Page 42 of Flagrant Foul (Totally Pucked #3)

Sev Delorean

My phone vibrates on my nightstand, rattling loudly and waking me from a deep sleep. It’s early for so many messages to be coming through in quick succession, so I unplug my phone and sit up to see what’s happening. It's Coach.

The rest of the messages are all from guys messaging privately to ask if I know what’s up, or confirmations in the group chat, letting Coach know they’re on their way.

It’s hard not to feel concerned. Coach is one of the most organized Type-A people I’ve ever met. Things run on a schedule around him, and that schedule doesn’t change unless something out of the ordinary has happened.

“Tee!” I yell, “Are you up? We’ve got to go.”

I drive. He rides shotgun .

I don’t put my hand on his thigh or let it slide between his legs. Obviously, I don’t do that because he’s not mine, and it would be really weird if I did.

The mood is somber when we get to the arena. We meet in one of the rooms usually used for press releases. Most of the guys have bed hair and look like they haven’t had nearly enough coffee.

I know how they feel.

We eye each other uneasily, checking with the players sitting closest to us to see if they know more about the situation than we do.

As soon as we’ve all taken a seat, Coach takes the floor. “I have some bad news,” he says without sugarcoating it.

The entire team collectively tenses. The last time Coach started a team meeting like this, it was to let us know that Ben’s wife, Liz, had been in a car crash.

That was a bad day that only got worse. It was two years ago now, but in some ways, it feels like yesterday.

I’m not the only one who remembers, who feels it. The entire team does.

“Kell went into labor a couple of hours after Bryce got home last night, and the baby was born early this morning.” No one is sure how to react.

A baby being born is good news, but Kell was only thirty weeks along, and that isn’t great.

“We don’t have a name for her yet, but she’s a little girl.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that she’s arrived early.

Really early, and unfortunately, there were complications during the birth.

Kell’s lost a lot of blood, and she was in surgery when I spoke to Bryce.

The baby…” Coach’s voice cracks, and he takes a breath.

“We’ll know more about how the baby is in the coming days. ”

There’s a loud rumble of chairs being pushed back. We’re on our feet immediately. All of us are. A Blackeye is down, and we need to get to him.

Coach holds up a hand. “Wait. Wait. I need a minute. This won’t take long. I know we need to get to the hospital. I want to get down there too, believe me. I’ve drawn up a visitation roster, and I’ll send it to you when we’re done here. You know the drill.”

We do. We know it all too well. When Ben’s wife was in a coma, Coach’s roster saw to it that there was a group of four or five of us at the hospital with Ben around the clock.

We’ll do the same now for Bryce and his family.

“I know it’s the last thing we want to think about right now,” Coach continues, “but Lewis is out. I’ve had confirmation that he has a grade three MCL tear, and he needs surgery to repair it. ”

It’s bad news for Lewis. It’s a terrible injury for any athlete to overcome, but for a man nearing the end of his career like Lewis is, it’s hard to see how he’ll come back from it.

“With the recovery time involved, he’ll be out for a couple of months at least. Bryce is…

as you can imagine, he’s not in a good way…

but when I spoke to him earlier, he was clear about what he wanted to happen.

He said that even if Kell and the baby have the best possible recoveries, the baby will need to be in the NICU for weeks, if not months, and he’s not prepared to leave them until everyone’s home. ” Coach pauses to let that sink in.

There’s another rumble. This time, it’s the low hum of voices of discontent and concern.

Coach silences us again. “I know it’s the worst possible timing, okay? I get that. But we’re flying to New York tomorrow, and we’re down a captain and an AC. We need to nominate and vote before we do anything else.”

Players talk quietly among themselves. Chairs shift and heads turn. I follow the line of their gazes, and to my surprise, I find that they all lead to me.

I look to Teddy. What’s happening? I ask with my eyes.

He gives me a wry nod without moving his head. It’s you, his eyes say. You’re our new captain .

I’m usually pretty good at understanding things he tells me wordlessly, but that makes no sense.

It can’t be me. I shoot back. I’m a mess.

He gives a tiny shrug. An actual physical one. I know, but it doesn’t matter. It’s you.

I wish I could say it doesn't mean anything to me. That my heart isn’t clattering with hope.

That being captain isn’t something I’ve dreamed of, or that I don’t care about things like this.

But I do. I care so fucking much. I want this, and more than that, I have this feeling, deep in my bones, that I’ll be good at it.

That I’m meant for it, and it’s meant for me.

“I nominate Sev,” Teddy says in a loud, clear voice that breaks my heart.

He smiles at me immediately after he says it, and arteries and chambers quickly knit back together.

It’s too much. A heart isn’t made to be broken and unbroken in such quick succession. Hearts aren’t made to survive things like this.

There’s a split-second pause, and then someone behind me says, “I second Delorean.”

There’s a chorus of “Yay,” “Sev,” and “Go, Sixty-nine.”

Hands go up around the room in favor of me. Many hands. All the hands.

I look around the room in disbelief. There are faces all around me saying my name. Blue eyes and green eyes and brown eyes. All of them are looking at me and telling me the exact same thing: it’s you.

I find Teddy in the haze. Our eyes meet and the noise goes away. What if I’m not good enough? I ask.

He scoffs and shoots back a complicated, silent sentence I find hard to decipher.

I turn to Coach to gauge his reaction. To my endless shock, I find the tension between his brows has faded. He looks pleased by my nomination, not outraged, not amused, not even surprised.

“Any other nominations?” he checks.

Silence.

“Okay, great. That makes it nice and simple. Delorean, you’re captain of the Blackeyes until further notice.”

