that cheap bullshit at the end of the game. Fucking Eriksen. As per usual, the refs had their heads up their asses tonight. He got away without a call, and now I have a killer headache to show for it. I’m going to pulverize him next time we cross paths on the ice.
Drew signals left, turning onto our street. “I know you were down at the other end, but I wish you could have seen the look on McLennan’s face when Vaughn was barreling for him with that puck in OT. Pure terror. That was a beaut of a shot, too. Right through the five hole.”
My phone buzzes in my suit pocket. I pull it out, hoping for a sext from Violet so we can pick up from where we left off earlier. Instead, it’s another message from Doug about the Ice Cup. The cell starts to ring in my hand, and his name appears on the caller ID.
Nausea crashes over me, and not just because I’m vaguely dizzy. Between my father’s constant harassment lately and Chicago’s assistant general manager flying down to see me play next weekend, it’s like the walls are closing in on me from all sides.
“Couldn’t have done it without that hit you delivered,” Drew adds. “Perfectly timed.”
“Huh?” Locking my phone, I switch off the ringer. I’ll pay for it later, but I’m too tired to care. “Oh, yeah.”
Violet’s CRV is already parked in front of our house when Drew pulls in, parking behind her. Sadly, there’s no sense in her waiting for me at the arena when we can’t be seen leaving together. I climb out of the passenger side of his truck and meet her halfway on the sidewalk. Unlike most game nights, she’s still wearing her training uniform. She usually changes before she leaves the arena because she claims the polo is “frumpy,” whatever the fuck that means. I think she looks hot in anything.
When I lean down for a kiss, Violet gives me a quick peck and wordlessly yanks me up the path to the house. A few more cars pull up behind Drew’s truck, people pouring out. We step through the front door to find a small impromptu party in our living room. Thanks to Connor, no doubt.
“Come on.” Ignoring the fact that there are people other than my roommates present, she takes me by the arm and hauls me straight upstairs.
“You in a hurry to get me alone?” I ask, stepping into my bedroom. Before we get any farther, I need to go find Biscuit and lock him up. But he’s a furry little cockblock, so I’ll stick him in Vaughn’s room for now.
She slams the door behind her, whirling around to face me. “You’re dizzy.”
This is a disappointment, to say the least. I was expecting victory sex. Or a victory blowjob. Preferably both.
“A little.” No point in lying. I’m not quite one hundred percent, but it’s not dire. A bit like the spins after slightly too much to drink. I’ve taken harder hits, though this one knocked me for a loop more than most.
Violet clasps her hands, pacing in a small circle in front of me. Without stopping, she unzips her long-sleeved training jacket, shrugging it off and tossing it onto my desk chair. “You know the concussion safety protocol,” she says, almost as if she’s talking to herself instead of me. “You need to stop playing until your symptoms are fully resolved and then you can follow a stepwise return-to-sport plan. But you need to sit out for a few games, at least.”
Oh, we’re doing this, now? Great.
“Not gonna happen, Vi.” I slip out of my navy suit jacket and begin to unfasten the buttons of my dress shirt, working my way down. If we aren’t going to fool around, I’m changing out of this fucking suit.
Violet comes to a screeching halt, her eyes wide. “What? You can’t play like this.”
“It was one hit.” Turning away, I rifle through my closet for something to wear, grabbing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. “Wasn’t even that bad.”
To some extent, I understand why she feels this way. But by the time the tournament rolls around next weekend, I’ll be back to normal.
“It was one thing when it was your knee or your shoulder, but this is your brain we’re talking about. Does second impact syndrome ring a bell?”
“I’m fine.” Or at least, I will be soon. Especially once I get some painkillers and food. I’m fucking starving, and it isn’t helping my patience level. If we could put a pin in this fight until later, that would be great. Better yet, until never.
“You are not fine.” She throws up her hands, making another loop at the foot of my bed. “I have no idea how everyone else failed to notice that you couldn’t skate a straight line to get off the ice. I looked the other way with your shoulder more than I should have, because it’s ultimately your career to burn. I won’t look the other way with your life.”
