Page 31

A part of me wonders what Vance would think.

About Mack. How he would feel about me daydreaming about someone else.

But not just anyone else—Jordan. It’s not like I poured my heart out to Vance about my past…

whatevers, but on the odd occasion I’d mention someone , anyone, Vance didn’t take it well.

Despite our arrangement being purely sexual, Vance was prone to being a jealous dick, and I’d paid for setting him off on and off the ice.

No one gets to have you but me.

I own you, Brewer. I own every fucking twisted part of you.

I stiffen as I remind myself it doesn’t matter what he thinks.

We’re not together anymore. I don’t owe Vance Harding shit. He doesn’t own me or my thoughts.

My phone rings, the notes of The Neighborhood’s “ Daddy Issues” sounding in my ears. I stop, frozen in front of a display of Squishmallows.

I need to change his ringtone. Fuck. I pull out my phone quickly, silencing the call. I should block him, but I can’t find it in me to do it. I’m worried that somehow, someway, I’ll reap the punishment because he’ll know. I tense immediately at the thought.

He’s called me every day for the last month, since my injury was official news.

Maybe he wants to apologize, I think as I slide my phone back in my pants pocket.

Apologize for what, exactly? Leading me on for all those years, letting me think we could be together for real? Shattering my fucking knee to pieces before the season even started?

I should feel better knowing he’s sitting out a couple games, but for some reason, that only makes me more worried. So, I shove all thoughts of Vance and his minor month suspension out of my mind. I don’t want to think about him or our disastrous relationship.

Daddy Issues, indeed.

I pick up a fat, squishy unicorn Squishmallow, all pinks and blues with glitter all over it.

Lucy will love it. I twist my lips as I look over the display, because lord knows if I get one for Lucy, Sarah’s going to need one too. If there’s one ray of sunshine in my life, it’s Britt’s two adorable daughters. My nieces.

I’ve accepted the fact that no matter how badly my mother wants me to get married and be a cookie-cutter husband, it’s never going to happen. Which means having my own kids aren’t in my future, as much as I’d like them to be.

I find an aqua-colored, glittery cat and figure it’ll work. Sarah’s favorite color is green, but I’m not sure she likes cats… Oh, well. She’s four. I’m sure she won’t complain.

I stash the stuffed animals under my arms as I continue through the store, grabbing little things here and there.

By the time I make it to the register, I’ve got an armful of stuffed animals, coloring books, and toys.

Britt’s going to kill me, but what’s the point of having nieces if I can’t buy them shit?

Besides, it makes me feel better to spend money on people.

Gift giving is pretty much a familial curse at this point.

I grab a couple bags of peach rings from the counter for myself and some gummy bears for Britt.

My phone rings again once I’m in the car, the melodic words of “Daddy Issues” echoing through the speakers. I silence the call.

Eventually, he’ll get the message.

I check my watch, knowing I need to be downtown in a couple of hours for my PT.

I hope to hell that whatever tech I get today is better than that asshole Matthew I had yesterday.

And I hope whoever I get is hot, so I can at least enjoy the pain they deliver me.

Or maybe that other place will finally get an opening and allow me in.

It seems they don’t make exceptions for professional players, which is a first, because I’m used to my name being thrown around and people letting me do whatever I want.

Shark Sports treats everyone fairly. I guess I appreciate it, but it’s the best place in the state, and I need to get in if I ever want to play hockey again.

I barely get two knocks on Britt’s front door before she opens it, eyes wide with surprise as she clutches a bowl of ice cream to her chest .

“Oh my God, Alex, what are you—”

She barely gets the words out before the screams commence and I am nearly tackled by four small arms. I stumble back and my knee aches, but I don’t let them know that.

“Uncle Alex!” Sarah squeals as Lucy knocks right into my knee.

“Fu—” I suck in a breath as Britt shoos them away from my legs. I brace myself against the door, trying to breathe.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

“Fine.” I grimace as Britt corrals them into the house, and I manage to push myself off the door.

“Sorry about that,” she says as she nods for me to come in.

“It’s okay, maybe she knocked my tendons back together,” I mewl. Britt laughs.

“I come bearing gifts.” I hold up the bags.

“Alex…”

I pull out the package of candy I got her as I make my way to the couch. “Don’t yell at me; I got you gummy bears.”

Britt grabs them and takes a seat next to me. I watch as she opens her gummy bears and dumps them right on top of her ice cream. I can’t help but smirk at her like this. She’s adorable when she’s pregnant. And her kids are pretty adorable, too .

“How long you staying?” she asks, flashing me a smirk of her own. I can hear the girls chatting and fighting down the hall over God knows what. A second later, Sarah’s barreling down the hall and jumping on the couch next to her mother.

“I don’t know. Might be a while.”

“How long’s a while?” she asks, shoving a spoonful of gummy bear-ified ice cream into her mouth.

“Doc said it could take anywhere from six months to a year. I hope it won’t be that long.”

“You think you can handle your mother for that long?”

“No, but I’m not staying with Mr. Perfect and Mrs. See You Next Time.”

Brittany rolls her eyes.

Lucy comes running down the hall and dives onto the couch, right into my lap. I catch her with precision and flip her.

“Know what a Batista Bomb is, Luce?”

“Do not Batista Bomb my child, Alex,” Britt says apathetically.

I stick my tongue out at her. “You’re no fun.”

I wrap my arms around Lucy and squeeze her tight instead.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t stay here,” Britt says softly. “I know the girls would have loved it, and—”

I wave her off. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

My phone rings again. “Daddy Issues.”

I shut it off, then notice the time. Fuck! I need to head out now or I’m going to be late.

“I gotta go. I have therapy,” I say with a sigh.

“Where at?” she asks as we both get up.

“The place in the next town. Dan’s something or other,” I say as I grimace.

I can’t wait to get to the point where it doesn’t hurt to just fucking stand.

“Why the hell are you going there and not Sharks?”

“Full. Can’t get in,” I mutter as I hobble toward the door.

“Christian’s best friend works there. I can get you in.”

I turn to face her, giving her a seriously? look. “Your husband hates me. He will not help me get in there.”

“He will because I tell him to. I’ll call you later.”

My mind wanders back to “Daddy Issues .” To the reason I’m broken in the first place. I shove the thought down into my stomach as I hobble to the door. Lucy slides her hand in mine.

“I’ll see you lovely ladies later,” I say as I wave goodbye.

Britt gives me a knowing smile.

“Have a good time at therapy,” she says as she shuts the door.

Who the hell has a good time at therapy?