“THAT WAS A TOUGH ONE.” Lennox leads me through the tunnel in New York where the fans dressed in blue exit in a somber horde. New York beat us four-one. The entire team, including Brooks, played terribly.
He’s played like shit for the last two games, and other than the moments after games when I’m herding him and the team in for questions with reporters, he’s barely spoken to me. Even in those moments, he avoids eye contact, and he doesn’t dare touch me.
On the plane, he sat with Tyler and Aiden like he used to without a word to me. All I got was a slight nod before he was settling in and losing himself in conversation. When we landed in New York, he suddenly had plans with his goalie coach. It felt an awful lot like he was avoiding me.
I’m losing my goddamn mind.
“You sticking around?” I ask her outside the locker room.
Lennox shakes her head. “Nah, I’m going to head back to my apartment. You coming to my place or you headed back to Boston?”
Despite Brooks’s attitude, I’ve made the best of the time I’ve had with my bestie. But the team is headed back to Boston tonight, while she’ll be staying in New York.
She says it’s time to start her job hunt. All week I’ve tried to convince her that this would be the perfect opportunity for her to move back to Boston. If Aiden wasn’t in the picture, I think I may have been successful, but since that moment he slammed into the glass at the sight of her, she’s been spooked. She’s hidden it well, but I can see the underlying disquiet that’s plaguing her. Clearing the air might help, but they’ve yet to talk. I’m not sure if that’s because of her or him, and I’m not pushing. I’m dealing with enough relationship drama myself.
“I really need to talk to Brooks.”
Lennox eyes me. “Yeah, if not for your sake, then you need to do it for the Bolts. The guy is falling apart on the ice.”
I cross my arms over my chest and roll my eyes. “That has nothing to do with me.”
At least I hope not, but with every passing day, I’m a little more concerned that it does. Is Brooks staying away from me because I’m bad luck? He’s a stickler for rituals and shit like that, sure, but if he’s pushing me away because of a goddamn superstition, then I’m really going to punch him in the face.
Either way, if I head back with the team tonight, I can visit with Josie tomorrow. Time with her is guaranteed to brighten the shadows that have enshrouded me this week, and I know she looks forward to it too.
“Don’t be a stranger,” I beg her, pulling her in close.
Once we part, I head to the pressroom. New York is dealing with the media first, so I lean against the door and watch each of them give their wrap-up.
“Vin, you’ve never scored more than one goal on Brooks Langfield. Tonight you scored three. What happened?”
When Vin gives the reporters a cocky smile, the anger that rushes through me is enough to make the edges of my vision go red. I have to turn around and walk out so I don’t launch myself across the room and beat him up myself.
I could tell them what happened. The team was a mess. Brooks’s head wasn’t in it. He was just a second too slow, and with the speed at which the puck travels on the slick ice, a second is practically a lifetime.
As I’m leaving the room, my focus snags on a familiar face in the back corner. Jill. Why the hell is she here?
She wasn’t in the WAG box tonight, and the woman never comes to home games, let alone away games. But here she is. She’s beaming in a black dress and black thigh-high boots with a red scarf around her neck.
Is she wearing New York colors?
No. There’s no way.
For a long moment, I watch her. She’s intently focused on the front of the room, and the smile on her face is full of affection. I follow her line of sight and discover that it leads straight to Vin. What the hell?
“They ready for us?” Tyler is waiting for me just inside the locker room, showered and dressed in his game-day suit. He, along with Aiden, Brooks, and Seb, will have to answer for the Bolts’ lackluster performance.
“Almost.” My mind is spinning. Should I mention my suspicions about Jill to him? Should I ask about Brooks?
I’m still considering when Brooks breezes past me without so much as looking my way.
The pain that explodes in my chest at the utter disregard is so harsh I have to suck in a breath to keep from doubling over. “Excuse me,” I whisper to Tyler, fighting back a string of curses. Then I turn to go after Brooks.
Before I can make it to the door, Tyler grasps my elbow and pulls me back into his chest. “Give him some space, Sar.”
I spin and pull my shoulders back, glaring at his hand.
With a grunt, he releases me and takes half a step back. “He had a bad game.”
No shit. I lift my chin and zero in on him. “That doesn’t give him an excuse to be a dick.”
Tyler’s blue eyes soften. “It doesn’t.” Then he arches a brow. “But everything else—” He sighs, his shoulders slumping with an invisible weight. “He’s spiraling, and he’s just trying to get his bearings. As his friends, it’s our job to have his back. And if he’s a dick? Then we should remember not to take it personally. He’s just working through some shit.”
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stave off the tears pricking the backs of my eyes. Fuck. Brooks told Tyler. My stomach sinks at the thought. What exactly did he tell him?
“Well, as his girlfriend, Tyler, it fucking hurts.” I clear the emotion from my throat. “You may be okay with it when he acts like a dick, but I’m not. So if you’ll excuse me, it’s time I called him on his shit.”
Instead of arguing like I expect him to, Tyler studies me with his lips quirked up on one side. Then he shakes his head and lets out a surprised laugh. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Maybe it is.”
I don’t have a clue why he’s so smiley, but I don’t have time to consider the reasons. I have another hockey player to put in his place. So with a nod, I stomp off in search of Brooks. When I find him, he’s standing outside the pressroom, his attention on his phone.
To quell my anger, I take in deep breaths as I approach. The sharp tapping of my heels on the concrete floor announces my arrival.
