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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

carter

“Jesus,” Boss snaps, dropping down into his stall in the locker room. He glares up at me, those green eyes piercing and full of judgment. “What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?”

I ignore him. Roll my eyes instead. Everything is wrong with me tonight. This whole day has been wrong. It’s technically not one of my days, but Arden is still here, in the stands with Penny. That is typically gasoline to my fire, but everything was just wrong today.

It started yesterday, the moment I opened my eyes. Arden was gone with the wind. I knew she slept in my bed, I could smell the spice of her perfume on my sheets and my pillows. I remember her putting me to bed like a child. I remember her wiping my forehead with a cold cloth.

She was there when I went to bed. She chose to leave before I woke up.

The thought that I have put her off me forever is a dangerous strike to my sanity.

It’s heightening my temper tonight. Boston should shut up about it though, because we’re creaming the other team as a result of that anger.

It doesn’t matter that I keep getting hauled off to the box. We’re up by three.

My rage is fuel for this team.

“Yeah, are you good?” Lowesy asks, side-eying me.

“Fine,” I growl, parking my ass in my stall.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my thighs just in time for Coach to walk in and interrupt our conversation.

It takes all of three seconds before he points to me and winks, telling me to keep doing what I’m doing.

It takes everything in me not to shoot both of these bastards a ‘told you so,’ look, like a child.

Because Red probably thinks I’m a fucking toddler now, anyway.

It’s weird. I don’t know where it all went wrong, but I guess a guy spewing chunks in your presence and having to rub his back like a little boy, physically place pills on his tongue, and force-feed him water would be a turn-off for any living woman.

She was gone when I got out of bed. No note, no text messages. My clothes she had worn were folded neatly and placed on the edge of the bed in her room, which is where they’ll stay after they’re washed, because those are her sleepover clothes and that’s her sleepover bed.

She didn’t text me all day, and I was too mortified to text her first. I don’t get embarrassed easily, but I get all red and splotchy when I think about that night. I think she has managed to open up an emotion I haven’t felt this strongly since childhood.

I am mortified.

When we’re back on the ice, I do what I do best. I push, I provoke, and I get the puck to Dec, Saltzy, and Oz.

I keep the puck away from Waters. I refuse to glance in the direction of the WAG rows, because I can’t risk catching a glimpse of her now.

One look of red hair and that seat will become my focus all game.

It can’t happen.

But still, I think about her anyway.

We haven’t gone a day without texting in a long, long while.

Not since the beginning of this arrangement.

We text all the time. About nothing and everything, and I like it that way.

I am enthralled by her attention. I find myself making mundane things that happen throughout my day seem extraordinary and invigorating, just so I can have an excuse to tell her the story.

I survive on her responses. I sink into each and every word she gives to me and pray for more.

She’s my friend now. Maybe one of the best I have.

It drives me crazy that she can go a day without talking to me, but I am losing sleep over a measly thirty-something hours without her presence in mine.

Today, she broke that dry spell. Kind of.

I was a pathetic idiot. I texted her first, reminding her that it was nearing the end of November, and asked her to send me the medical bills for this month.

We still have a lot of time before the end of the month, but I still said it.

An excuse to get her talking to me. A liferaft used to gauge her attitude, to try and figure out how badly I’d messed this all up.

She responded with an image of the totals, the copies of each bill, and a reminder that it’s too early for the rest. I didn’t open a single one because, again, that was not the problem.

When I thanked her, I was a bit relieved that she didn’t just end the conversation.

Red

I’ll be at your game tonight. I know it’s not our night, but Penny asked me to join her. If my ticket has been given to someone else, just let me know .

That message sent me into a spiral. What the fuck did that mean? Who else would have her ticket to sit with the other wives and girlfriends? Who else would be in that seat besides my girlfriend? I found myself glaring at the phone, at the tone.

Me

It’s yours. See you tonight

Red

Great. Thanks.

I didn’t answer that. I couldn’t. I’d be fishing for conversation at that point, and that wasn’t going to happen.

She’s acting differently. The way she was speaking, the lack of gentle jabs and jokes, and don’t get me started on the fucking punctuation.

She needed to chill with the periods because they felt like punches to my face.

We ended up winning by a landslide. It puts me in a better mood, but I still feel off-kilter.

