Page 8 of Defensive Zone (Chicago Thunder #3)

Chapter Seven

December

Zach

If someone asked me if there’s a city I love playing in other than Chicago, I would have to say Vancouver. The energy here is magnetic. Elliot played here three seasons ago, and if you thought they would hate him for moving to a different team, you would be wrong.

Vancouver still loves Elliot Olsen, which makes every visit enjoyable.

More so tonight, as we hit the ice for the start of the third period, and we’re currently in the lead, 3-1. I take my position near the blue line as Ethan lines up for the face-off. The ref drops the puck into play, and Ethan slaps it to Blaine, who passes to Jackson. Vancouver must have received a pep talk during intermission as they are hungry for another goal to try and close the gap.

Kendrick and I stay close to the blue line, ready to block any advances. Luckily, the puck remains in the offensive zone, and when there’s a stop in play, I skate to the bench for a line change. I squirt some water into my mouth before squirting it down the back of my jersey to cool down my heated skin.

We’re on a mini-Canadian road trip. Tomorrow morning we’ll head to Edmonton, where we’ve got a day off before our game the following day. Then it’s back-to-back games in Edmonton and Winnipeg before we head home. Normally, I’m eager to get back, but this time I’ve been grateful for this four-day road trip, as it’s given me the distraction I needed.

Carter’s not having a good time right now. With Raegan breaking up with him a couple of months ago, the unfortunate football season he’s having, and the fact that I couldn’t see him when he visited Chicago, it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to give in and fall back on old habits because I hate that he’s hurting.

But I have to push all thoughts to the back of my mind when I take to the ice again. Vancouver’s forwards are all up in Elliot’s space, but he’s keeping it cool. Kendrick and I make ourselves as big as possible, deflecting and battling tight in the corners. We’re exhausting them, but when one of the wingers steals the puck from Blaine, I’m watching it with eagle eyes.

“Wanna go, Reid?” Eklund taunts, shoving me with his shoulder. “When you gonna fight me?”

“You know I don’t fight,” I mutter without tearing my eyes off the puck.

“Shame. You are a big guy, it would be fun, no? Your brother always likes to fight me.”

I ignore him. This isn’t the first time someone tries to provoke me. Eklund is a big bruiser of a D-man. He’s known for his taunts, and he’s been trying to get me to fight with him since we first played against each other years ago. But he’s shit out of luck because, despite my size, I’m not one who drops the gloves. That’s more my brother Brody’s specialty.

I tune out the Swede’s taunts and focus on helping Elliot, who’s currently trying to protect the net with everything he’s got, dashing from side to side, creating rebounds that Vancouver snaps up easily. There are players surrounding him, limiting his ability to move with ease. The puck lands on their left winger’s stick, and I have to make a split-second decision. I dive in front of the net, blocking the shot, and the puck bounces off my shin pad.

Fuck, I’m going to feel that later, but it’s the price to pay to stop them from scoring a goal.

Thankfully, the rebound lands on Jackson’s stick, and he skates off into the offensive zone.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Elliot shouts as I jump back onto my skates with a wince.

“You good?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes hyperfocused on the action further down the ice. “That was crazy busy. I was like, ahh, get away from me!”

Heading toward the blue line, I groan under my breath at the dull pain rushing up my leg. It’s not the first time I’ve jumped in front of the puck, and it definitely won’t be the last. As a defenseman, it’s my job to do everything I can to defend the net, and that means using my body as a shield when necessary.

I motion with my glove for a line change. There’s only three minutes left; the boys can cope without me.

“Great job.” Coach Harris slaps me on the shoulder, and I thank him with a quick nod as I squirt water into my mouth.

The third period goes scoreless, so when the buzzer sounds, we win the game 3-1.

After we have our mini post-game celebration in the locker room, we shower, do press, and head back to the hotel. As we’re not traveling to Edmonton until the morning, it gives us the night to relax and enjoy our win. There’s a sports bar not far from our hotel where we planned to get food, so once we’ve changed out of our suits, we make the short walk.

“I am starving,” Jonathan Peyton announces as we take over one side of the restaurant.

“You’re always starving,” Kendrick replies with a chuckle.

“What can I say?” Peyton lifts his T-shirt to show off his abs. “It’s a hungry job to look this good.”

Elliot lifts up his own T-shirt to his chin, flashing his bare chest. “Mine are better.”

“Elliot, put your nipples away and sit down,” Ethan grumbles, sounding like a tired dad. He spent the entire walk from the hotel stopping Elliot from stepping out into the road because he was too busy talking to pay attention to where he was going.

With an exasperated sigh, Elliot does as he’s told and the noise in the restaurant increases as we all sit down and start talking. We order, and soon the table is filled with food. I chat with Jackson on my left and Ethan on my right as we dig in.

“Didn’t Carter play today?” Ethan asks, motioning to the TV mounted on the top of the bar showing highlights from Carter’s game earlier today against New York.