I tug on my jeans, glancing back up at her. “Would you give it a rest already?”
Violet stops short, and her big blue eyes regard me uncertainly. My irritation wanes, replaced with guilt. I hate the way she’s looking at me right now. I never raise my voice at her.
“I’ll be okay by next weekend.” I soften my tone.
“And if you’re not?”
“I have to be. I need to play in that tournament. My stats have already suffered enough because of all my time off last year. Plus, Russell is going to be there.”
My father is coming to the game, too, but I can’t use that to support my case. Bringing him up will raise questions I don’t want to answer. Besides, he’s not the biggest reason I need to put in ice time. I don’t need Chicago thinking I’m a bad investment. I know guys who’ve been drafted and dropped, and it decimated their careers. I haven’t worked this hard, sacrificed this much, and gotten this far only to let it all slip away.
Her forehead furrows. “Russell?”
“Chicago’s AGM, Vi.” I tug my shirt on overhead, running a hand through my hair to smooth it. “They want to see how I’ve grown this year. I can’t be sidelined again. Being injury prone is a massive liability.”
“You know what else is a massive liability?” she asks. “Permanent brain damage.”
Head pounding, I perch on the end of my bed, debating how to handle her. What I really need is some Advil, but getting that right now will only add fuel to the fire.
Violet steps closer and gently massages my scalp with her fingertips. Some of the tension I’m holding melts. Her touch is a welcome distraction from the throbbing in my skull.
“Besides, maybe this will give your shoulder a chance to rest without having to draw attention to that.”
Another rush of frustration creeps in. She has no idea how much pressure I’m under. One wrong move could blow my career to smithereens.
I draw in a deep breath, slowly emptying my lungs before I reply. “Why can’t you trust my judgement?”
Violet is a worrier through and through, and she’s overstating things. Yes, I have a headache, but it’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m sure the dizziness won’t last, either. It’s not like I got knocked out or something. My concussion last year was worse than this, and it still resolved quickly.
“Because your criteria for being fit to play appears to begin and end with ‘being conscious.’ If you think—” A loud knock startles us both, cutting off Violet mid-sentence.
“Yo, I hate to interrupt your victory sex but I think there’s something wrong with Bitty,” Connor calls through the door. “He seemed kinda out of it when we got home. Vaughn and I tried feeding him, but he won’t eat.”
Fuck. Biscuit is a four-legged garbage disposal. Refusing to eat is unheard of for him.
“Give me a sec, Haas. We’ll be right down.” I shoot Violet an apologetic look. “I should go check on him. He might need to be checked out.”
“If he does, I’m driving. Not you. And we’re not done talking about this.”
***
One three-hundred-dollar veterinary bill later, diagnosis: kennel cough.
According to the vet, Biscuit probably picked it up from the dog park. It usually resolves on its own, but because he’s so young, he prescribed antibiotics to treat any potential secondary bacterial infections. He also gave me a cough suppressant. How the hell I’m supposed to get cough syrup into a puppy is anyone’s guess, but his coughing is downright pitiful, so I guess I’ll have to try.
I pay the bill at reception while Violet gathers Biscuit in her arms, cooing at him. He gazes up at her adoringly, working his puppy dog eyes to the max. While I know he’s sick, he definitely doesn’t mind all the extra attention. I wait as the receptionist tries my card once, twice, then a third time with a frown. I hope we can hurry this the fuck up, because the fluorescent lighting in this office isn’t helping my headache.
Squinting, she quickly taps on the keyboard, then glances back up at me. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure if there’s some kind of error, but it says this credit card has been reported as stolen.”
“Stolen?” I repeat.
“Maybe you should call your credit card company,” she suggests, handing my Mastercard back.
Oh, of course. This is payback for ignoring those calls earlier. Well played, Doug. Escalating after only two hours is a new record for him.
“Yeah.” Working my jaw, I strive to keep my voice level while Violet’s gaze weighs down on me. “I will.”