He snaps his head up, and his eyes soften for a beat. His hair is still wet from his shower, but it’s back in a low bun. A navy-blue pinstripe suit strains against his thick shoulders as he pockets his phone and stands taller. He dips his chin and takes a deep breath. When he focuses on me again, it’s like he’s secured the shutters over his heart. The warmth in his eyes that’s always been all but permanent is absent, and his mouth is fixed in a straight line. He’s emotionless.
“What the hell is going on?” My voice quivers. I keep my head held high, but an acute pain radiates through my entire body. I’m at a loss as to how to fix what’s wrong between us.
For days he’s been nothing but cold. For days he’s pushed me aside like I’m his dirty little secret. It’s Seb all over again.
Brooks wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be safe.
He studies me, his gaze remaining cool. “What are you talking about?” With a glance over my shoulder, he huffs. “Played like shit, got reamed by Coach. Now I’m about to go talk to the media, where they’re going to go on about how I couldn’t stop a puck even if it was slow rolling into the net.”
The sigh that escapes me is pure exhaustion and anger. “I could give two shits if you let in seventeen goals, Brooks. I’m talking about us.”
His jaw ticks, but he keeps his focus locked on something just behind me. “What about us?”
“You’re acting weird. I thought—” I shake my head and look away, willing myself to keep my composure. Whatever I thought was obviously wrong. It’s clear our connection was only physical for him. But God, it hurts. So much more than when I discovered Seb’s betrayal, even. Because this is Brooks. Because I thought our friendship mattered more to him. “Forget it.” I take a step back, suddenly desperate for a moment of privacy to pull myself together.
Brooks clutches my shoulders and spins me against the wall, essentially creating a shield between me and the world with his body.
I can’t hold back the gasp that escapes me at the abrupt move.
“You thought what?” His voice is quieter now, his expression a fraction softer.
“Am I bad luck?” I slump back against the wall. “Is that why you won’t come near me? Or did I do something wrong?”
With a groan, he drops his head back. When he straightens again and focuses on me, the old Brooks is there. Eyes warm, face full of nothing but affection. He angles forward, like he can’t get close enough, and cups my face. “No, Sara. You did nothing wrong.”
“Then why are you pushing me away?” The ache in my chest flares. “Why are you acting weird?”
“Because we shouldn’t have done what we did. I shouldn’t have done what I did. Of course I’m acting weird.”
I try to step to one side, to put distance between us, but he doesn’t let me go. “You can’t be serious right now. You promised nothing would change. Now that we’ve hooked up, you ignore me?” I lick my lips and drop my chin, focusing on one of the buttons on his shirt, willing my heart not to crack. “I need this job, Brooks. You’re the face of the team. No matter what you do, you’ll be okay. Your spot here is secure. But I’ll be heading back to North Carolina with nothing. I need this job.” I force myself to meet his gaze, despite the tears blurring my vision. “I don’t think you understand just how much.”
His face twists in anguish. “Never, Sar. No matter what happens, never. Your job is safe.” He huffs out a breath. “Fuck, I’m fucking this all up.”
I scan his face, searching for the meaning behind his words. Trying to reconcile the man I thought Brooks was—the kind, loyal, caring guy he’s portrayed for the year we’ve been friends—with the asshole who’s been giving me the cold shoulder all week.
All I come up with is a whole lot of nothing. “Yeah,” I sigh. “You are.”
With a low groan, he rests his forehead against mine. He takes several shallow breaths and watches me. I can’t take my eyes off him either.
“Believe me,” he says, his voice low. “I’m the one at risk here.”
“What does that even mean?”
He shakes his head against mine. “Just know that you’ll always have a spot with the Bolts. And more than that…” He takes my hand and lifts it to his chest. His heart pounds beneath my palm. “You’ll always have a spot here. You have nothing to worry about.” The warm breath that leaves his lips sends the hairs framing my face fluttering. He uses one finger to brush a few stray strands from my temple, then settles his palm against my cheek. “I’ll do better.”
I cover his hand and lean into his touch. “I’m so confused. You haven’t so much as looked at me since we were in your uncle’s office.” Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I force myself to ask the questions I don’t really want the answers to. “Did I push you too far? Is that not what you want? Are we just friends? Please.” God, I hate how desperate I sound. Even so, I don’t stop. “I need to know what’s going on between us.”
Without my permission, a tear crests my lashes and slips down my cheek.
Brooks’s face crumples, his lips turning down and anguish overtaking his features. He swipes at the tear with his thumb. “No crying, baby. I’m sorry. No, we’re not just friends. But what happened in the hot tub—what happened in Seb’s office—that should have been just for us. You’re not a fucking prop, Sar. I all but fucked you in front of my uncle on the pool deck. Anyone could have seen. Taken photos. Anyone could have walked in and caught us in that office.”
“But I liked it,” I hiss. “I know I’m not a prop. I orchestrated the damn thing in the office.” My heart clenches in my chest so sharply I suck in a breath. “I need to know that I didn’t force you to do something you didn’t want to do. Because that’s how I feel. God, Brooks, I feel like I seduced my best friend, and now he’s realized I’m the horrible person his uncle says I am. The slut. The bunny.” Another tear escapes, then another.
Brooks’s grip on my cheek tightens, and he steps closer, so we’re chest to chest. “No—”
Beside us, the facility assistant appears, startling us both. “Press is ready for the Bolts.”
