Page 5

5

JP

I apologize a million times over to Lacey and Théo, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.

Nothing.

I met a fun, sexy woman, had a hotel quickie that I planned to turn into an all-nighter, danced with her a little, and . . . what the fuck? I get attacked on the dance floor!

How was I supposed to know that Manny and Taylor had been dating? I barely know the dude. Other than playing against him a few times, all I know is that Théo—the GM of the Condors, where Manny was playing—traded him away a couple of months ago.

I don’t know what’s going on between Manny and Taylor now, but I’m a little pissed that she was flirting with me and kissing me and, yeah, fucking me, if there’s still something between her and Manny. Jesus.

This is bringing back some ugly memories, and not just for me, because everyone else has their panties in a twist now, thinking I was trying to steal some other dude’s girlfriend.

Again.

Shit.

I want to chase after Taylor, but she’s salty as fuck, and also if I do, Lacey will probably hurt me. Not to mention Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and even Everly, who’s shooting me beady-eyed looks.

“I told you she’s a nice girl,” she hisses at me at one point.

As I suspected, she was warning me off Taylor.

It’s not totally my fault. But even though I can be a dick, I’m not that much of an asshole that I’m going to try to get myself off the hook by telling the truth—that Taylor very willingly came up to my hotel room last night and stayed until this morning, and then again very willingly joined me up there for a flash fuck tonight. So as usual, I’m the whipping boy for whatever trouble goes down, and I keep my lips zipped.

If only I’d kept my fly zipped.

I sneak away from the wedding as soon as I can, taking a double shot of Crown Royal with me back to my room.

I toss the key card down and gaze glumly around the messy room, including the rumpled bed. Not how I expected this night to go. I fully expected Taylor and me to be back rolling around in that bed and messing it up even more.

I tip the glass to my lips and enjoy the warmth that fills my chest as I drink the whisky. The sting reminds me of my cut lip, so I head to the bathroom to survey the damage. It’s stopped bleeding by now, but my lip’s swollen. Hell, it’s not the first fight I’ve ever been in, and not the worst I’ve ever looked after. I wash my face with cold water, scrubbing fiercely.

Back in the bedroom, I pile up the pillows on the bed and lounge against them, drinking the whisky and surfing through channels on the huge TV.

Nothing holds my interest.

I keep thinking about Taylor.

Why? I tip my head back. The last few months, since I broke up with Emma, I’ve been with a lot of women. I’m always clear that it’s just sex. It’s not that I don’t want to get involved with anyone; I haven’t met anyone I want to get involved with. Until tonight.

I finally meet someone who’s hot as hell, also smart, sweet, and—I thought—genuine, and turns out she’s dicking two guys around, just like Emma did.

I toss back more Crown Royal.

Training camp starts the Thursday after the wedding, which is good for taking my mind off the wedding disaster. I’ve been skating with some of the guys for a few weeks now, at informal get-togethers at the Golden Eagles’ practice facility in the mornings. I also worked out hard all summer. The whole family lives here in California now, so I didn’t have to travel back to Québec to see them like I have other years, but I went there anyway because I love Montréal. I still have a condo there, so I spent a couple of months working out with some other guys at a performance facility during the day, checking out the nightlife in the evenings.

Preseason games start the Tuesday after training camp. I’ve been away from hockey too long and I can’t wait to play.

The top is down on my Jaguar convertible as I cruise along West Ocean Boulevard from my place to the arena in Long Beach. The wind flows through my hair, my sunglasses shielding my eyes from the bright early September sun.

This year I have something to prove to my team. And my fans.

On top of making some bad decisions in my personal life, I’ve made a few mistakes in my career as well. I’ve always been hotheaded, which last year resulted in a four-game suspension. Nobody was happy about that.

I also got a game misconduct penalty for yelling at a ref, and two years ago a one-game suspension for a hit. When I was playing in the minors, I got benched because I showed up late for a team meeting. I came to the NHL with a bit of a reputation already, fairly earned or not, and people are starting to wonder if I’m more of a liability to the team than an asset. I need to shut that down.

Not even my dad now owning the team and my uncle being the new coach will save me if I don’t clean up my act. I know that. Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s not thicker than hockey. Okay, that doesn’t make sense, but when it comes to hockey, Uncle Mark and Dad are ruthless.

Which I think is partly why Dad bought the team . . . to show Grandpa he can’t dick him around. Then he hired Uncle Mark away from Grandpa’s team. That message was unmistakable. They’re out for blood.

The rivalry between the Condors and the Golden Eagles in California is legendary. The teams share a market. They both play a heavy, hard-hitting game. Every meet-up between them is billed as a “Beach Barn Battle.” But only one team from the Western Conference goes on to the Stanley Cup final.

Years ago, the two teams met in the conference final. The series went seven brutal games and the Condors lost, while the Eagles went on to win the Stanley Cup. That left a lot of bruises and scars . . . and not just physical ones. Unfortunately, the Condors tanked the season after that, and pretty much every season since.

But now . . . the rivalry is personal too, Dad and Uncle Mark against Grandpa.