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Over the past few years, I’ve stashed away a decent chunk of change in a separate account only held in my name. Not sufficient to live on long-term, but enough to get me by temporarily should things really hit the fan. But in my rush to leave the house, I didn’t grab any cash or my other bank card. Now I can’t pay this bill. Not a great look in front of my girlfriend.
Violet sets Biscuit on the tiled floor. “It’s okay. I’ve got it, Nash.” She pulls out her wallet and grabs her Visa, passing it over the counter to the receptionist.
“I can pay you back. I just didn’t bring anything else with me.” While I know she isn’t exactly strapped for cash, that isn’t the point. I feel like a fucking deadbeat.
With any luck, I’ll be making three-quarters of a million dollars by this time next year, but the gap between here and there is a chasm.
“Don’t you dare. I talked you into taking care of him, and you’ve covered all of his other expenses so far.”
I hold Biscuit while she signs the receipt, and then I carry him out to her car. He’s even needier than usual, so I let him curl up on my lap while Violet drives. Neither of us speaks, probably because we know it’ll escalate right back into another disagreement.
Ten minutes into the drive home, Violet breaks the silence at a red light.
“Why would your card have been reported as stolen?”
“Can we not get into this right now?” I still have a headache, still haven’t eaten, and I’m worried my phone service will be the next thing to go. I can replace it, if it comes to that, but getting a new number would be a huge pain in the ass—not to mention, one more thing I’d have to explain to her. “I told you I can pay you back.”
Her gaze darts over to me, then back to the road ahead. “It’s not about the money. I was wondering if it was fraud or something you should be worried about. Maybe you should call your credit card company, like she said.”
“Not fraud.” I adjust the passenger seat, reclining it, and close my eyes in hopes it will put the subject to rest.
“How do you know?”
“I just do, okay?” Bad enough this happened in front of her. The last thing I’m going to do is let her know how much of a tire fire it really is behind the scenes. Graduation and financial independence can’t come soon enough.
When I start to think she’s dropped it, she asks, “Does this have something to do with your father?”
Fucking Christ.
Why can’t she see that I’m trying to protect her from the shitstorm that is my life?
“Drop it, Vi.” The words burst from my mouth, my tone harsher than I intend.
Violet’s lips press into a line, but she says nothing. She shakes her head, heaving a small sigh, and returns her attention to the road. Her disappointment with me is so palpable I can feel it, like a rusty blade sawing the two of us apart.
The longer she remains quiet, the larger the gash grows. All the progress we’ve made, the trust I’ve earned, bleeds onto the floor of the car. I want to mend it, but I don’t know how.
When she pulls up to the curb in front of my house, she shifts the car into park, leaving the ignition running. The party has continued in our absence, and there are people milling about in the living room window visible from the front street.
“Are you coming in?” I unbuckle my seatbelt, glancing over at her.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Panic rises in my stomach, flooding the rest of my body. I can’t handle yet another thing going wrong right now, especially not the most important one of all.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Be like what?” Her voice climbs, waking Biscuit in my lap with a start. “Don’t expect you to respect and listen to me when I feel strongly about something? Or don’t expect you to let me in and tell me about your life? Tell me, where am I being unreasonable?”
I don’t know what to say to that, because she isn’t. But how can I be honest with her when there are so many ugly truths I need to shelter her from?
Would she even want me if she knew them all?
We look at each other in the darkened interior of the car, neither of us saying anything. She looks more sad than mad, and I hate that it’s because of me. More than anything, I want to make things better, but I don’t see a way to do that. Not without telling her everything, and that isn’t an option.
Violet unbuckles her seatbelt and leans over the center console, wrapping her arms around my neck and catching me by surprise. I hug her back with my one free arm while I bury my face in her hair, inhaling her scent. Time slows, everything fades, and I never want to let her go.
But she pulls away all too soon.
Disappointment washes over me as she refastens her seatbelt, and her gaze drops to the steering wheel. She stares at it, and her bottom lip quivers. “I’m trying to be patient with you, Nash, but you make it so damn difficult sometimes.”
