Page 22 of Breaking the Pucking Rules (LA Vipers #1)

KODIE

I almost kissed her.

I almost fucking kissed her.

It’s been five days since I nearly gave in to my baser desires.

Thank fuck Parker called her away, because I honestly don’t know what would have happened next.

One taste of her wouldn’t have been enough; I know that for a fact.

Five fucking days.

I fall back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.

I swear, I’ve never lived five longer days in my life.

The irrational, horny part of my body begs me to do something about it.

When I was called into a meeting with our head of PR, Hailee, earlier in the week, the temptation to “get lost” and end up in Casey’s office was almost too much to ignore.

I just managed to restrain myself, although I kicked myself for it later that night when I laid in bed thinking about her with an aching erection. Again.

That almost kiss lives rent-free in my head. I’ve even struggled to shift it during practice, which is unlike me. Normally, nothing else exists while I’m on the ice.

And now that we’re heading out of town for our next two exhibition games, I’m going to lose any chance of seeing her until our next home game on Sunday.

It’ll have been over a week.

It’s probably a good thing.

Soft footsteps move closer before Sutton joins me in my bedroom.

“Are you packed, Daddy?” she asks, hopping up on the bed and lying next to me.

“Yeah.”

“What are you looking at?” she asks innocently.

What I wouldn’t give to be seven again and not understand having to stare at a blank wall—or ceiling—when life gets too much.

“Nothing, just relaxing.”

“You’ve got a big few days,” she tells me.

First Chicago and then Utah.

Both teams beat us more than once last year. We’ve got everything to prove.

No pressure.

“But I’m confident that you’ve got this.”

I can’t help but laugh as I roll onto my side to look at her.

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m going to miss your practice tonight,” I say quietly.

I fucking love my job, but I hate that doing it well means missing out on so much with Sutton.

“It’s okay. You’ll be at our next game.”

“I will,” I agree.

“Come on, you need to make me breakfast before school,” she says before sitting up and grabbing my hand, attempting to pull me from the bed.

Sutton might be strong and powerful in her own right, but she doesn’t stand a chance.

“I thought you were making me breakfast this morning,” I tease.

“If you would let me fry the eggs, I would.”

She would too.

My independent daughter would happily be the one running the house, given the chance.

“Go and grab everything we need and I’ll be right there,” I say, sitting up and watching as she skips out of the room.

I sigh, dragging my hand down my face.

I fucking hate leaving her.

Mom does an incredible job looking after her in my absence, but it’s not the same as having her actual parent taking care of her.

Guilt twists my insides. It’s becoming an all-too usual feeling these days.

It was bad enough when it was just dad guilt over not being present enough for Sutton. But add what I’ve done with Casey into the mix and I’m drowning in it.

If only it was enough to stop me from wanting to do it again.

I throw a couple more things into my suitcase before joining my daughter in the kitchen.

She gives me one of her widest smiles as I step up beside her. She’s trying to silently reassure me. I fucking love her for it, but I hate it at the same time.

I’m meant to be the one reassuring her, not the other way around.

Together, we make breakfast and enjoy our last few minutes before leaving for school.

She chatters away about our game tomorrow night, seamlessly relaying traded players’ stats. I swear, if her teachers taught her math in relation to hockey, she’d get top marks across the board. The girl is a freaking genius when she has a reason to apply her knowledge.

My heart is in my throat when we pull up at school. She finally falls quiet as we sit there for a moment, watching her classmates head inside.

A low groan comes from my daughter, and I glance over to see her eyes narrowed as she glares at someone across the playground.

I don’t need to turn around to see who it is, but I do nonetheless.

“Is he still bothering you?” I ask as Sutton tries to burn holes in the back of Adrian’s head.

“He’s a jerk,” she mutters angrily.

I want to chastise her for calling him that, but honestly, he is. So is his father.

We played against each other during college, and I don’t have any good memories of the experiences.

“Unfortunately, dealing with people like Adrian is a part of life.”

“I know. I just wish his dad still played so he could get traded to the outback of nowhere.”

“Not sure they have hockey teams there, Peanut,” I joke.

“NHL ones, no. But AHL…”

I just about manage to contain my snigger at the expression on her face.

Man, I lucked out with this kid.

I was smugly informed the other day that Adrian’s team lost their first game this season, and he came into school on Monday like a bear with a sore head.

I feel for the kid; losing sucks. But if he’s going to make it further than his dad did, then he’s going to need to learn how to deal with it.

Losing is a part of the game. It’s how you deal with it that determines if you can be a professional athlete or not—something his father never learned.

I fear that the apple may not have fallen too far from the tree.

“Be the bigger person,” I remind her.

“I am. I only rubbed our win in his face a little bit.”

“Good girl. I know it sucks, but you’ve just got to grin and bear it.”

“Karma will get him eventually.”

Hopefully, karma will be a hockey stick to the face…

“Yep. You’d better go,” I say when the stream of kids begins to lessen.

“I know. I’ll be watching tonight after practice,” she promises. “And Friday.”