I pull into the parking lot, jump out of my car, and stride into the arena, preparing to die.

Today is the medical and fitness testing.

We’ll be tortured with all kinds of cardiovascular, strength, and stretching exercises to see how physically prepared we are for the grueling hockey season. The regular season is eighty-two physically demanding games, not to mention practices and travel.

I get on the assault bike and start pedaling. I have to do one mile as fast as I can. Then I get a three-minute break. Repeat several times. Our time has to be less than six minutes, twenty seconds to pass this test. I climb off the bike sweating with a time of five minutes, fifty seconds.

“That’s impressive,” says Mick, our strength and conditioning coach.

“I did spin classes when I was in Montréal,” I tell him. “Part of my workouts.”

I don’t tell him I can barely walk now, my legs like noodles.

But I immediately have to be tested to measure my power wattage output while fatigued. It’s a crazy test that determines how much energy an athlete produces, measured in watts per kilogram of body weight.

Everyone’s doing well at the tests, meaning nobody spent the summer golfing and drinking beer. Well, I did do that a few times, but I’m grateful for all the sweat and agony in the gym I endured to put up a good showing now as I do vertical jump tests, timed sprints, push-ups, and pull-ups.

Then we get on the ice for more testing, with different sprints and a sixteen-lap endurance test that nearly makes me puke. After that, we have “recovery time” in the training room with ice baths, massages, and brutal foam rollers. Because tomorrow we’re going to work even harder.

I’m here for it.

I hang out in the locker room with the guys for a bit, catching up on news with those I haven’t seen in a while, shooting the shit. It’s great being with the team again. Last year when Dad bought the team, then hired Uncle Mark as coach, everyone was expecting a lot of changes. Over the summer Dad made a bunch of trades, and our draft picks are here trying to show their stuff and make the team, so we have a lot of new guys. This is going to change the makeup of the team this season, so there’s some uncertainty for everyone.

When I get home, I crash for a two-hour nap. Not sure if that’s a good idea, because I feel sore and a little grouchy when I wake up. I’m supposed to go over to Théo’s place—he’s going to grill some steaks for us since Lacey’s working tonight—but I feel like texting him that I can’t make it. But I have to go. I’m still trying to make things right between Théo and me, and backing out of this won’t help.

Traffic is nuts on the 405, so I’m even crankier when I get to Théo’s place. I’ve never been very patient. I’m working on it, but this traffic makes me crazy.

“Why are there so many fucking stupid drivers?” I ask Théo in his kitchen after he lets me in. “Why is traffic at a fucking standstill on a goddamn six-lane freeway? Why can’t people just drive the speed limit?”

He eyes me with a raised eyebrow. “You sound a little stressed.” He moves to the counter and starts shaking some kind of seasoning over two steaks. “Grab a beer.”

“Uh . . . just one. Training camp.” I rub the back of my neck. “Probably shouldn’t have any.”

“Here.” He opens the fridge and hands me a beer. “Just one. What’s got your jock in a twist? Just the traffic?”

“Nothing really. Well. Testing today was brutal.”

“You passed everything?”

“Of course.” I sound offended. “We all did. In fact, it was some of the best results they’ve ever seen. Everyone’s in phenomenal shape.”

Théo laughs, rubbing the seasoning into the meat. “Nice propaganda. Did Dad tell you to say that?”

“What? No.” I frown. “Jesus. You think I’m here to gather intel about the Condors’ camp?”

“Better not be.”

For a moment I can’t even speak. He can’t seriously think that little of me. Can he? “Christ, Théo. We work for different teams, but we’re not enemies.” I hope. Jesus. The last thing I want is for the feud between our dad and uncle and grandpa to spill down into our generation. Of course, I didn’t help that by screwing over Théo.

“I know, I know. I’m kidding. Sort of. Maybe we should agree not to talk hockey together.”

“What else would we talk about?” I smile wryly, then tip the beer bottle to my lips.

“Politics. The economy. What the fuck happened at the wedding last weekend.”

“Right. Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea he and Taylor were a thing.” She could have fucking told me. “I was just dancing, minding my own business, when that lug nut jumped me.”

Théo sighs. “I know. I don’t know what got into him.”

“Apparently he was jealous.” Bitterness rises in my throat and I wash it down with another swig of beer.

“Yeah, apparently. Let’s go out on the patio.” Théo picks up the tray with the steaks, a couple of foil packets, and some barbecue tools.

I follow him outside and try to change the subject. “You’ve got a great place here, right on the beach.”

“Yeah, I really like it. Lacey’s obsessed with the ocean, so if we ever move, it’s going to have to be beachfront.”

I laugh.

“What’s funny about that?”

“You. You’re funny. You’re completely whi?—”

“Don’t say it.” He holds up a hand and gives me a stern look. “That’s offensive to Lacey.”

I snap my mouth shut. “You’re right,” I admit. “I didn’t mean it that way. I love Lacey.” His frown deepens. “I mean, not love love. I like her a lot. Like . . . like a sister.”

Things are still a little sensitive between us because of what happened with Emma.