“Why did you do that?” I ask Teddy as I drive us to St. Joseph’s Women’s Hospital. “Was it because…?”

“I didn’t do it because I love you.”

My heart breaks again. More than breaks.

It doesn’t crack down the middle like the pictures of broken hearts you normally see.

It shatters into tiny pieces because of how much I hate the way he says he loves me.

Casually. Like it’s a fact. What I hate more, what takes the tiny, shattered pieces of my heart and grinds them into a pulp, is the fact that I feel it and can’t say it back.

Teddy glances at me and hits me with a blistering blue gaze.

“Okay, fine, maybe I did it a little because of that, but mainly, I did it because everyone was looking at you, and it made total sense. It’s what people do.

They look to their leader in times of uncertainty.

If I hadn’t done it, someone else would have.

You’re not only the obvious choice, Sev, you’re the only choice. ”

I hold on to the steering wheel as tightly as I can and breathe through my nose to stop myself from pulling the car over and kissing the ever-loving shit out of him.

It’s been a difficult couple of days. An unpleasant whiff of disinfectant clings to most of the members of our team. The hospital smell. There’s a heavy presence hanging over us.

We all want to be in Tampa with Bryce, but instead, we’re here, in New York.

We won against the Rangers tonight. It was a pretty good game, actually.

Close. It went to a penalty shoot-out, and Teddy nailed it.

He stopped a low shot that came off the back of a late swerve.

There aren’t many goalies that would come close to saving a shot like that, never mind catching it in their fucking glove and tossing it to a kid in the crowd like it was easy.

We’re in the bus on our way to the hotel now. Ordinarily, we’d be celebrating the W, but we aren’t in the mood to celebrate tonight.

I’m glad we won. We wore pink armbands for Kell and baby Amelia, and it meant a lot to be able to call Bryce when the final buzzer went and tell him the score. It did. It’s just that it felt a little empty.

I’m feeling a little empty.

I’ve been feeling all the things, really.

There’s been a lot going on, and it’s made it hard to process my emotions, but my heart is heavy.

So heavy it feels like a weight in my chest. It’s not just heavy.

It’s achy too. It feels raw, like my pericardium has been sanded down, worn away, exposing the organ to the elements.

It’s not just about what’s happening to Bryce and his family.

It’s been like this since Teddy and I had our big conversation.

Spending hours at the hospital has been tough.

The good news is that Kell is doing much better.

They were able to stop the bleeding, and her doctor says she should be able to have more children if she wants.

Amelia is still struggling to breathe on her own, but the doctors seem cautiously optimistic that she’ll be okay.

Bryce is trying so fucking hard to keep it together, and it’s hard to see him like that.

He loves Kell so much, and having a baby is something he’s dreamed of for years.

I feel guilty as fuck about being made captain under these conditions, and even worse for being happy about it.

It’s not even permanent. It’s pathetic that I’m taking it so seriously.

What’s more pathetic is that I simply cannot stop thinking about Teddy. I should have been thinking about Kell and Amelia on the plane. Instead, I spent the entire flight replaying every word Teddy had said to me today. Every look he’d given me. Every smile.

I replayed, “Morning. Want some coffee?” for at least twenty minutes, looking for some hidden meaning in his words.

He’s been so sweet and supportive and kind, my head feels like it’s going to explode.

He’s sitting two rows ahead of me, talking to Lockie, and I’ve lost my ability to soft focus completely. I literally can’t do it anymore. I have no idea how I used to do it. When I try now, Teddy comes more into focus instead of going out of it.

Teddy has the window seat, Lockie the aisle.

He’s sitting so close to Teddy, and being such a whipped piece of shit that I’m actually embarrassed for him.

He’s making a massive fool of himself. Any asshole can see that.

He’s completely engrossed in what Teddy is saying.

Hanging on every word. I can’t blame him there, but he keeps leaning in close when Teddy talks, under the guise of finding it hard to hear over the din on the bus, and it’s pissing me off.

It’s not that loud, asshole!

I can hear pretty much every word you’re saying from here.

Lockie’s face is in profile, lips less than a quarter of an inch from Teddy’s ear. “Why does he keep looking at you like that?” he whispers with the glee of a gossipy schoolgirl.

Teddy shrugs and shifts in his seat. “It’s complicated.”

Complicated? Complicated ? No, it’s not complicated. I want you, and you want me. It’s not fucking complicated. It’s very, very simple.

I miss the first bit of Lockie’s next sentence, but I get the end of it loud and clear. A deep dimple dips in Lockie’s cheek as he leans in ridiculously close to Teddy. “Want to make him jealous?”

My entire body goes hot. My vision goes hazy, fading until Teddy is the only thing I can see. He has his head turned slightly toward Lockie. He’s looking down, lashes splashing soft shadows over his cheeks.

My heart thumps in rage.

My blood pressure spikes.

I feel my pulse in my fists.

He’s going to do it. I know it. Teddy knows what I’m like. He knows I’m jealous. He’s looked me in the eye many times in the past and flirted with guys in front of me. He knows I hate it. He knows it upsets me.

I want to scream for the bus to stop, for everyone who isn’t Teddy to get the fuck off.

I can’t fucking take this. I need to get off this fucking bus right the fuck now.

I watch, heart in my throat as Teddy replies. His head moves first, shaking gently from side to side, then his lips move. Their movement is clear and decisive, gentle but firm. “No, I don’t want to make him jealous.”

I drop my head back against the headrest in defeat.

Shit.

That’s worse. It’s worse than him making me jealous .

I’m cooked. I’m completely and utterly cooked. He’s not going to start being angry or spiteful anytime soon, is he?