My eyes are glued to the screen as Carter gets into position, and when the ball is in play, he gets past the blockers easily, but as he goes to tackle New York’s quarterback, he dodges Carter so gracefully, like he’s a fucking ballerina. Carter falls to the ground, and before he can get up, the quarterback throws the ball down the field to his receiver. Denver’s defense is scattered all over the place, pretty much handing New York the touchdown.

I can’t do anything except watch as my best friend makes his way off the field, his head dropping in defeat. Subtitles appear on the screen, catching my attention, as one of the commentators says, “I think we can all agree that Carter Lockwood won’t be receiving the award for Defensive Player of the Year again this year. What a terrible season he’s having.”

My stomach drops. Terrible is the understatement of the year. It’s his worst season to date.

No matter how much it feels like being punched in the gut repeatedly with an iron fist, I need to stay strong.

He’ll overcome this. He’s an incredible player. This season is just a fluke. When August comes around, this poor performance season will be a distant memory, and he’ll go back to owning the gridiron.

My attention snags to my phone as it vibrates against the wooden table, Carter’s name flashing on the screen. A few months ago, I would have answered the second it started ringing without hesitation, regardless of being out with the guys. We would text nonstop, morning, noon, and night, but since I left Denver at the end of July, I’ve kept my promise to myself.

It’s hard. Really fucking hard. But with time, I know I’ll be able to be the friend he deserves without my feelings getting involved and fucking everything up.

I’m sure he’s noticed the distance between us, too. Our text thread has become almost one-sided. Our daily phone calls have become weekly, and I can’t remember the last time we spoke on FaceTime. I’m running out of excuses, though, and I know I’m going to have to face the music soon enough, especially when Carter’s season ends next month and he makes his way to Chicago, like he’s always done.

“Are you going to get that?” Jackson asks, motioning to my phone with his bottle of beer.

I shake my head. “I’ll call him back later.”

The table drops into silence. I ignore the shocked expressions on my teammates’ faces as I watch it ring out and then watch the missed call notification pop up. It’s been hard to break habits of a lifetime. To keep strong and avoid falling back into that pattern. Even when he texted the other month and told me Raegan had dumped him, I had to squash down my instincts to go running back, not to give in and open myself up to fall back into the routine I’ve been putting myself through for years. But I managed to stay strong. I didn’t give in. I gave him support while also protecting myself.

I don’t know how long I can do this for, though. It’s breaking me, and it’s almost like I’m grieving for someone who is still very much present in my life.

I guess I’m grieving the fucked-up notion I’ve held on to for so long that one day he might love me back.

Unable to look at my phone anymore, I slip it into my pocket and pick up my beer.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Well, kinda.

It might be out of sight, but Carter is never out of my mind.

“Is there trouble in bromancadise?” Peyton asks.

I eye Peyton over the bottle. “What?”

“Bromance paradise. Bromancadise.” Peyton rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

Elliot snorts mockingly and echoes, “Duh.”

“No, there’s no trouble. I’m out with you guys, so I’ll call him back later,” I say and take a sip of my beer, hoping it’s the end of the conversation, but that hope is quickly squashed.

“Well, fuck me. Who would’ve thought we’d see the day when Blaine swapped places with Zach to be the one glued to his phone?” Peyton snickers, throwing his thumb over to where Blaine has been typing away on his phone since we left the arena.

Without lifting his head, Blaine flips him off and resumes texting. This isn’t new. Blaine popped the question to Alex a few weeks ago and has become even more smitten, if it was even possible. Gone are his playboy ways, and he’s so disgustingly in love with Alex, it’s almost nauseating.

But I’m happy for him.

Even if I am a little jealous.

“Don’t be jealous, Peyton. Just because you’re single as a Pringle doesn’t mean we’re all going to be lonely like you,” Blaine retorts. “You should count yourself lucky that I’m sitting here. I could be jerking off on a video call with my fiancé right now.”

Elliot slaps his hands over his ears and sings, “La la la!”

“Look what you’ve done! Now you’ve upset your brother.” Peyton playfully scowls over the table at Blaine.

Elliot slaps his hands on the table, causing his full beer to slosh over the rim of his glass. “It’s bad enough I see your balls hanging out when I walk into your apartment. I don’t wanna know when you’re jerking off.”

Blaine throws his hand up in protest. “It’s my apartment! I can walk around with my balls out whenever I want.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, chuckling under my breath. Peyton sits back with a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes now that he’s riled up the twins.

“You’re going to be married into this one day, you know?” Peyton wags his finger between the twins while addressing Ethan. “Absolute chaos. You’re never gonna know what the meaning of peace is ever again.”

Ethan simply watches on unfazed as he sips on his beer in silence.

“As long as I have Jacob, bring on the chaos,” he replies, lifting his shoulder in a carefree shrug.

My phone vibrates again in my pocket, and a sigh escapes me as I see Carter’s name and the numerous texts.

Carter

Can we talk? Please?

How’s your leg? Can’t believe you threw yourself in front of it like that.

I know you’re probably out celebrating with the guys. You deserve it btw. That game was killer.

