
“Okay, Harper. You can do this. Just say something fun. Tell him he has a cute ass or something. Yeah, that’s what I’ll go with.”
Not realizing she was already recording, the air goes dead when she clicks the button.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
I thought the worst moment of my life was when the lamp lit up in overtime in Game Six.
But no.
This is it.
Because the girl I’m in love with? The one I just confessed my feelings to on that recording she’s just minutes away from hearing?
She just told me I’m not worth it.