He grins. “I know, I know.” He lifts the lid of the barbecue, which has apparently been heating, and carefully lays the steaks on the grill.

“I actually like it that you’re so in love with her you’ll do whatever she wants,” I continue, a little sheepish about trying to make a joke about it.

“She’ll do anything to make me happy too,” he says quietly, lowering the barbecue lid.

It’s hard not to make a sarcastic “aw” comment. Clearly, I still have a bit of a chip on my shoulder when it comes to my big brother.

Okay, I’m a little jealous.

It’s crazy, because Théo hasn’t had an easy life. He got picked on for being a nerd when he was a kid. He worked his ass off at hockey because he thought that would shut people up. And it did. Then he took that puck in the face and lost a lot of his sight in one eye. He never played pro hockey again, after he’d worked so hard for it.

Luckily, he had his stats business that he built up into a mega success, and now he’s managing an NHL team at only twenty-eight years old. If something happened to me and I got hurt, I’d end up living on the street, panhandling for change.

The idea scares the shit out of me, so I don’t think about it. Even though I know I should have some kind of plan for my future. I’m only twenty-six. I have lots of years ahead of me. I should have, anyway. I still don’t feel like I’ve “made it,” like I’ve accomplished everything I want to do. But sometimes we don’t get the choice.

“I’m glad shit’s going right for you,” I finally say. “You’ve been through a lot. I really admire how you’ve handled your life.”

Théo nods. “Thanks.”

“And I know I didn’t help.”

“I pretty much wanted to kill you.” He takes a seat on one of the comfy chairs with a wry smile.

My guts twist. “I deserved it.”

“It wasn’t your fault that you had everything I ever wanted.”

I stare at him. “I did?”

“Sure. You have the hockey career I worked my ass off for.”

Ah, hell. My stomach plummets. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault I got hurt.” He pauses. “It was just . . . hard. And then you took my girl . . .”

“Shit.” I rub my face. “That I’ve apologized for.”

“I know. You said it was a mistake.”

“I seem to make a lot of them.” I’m thinking of Taylor now. Maybe it was a mistake, but damn, she was worth it, until I found out what was going on. “Like I want to have another beer right now.”

Théo gives me a look.

“But I’m not going to. Not to brag, but I don’t even need alcohol to make bad decisions.”

Théo shouts out a laugh, shaking his head.

“How do you do it? Always make the right decisions?”

“I use careful analysis, logic, and reasoning.”

“I need to learn that.”

He snorts. “You know how to use logic and reasoning. But we’re different people.”

“True.”

“Remember what you told me?”

My eyebrows pull down. “What?”

“About that Kenzimoto.”

“What?”

“You know. Being horny makes you impulsive.”

I start laughing. “Kenjataimu.” The Japanese word for just that.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe that’s your problem. Not enough sex.”

I consider that. “I do think some of my poorest decisions were made at a time I wasn’t getting any.” I rub my chin. Maybe that’s exactly what happened when I slept with Taylor—I was so horny for her I was thinking with the stupid little head.

“You know what impressed me most?”

“Uh . . . what?”

“You never blamed Emma for what happened.”

I give my head a shake at the abrupt switch from thinking about Taylor to Emma, an even bigger mistake. “Sure, I did.”

“Well, okay, she did lie to you. But you took responsibility for what happened.”

Huh. I guess I did, but to me it was pretty obvious I screwed up. “Well, thanks for that. In any case, I don’t think I can blame all my problems on horny hormones. I have to have some kind of self-discipline.”

“You should talk to Aunt Tori.”

“I don’t need a shrink.”

“Come on, you know we all need help. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with you. She helps athletes perform better. That’s all.”

“Well, she’s in Toronto, so I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“The Eagles have a sports psychologist who works with them.”

“I know. I’ve talked to him. We all have.”

“Also, Jackson said at the wedding that his mom is considering moving here.”

“No shit? Why?”

“She apparently has some big job offer. He didn’t want to say who. And Riley’s here.”

“And Uncle Mark.”

“They’re divorced.”

“Yeah, but . . . I always had this feeling they never really got over each other.”

“Well, aren’t you Mr. Perceptive.”

I shrug. “I do pick up on things like that.”

The scent of charbroiling meat drifts from the barbecue, teasing my hungry belly. Théo gets up and turns the steaks and checks the foil packets that I guess are veggies. “Medium rare, right?”

“Right.”

“Almost done.”

“I’m starving. I think I burned a million calories today.”

“Here. Have some nuts.” He pushes a bowl across the low table toward me. “Healthy fat.”

I grab a handful to stave off my hunger.

Théo grills a great steak, I have to say . . . the spice rub he put on is excellent and the veggies are crisp, with a nice grilled taste. We’ve just started eating when the front door of the condo opens and Lacey’s voice floats through to us, calling, “I’m home!”

The look on Théo’s face is . . . I don’t even know. He lights up like a thousand-watt lightbulb. “Out here, babe,” he calls.

Lacey appears in the patio doors, smiling. “Hi, guys.”

Then I see who’s behind her.

Taylor.