This isn’t even a real relationship and it’s making me sick.

Lowesy and Boss must sense that a winning game didn’t change the state of my attitude, so they linger in the locker room much longer than the rest of the team.

I’m used to Lowesy hanging out until we’re the last two here, but Boston is typically long gone by now.

When I finally relent and drop my shit onto the bench, I spin to glare at them. “ What?”

Boss stares at me for a second, and then he risks a look at Dec.

Declan’s hazel eyes are already burning into my face. His arms are crossed in front of his chest. “What the fuck is going on?”

“With what?”

“You’re off. Something is off.”

I take in a big, deep breath. I do not have time for this shit. “We won, didn’t we? ”

“That’s great,” Boston grumbles, massaging out his thigh with his fingers. “This isn’t about the game. If you’ve got shit going on and you need an ear, that’s what we’re here for.”

“I don’t.” Unless it’s attached to a constellation of freckles, I don’t want any ears.

“You do,” Dec counters.

“Nope.”

“Yep,” Boss snaps right back.

“Fuck, I’m fine,” I groan, snatching my coat off the hanger. “I’d tell you guys if I wasn’t.”

“You’re pretending to date someone who you caught assault charges over,” Declan says, flashing me his index finger, which tells me this is going to be a list of things that they think is wrong with me, and that’s just great, isn’t it?

“Who I think you have real feelings for, but that’s not my business,” Boss mutters.

“Your reputation is in tethers, and though it’s on the mend and you’re naturally fucking loveable, you’ve got a lot of pressure on your shoulders.” That’s finger two.

I can’t complain about that when getting my reputation back has been the easiest thing in the world with Arden on my arm.

If I’m naturally lovable, she’s naturally mystifying.

People are in awe of how alluring she is.

They want to know more about her, but her social media is like Fort Knox—making her even more intriguing for them.

She’s made this easy. My charges haven’t trended in weeks.

“You’re going to have to go to court to deal with these charges and handle public relations before, during, and after that shitstorm.”

“You’re probably going to have to lie under oath about the girlfriend, too,” Boston adds.

“Will you stop? ” I bark at him. He’s particularly pissing me off tonight .

He meets my eyes, his fingers halting on his thigh. I expect him to just roll his eyes, or to nod and shut up for the rest of the night, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drops his hand and stands up, meeting me eye-to-eye.

“No,” he snaps. He puffs out his chest a bit, like he’d ever fucking fight me. “Not until you admit this is all a bit too much for you. You’ve dug yourself a hole, and that’s fine, we understood, but it’s too deep now. You need to let us get you out of it.”

“What does that mean?”

“He wants you to stop the charade with Arden,” Declan says, and I hear the wince in his voice.

My eyes widen, my chest flaring to life with a fresh wave of anger. Over my dead body is that fucking happening. “Oh, you do, do you?”

“I think it’s the best decision,” Boss says, not backing down and not dropping my glare. “I’ve watched you, Fork. I’ve watched her. You’re fucking in it now. I’m starting to wonder if you remember this isn’t real half the time.”

“You don’t know shit about it,” I seethe, because fuck him. He’s not dictating anything when it comes to her. When it comes to what she’s managed to bring into my life in a few short weeks. “And since when do you, Mr. Mysterious, butt into people’s lives?”

“I like her,” Boston says, and that makes my temper simmer a bit. “A lot, actually. I think she’s good shit, and I think she’d be good for you, but unless you guys figure it out, this fake relationship thing is going to explode in your face and you won’t be able to handle it.”

“Again,” I snap, raising my head to the ceiling and sucking in a deep breath. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Where were you last night?” Boston asks.

I drop my head to look at him, brows furrowing. I was wallowing in self-pity. Is a man not allowed to do that anymore?

“Boss,” Declan warns.

Boston holds his hand up to stop him. His green eyes burn into mine. “Where were you? What were you doing?”

I just stare at him, my jaw ticking, because I might not be the brightest guy in the world, but I know when I’m missing something. There’s a piece of the puzzle here that is about to be snapped into place, and I have no clue what it looks like or who is holding it.

“Why?” I bite out.

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. He doesn’t answer, just turns around, still shaking that dumb head, and begins to pack up his things.