“Come here,” I say, reaching for a hug from my girl. I squeeze her almost as tightly as she squeezes me. “I’ll be back Saturday. Think about what you want to do in the afternoon.”

“Can we skate?” she asks, making me laugh.

“If that’s what you want. But we can do something else,” I offer.

“I’ll think about it,” she confirms before pulling back and swallowing thickly.

My own eyes burn as I watch her battle with her emotions.

“See you Saturday. Good luck,” she says before pushing the door open and climbing out.

“Love you, Peanut.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

My chest compresses as her sweet words float around me.

She gets halfway across the playground before she spins around and waves at me.

Once she sees me wave back, she takes off running and slips into the building.

I drive to the airport feeling like the world’s shittiest father.

We might have more money than we know what to do with thanks to my career, but that’s not what’s important.

I’d still do my job if I got minimum wage; I love it. It’s what I was born to do.

“ W hoa, who pissed on your Fruit Loops this morning?” Linc says, dropping into the seat beside me as we get ready to take off.

We’ve got Chicago tonight and Utah on Friday.

This is what our lives are going to be like for the next seven months—and that’s if we don’t make the playoffs.

“I’m fine,” I say unconvincingly once he’s settled.

“Did you want to tell your face?” he teases.

“I’m going to ask if I can room with someone else,” I warn.

“You wouldn’t,” he taunts.

“Try me.” He holds my glare for a few seconds before his smile cracks and he begins laughing.

“You’d have nowhere near as much fun with any of the other guys.”

“I heard that,” Fletch says as he twists around in front of us. “Not my fault I’m taken and don’t bring bunnies back every night of the week.”

“He’s got a point,” I say, side-eying Linc.

Honestly, he isn’t that bad.

There have only been a handful of times I’ve had to make myself scarce because he’s brought a bunny back to our room. If it were a regular thing, I would have demanded to room with someone else.

Most of the time, he’s a great roommate. He reminds me of me a few years ago. Before life got hard and complicated.

Secretly, I quite like living vicariously through him. I’m not going to fucking tell him that, though.

“Our couch is always open for you, Big D,” Handsy offers, but knowing he’s just as bad as Linc, I don’t take the offer seriously.

“Thanks, appreciate it. Storm is gonna be a good boy this trip, though, aren’t you?” I say, ruffing up his hair like he’s a child.

“Fuck off. I’m always a good boy.”

“Not from what I’ve read,” Fletch mutters. “Remind us why Hailee ripped you a new one recently…something to do with stumbling out of a club with two…wait, no, three bunnies in tow.”

“It was a one-off,” Linc scoffs.

“What, a one-off for that month?” Handsy teases with a laugh.

“What’s Linc done?” Marilyn asks, taking the seat on the other side of the aisle.

“What hasn’t he done?” Fletch chuckles.

“Probably best not to tell the rookie all of Linc’s dirty tales. Might give him ideas,” Handsy points out.

“Oh, now I definitely want to know,” Marilyn says, rubbing his hands together in interest.

Thankfully, Coach commands our attention, and all conversation about my state of mind or Linc’s sexcapades die.

That is, until Linc and I get to our hotel room later that day.

We managed a win, which, after the first period against Chicago, I didn’t think was going to be possible. But thanks to two epic goals from my roommate in the third period, we took the win and hopefully proved that the tide is changing this year.

We’ve learned from last year’s losses, and we are back with a vengeance.

Everything about the game felt wrong, though. I kept looking to the crowd behind the goal, expecting to see her there.

But she wasn’t.

I shouldn’t care, but disappointment hit me every time I glanced up, out of habit.

How I can go from not noticing her to being so hyperaware of her absence is beyond me.

“So, I’ve been thinking about your mystery woman,” he says almost as soon as the door has closed behind us.

“Please don’t,” I beg.

“Not in that way,” he says. “I’ve got enough of my own to contend with.”

“Christ,” I mutter as I drop my suitcase onto the bed and kick off my shoes. “Don’t you have a date or something?”

“Nope. Thought I’d hang out with my buddy tonight and celebrate our win.”

“Wonderful,” I deadpan.

“We’re meeting the guys downstairs in twenty.”

My lips part to decline the invitation, but then I remember that I’m meant to be embracing spending time with the team.

It’s not a hardship. They’re a great bunch of guys. I just…I’d rather be here alone and maybe, just maybe, scroll through Casey’s Instagram account.

It’s wrong. So fucking wrong. But I made the mistake of typing her name in on Sunday morning when I woke up hard and desperate.

I’m fucking ashamed to admit it, but I found an image of her wearing my jersey last season and I…fuck…I came all over myself while staring at it.

“Anyway,” he says, distracting me from my sinful thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about the guest list that night. ”

“Shit. I wouldn’t do that. You’ll pop a blood vessel or something,” I tease.

“Fuck off. I’ve got the smarts.”

“Sure you have,” I laugh as I grab my toiletry bag and lock myself in the bathroom for a few minutes.

I’m not worried about him digging into the guest list. It’s not like he’ll find her name on it.