I just need you.

Zach, please.

I just need ten minutes.

“Is everything okay between you two?” Jackson asks quietly, jutting his chin at my phone as he leans in close.

Ethan and Jacob are the only ones who truly know about my feelings for Carter. I’m sure the others have their suspicions because it’s not like I actively try to hide it around them. We’re together so often, it would be hard to wear the shield constantly.

But also… we are together often. We’re like family. And last summer, when we found out how much Ethan had been hiding behind a wall for the sake of wanting to be strong for us, we all felt a little hurt that he thought he couldn’t confide in us.

Isn’t what I’m doing just as bad? I know these guys will be there for me. They will help me carry this heavy weight and stop me from falling back into age-old routines.

“Sort of,” I say truthfully. “I’ve taken a step back, so to speak. I…” I trail off, wondering how much to reveal.

Jackson was traded to the Thunder last season from Buffalo. He had recently gone through a divorce and put in a trade request to be closer to his parents, who live in a village north of downtown Chicago, so they could help out with his two young kids, Ryan and Isabela. Sometimes, when guys who have families join the team, they don’t connect as much off the ice, which is understandable, but Jackson was different. He showed interest in getting to know us from day one. Invited us over for dinners and barbecues and even offered up his lake house in Michigan whenever we wanted.

He’s good people.

I scoff. “How much time do you have?”

“As much time as you need.”

I quickly glance around the table. Everyone else is engaged in conversation or preoccupied with their phones. Running a hand through my hair, I tell him everything. From when we were kids to that day in Denver when I left with a broken heart, to how I’m trying—and failing—to get over him.

“Damn, I’m sorry. That sounds really tough.”

“It is. I don’t want him to think he’s done something wrong, because he hasn’t. But we couldn’t keep going on like we were. I couldn’t keep going on like we were, but I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Jackson flashes me a sympathetic smile. “Will he be heading to Chicago when his season ends next month?”

“Yeah, more than likely.”

“I think you need to talk to him. It’ll be unfair on both of you to spend those six or so months treading on eggshells around each other. You’ve just gotta rip the Band-Aid off. Expose the wound; only then will it be able to heal.”

“I think I’m just afraid. I don’t want to lose him.”

“I don’t think you’ll lose him, but you can’t keep going this way. It’s clear that both of you are struggling with this shift in your dynamic, so being honest is the best way forward.”

Before I can respond, my phone begins to vibrate in my hand, and Carter’s name flashes on the screen.

“I better answer this.”

Jackson gives me a reassuring nod and squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, I’m sure of it.”

Pushing my chair back, I answer and head toward the door.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Hey. Fuck, I’m really happy to hear your voice,” Carter says, his tone relieved. I hear the rustling of bedsheets, and my mind conjures up images of him lying in bed. Is he naked? He usually sleeps naked.

Stop thinking about him being naked.

His voice is quiet when he speaks again. “I wish you were here. Today fucking sucked, and all I keep thinking about is how much I want to cuddle up with you on the couch while we watch a Star Wars movie so I can forget how much I fucking suck at football.”

Squeezing my eyes closed, I lick over my dry lips. “I’m really sorry about how your season is shaping up. You know this isn’t a reflection on you, right? It’s a fluke season. Ignore all the bullshit and see these last few weeks through. Next season it’ll be better, I’m sure of it.”

He sighs. “I know, it’s just hard when everywhere I look, I see people saying how shit I am.”

“You are not shit.”

“I am. Argh!” he groans, then lets out a pained sigh. “Anyway, enough about me. You do know you’re not supposed to stop pucks with your body. Elliot’s the one with the pads, let him stop them with his.”

“All part of the job, dude.” I chuckle. “I will protect that net with everything I have, even if it comes with bruises.”

“You’re crazy, Reid.” He laughs. “Tell me how your Canadian road trip is going so far.”

I fill him in on our plans and how we’re feeling going up against Edmonton and Winnipeg. But nothing could prepare me for the pain that hits me in my chest when he says, “I miss you.”

Oh, fuck.

Stay strong. Don’t give in.

Scrunching up my face, I rub over the center of my chest, trying to ease the pain from my heart breaking. “I miss you too.”

It’s not a lie. I miss him like crazy. I’ve had to stop myself multiple times from texting him back straight away or not evading his calls. I’ve had to fight against everything I’ve known since I was six years old to resist the gravity that has always pulled me toward Carter.

Jackson’s right. When Carter comes to Chicago next month, I need to tell him, because I don’t know whether I can survive going on like this any longer.

“I’ll let you go. I…” He trails off, sounding so defeated. “I can’t wait for this season to be over so I can see you again. I think it’s been the longest five months of my life.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I say, “Carter?”

“Yeah?”

I run a hand through my hair and stare at my reflection in the window. “I know you’re feeling like shit now, but I promise it’ll work out. You’re an amazing player, and you’re an amazing person. It’ll be okay.”

“Thanks, that means a lot. Love you, man.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“I love you, too.”

More than you’ll ever know.