Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
That’s as good a lubricant as any. Back at the hotel, as the other guys peel away to their rooms, I steer Hayes to the lobby bar and a booth in the back. After we trade tips on the formidable Chicago defensemen we’ll be facing tomorrow—and whether any are better than Tom or Dimitry on our team—I cut to the chase. “What’s really going on with you?”
Hayes tilts his head, like he’s shocked I asked. But he doesn’t play the surprised game for long. With a heavy sigh, he takes another swig from the beer bottle, though he says nothing.
A year or so ago I might have stayed quiet. Hell, in my twenties, I might never have asked hard questions. But I’m thirty now, and I’m just not interested in miscommunication. Avoidance tactics don’t fly with me anymore.
I learned that the hard way. I sensed something was off during the last year of my relationship with Annika, but I never asked her about it. Figured if neither of us said anything, then nothing was truly wrong. But she was missing home, and I didn’t realize it. Didn’t ask her enough questions. Didn’t deal with the way we were drifting apart.
Doesn’t matter if this thing with the three of us is temporary. Doesn’t matter if there’s an end date bearing down on us. Happiness is fleeting, and I’m fucking enjoying it, so I’ll fight for it, dammit.
After I swallow some more scotch, I face him, point blank. “You’ve been quiet ever since Ivy gave us the socks.”
The label on the beer bottle must be fascinating because Hayes fiddles with it for a while, then finally looks up and meets my gaze. “It wasn’t the socks, man. It was talking to her before the game,” he says in a dead voice.
It’s like he’s already resigned himself to…whatever he’s resigned himself to. Concern weighs down my shoulders, but I push on. “And why was that a problem for you?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters.
“Bullshit.”
His jaw is set hard. “Why is that bullshit?”
I level a serious stare at him. “Because you fucking know what’s going on. You know what’s going on inside you, and you just don’t want to say it.”
It’s a challenge to his competitive side. We need to face this head-on, whatever this is. It’s easier for Hayes to be quiet. He’s an only child. Silence is his friend. I’m the opposite. I need noise, boisterous conversation. “So talking to her before the game set you off?”
He shoves a hand through his hair, still agitated. “I just wanted to see her so badly,” he grumbles.
“And that’s getting you down?”
“Yes, because I don’t have time for something more than sex,” he says, seeming desperate. “I don’t have the space for this. I can’t get involved.”
I had an unhappy suspicion that was where this was going. “But you’re feeling like that’s happening? You’re getting involved with her?”
I wish this felt like good news. It doesn’t.
He closes his eyes, clearly pained. When he opens them, he says, “I just can’t, Stefan. That’s the issue. I arrived in San Francisco with one goal in mind—land a contract to stay. You don’t get it. You’ve been with the same team your entire career. I’m just bouncing around.”
A new pressure builds inside me. A need to impress on him that he can handle this. It drives me on. “But you’ve had a great start to the season.”
“We’ve only played six games, man. It doesn’t amount to shit.”
I’m not going to blow smoke up his skirt when he makes a fair point. “It’s better than starting with a run of bad games. You’re playing like a rock star. Don’t forget that,” I say, hoping I’m getting through to him.
“Thanks, but romance is a distraction I don’t need.” Slumping back in the booth, he drags both hands through his hair. “How am I supposed to handle her, and this, and hockey, and my dad and Cora and a contract and…everything?”
He sounds at the end of his rope already. But maybe if he can see an alternative to disaster, it will help him hang on. Help him climb up, even. Because I can see it so damn clearly. “So what are you going to do? Just walk away at the end of this arrangement?”
Hayes shoots his focus to me. “What are you going to do?”
I say nothing. Because what felt like the answer to my empty nights has quietly become more. I suppose that was inevitable. Some people have hurdles. Some have blockades. Me? I just had a few small complications that I relished untangling. The trouble is, once you clear the complications, you open yourself up to new hurts. To fresh wounds.
I didn’t see this one coming—wanting so much so soon.
Hayes jumps at my silence. “You’re falling for her. I know you are,” he says.