Page 9
Story: Perfect Deke
“I want to leave,” I say, not taking my eyes off Tyler.
“Baby, don’t be like this.”
He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away quickly.
“Don’t,” I bite out.
“Let me get my jacket,” Jenna says, grabbing it from the back of Tyler’s stool.
Tyler throws his arms up. “So, what? That’s it? You’re just going to bail on me?”
I choke out a laugh and throw an arm out behind me, gesturing toward the booth. I know people are watching our fight, but at this point, I couldn’t care less. “Why are you so upset, Tyler? You’re practically in a relationship with everyone but me anyway.”
He scratches at the back of his neck, guilt all over his face. I’m pointing at his teammates, but we both know there’s a fair chance he hasn’t always been faithful. I’ve never had hard proof, but I have seen questionable photos from away series and heard the rumors, all of which he straight-up denied when I asked him about them.
So, why have I never believed him?
Running a rough hand across his mouth, Tyler drops it to his thigh with a slap. “Let me come back to your place later, and we can talk about this. You know, rather than make a fucking scene in public. You might fly under the radar, but I’m famous, and people take pictures.”
I shake my head with a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. Iam under the radar, aren’t I, Tyler? In fact, I barely register anymore. Well, let me make this real easy for you.” I step toward him, feeling more relieved than upset at what I’m about to say. “Don’t bother coming over tonight. In fact, don’t bother at all. We’re done.”
CHAPTER FIVE
JACK
Shortly after I moved to the US and for my eighteenth birthday, my mum, Felicity, bought me ice-level season tickets to the Seattle Scorpions. I’d watched a ton of hockey games in the UK and started playing when I was eight, but the first time we took our seats at an NHL game? Yeah, that was something pretty fucking special.
I guess that’s when my commitment to the game hit overdrive, and the more people that whispered and laughed about my chances of making it pro, the more I dug my heels in, determined to prove them wrong.
My dad always said sports were a waste of time. He wanted me to follow in his financial footsteps, working in Canary Wharf, London. Being a stockbroker appealed to me as much as gouging my eyes out with a blunt knife, and when I refused to join his firm as an intern, you could say that was when our relationship really took a nosedive. I’d always been closer to my mum, so I guess it wasn’t surprising when my parents divorced and I opted to stay in Seattle with her while my dad and sister, Darcy, returned to Oxford at the end of his work contract.
And that’s where they both are right now, though it’s only my sister I miss today as I finally live out my dreams. I don’t think Dad will ever really take an interest in what I do. The only time he seemed to pay attention was when he saw the number of zeros in my pro contract.
It’s true; I got a head start when Mum began dating Jon, and he started coaching me in private, but I was still way behind the standard expected of other players my age. I’ve always been fast on the ice, but my technical skills were … let’s just say, not where they needed to be.
I about broke myself in college. It got to the point where I was risking injury and straddling the lines of complete exhaustion as I set up camp at the rink and library, only occasionally heading out with friends.
I didn’t have time to date, but at one point, I found myself seeing a girl called Olivia. She was on the same course as Kendra, and she was nice. I just never wanted to take it further than a few dates, so I broke it off, not wanting to mess her around.
Darcy is the complete opposite of me—whereas I never wanted to get serious with anyone, she’s had a long-term boyfriend since she was, like, fifteen. I’ve watched her and Liam go through the wringer together, and honestly, that’s never been for me.
There was only ever one girl I wanted to get to know seriously.
Shaking away thoughts of the last time I saw her at Lloyd’s Bar, I come to a stop at center ice. Nothing could’ve ever prepared me for today. I could’ve attended a thousand NHL games as a spectator and played in the AHL for ten seasons, and I’d still be just as overwhelmed for the first exhibition game of preseason.
Fuck, this is crazy, and it’s only warm-up.
“All good?” Sawyer moves alongside me, and we begin stretching out our groin, glutes, and hamstrings.
I take a look around the arena, packed with at least twentythousand fans. It’s impossible to make out my mum, but I know she’s sitting—and probably screaming—in the family box way up top.
“Yep,” I say, moving to my left leg and stretching it out.
“You’ll get plenty of ice time tonight.” Tipping his head over his right shoulder, Sawyer takes in the orange jerseys belonging to the Dallas Destroyers. “Really going in at the deep end with these guys.”
“They’re tough, but we’re smarter,” I say, standing up as Jon approaches us.
Sawyer smirks. “Were you watching the same footage as me before this? Key thing is keeping our heads in the game and moving the puck quickly.”
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