Page 18
CHAPTER 18
North
I fucking hate sitting here on my couch, in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, watching my team take on the San Diego Renegades. I should be there with them, doing my part on the second line with Foster, Atlas, Camden and Hendrix.
But I am cuddled up with a beautiful woman curled into my side. Farren smells amazing, having just gotten out of the shower. And Christ… her skin is so soft that I don’t think I’ll ever stop grazing my thumb over her shoulder.
Okay, maybe it doesn’t suck that bad not being with my team, but I am undoubtedly feeling useless.
I officially got a clean bill of health today from our team’s doctor. I even felt good enough to drive myself to his office for the checkup after a solid two days in bed where Farren catered to my every need.
The past few days have been unexpected. Farren didn’t just tend to me; she really took care of me. From the moment she forced me to the ER to now, she’s barely left my side. She made sure I ate, stayed hydrated, took my meds on time, and didn’t do anything stupid—which, I’ll admit, was harder for her than it should’ve been.
None of that is solace that I’ve missed two games with my team and I’m itching to get back. In fact, I intend to hit the gym first thing tomorrow to show Coach that I’ll be ready for Wednesday’s game against the LA Demons.
Farren and I watch the game, me giving unsolicited commentary here and there.
I glance at Farren beside me, her legs tucked under her, one of my T-shirts swallowing her whole and hanging off her shoulder, which gives me access to that silky skin. She’s watching the game intently, a hand clutching a mug of tea she made for herself. An identical one she made for me sits untouched on the table, but I’m sick of drinking that crap. I really want a beer but I’m thinking she won’t go for that.
Besides, I’m being a good boy tonight because I do intend to fuck her when we go to bed so she can see how much better I’m feeling.
“Hey,” I murmur, nudging her with my shoulder. “Thanks again for everything.”
She looks at me, raising an eyebrow. “For making sure you didn’t keel over? I think the bar for gratitude is pretty low. ”
“I mean it,” I say seriously, my voice still a little raspy. “I’ve been in the league eight years, and any time I’ve been sick or hurt, I’ve just dealt with it. No one’s ever looked after me the way you have these past few days. It means a lot.”
Her cheeks flush, and she turns her eyes back to the TV. “Don’t make it weird, North. It wasn’t a hardship.”
“It wasn’t exactly glamorous either,” I point out, taking her hand in mine. She tries to pull it back but I hold tight. “You’ve been here three days. Cooking, cleaning, keeping me fed and medicated.” I pause, a teasing grin tugging at my lips. “You did it all while I was sometimes being a grumpy ass. I really appreciate it.”
“I know,” she says quietly, her fingers brushing over my thumb. “But I wanted to.”
Those words sit between us for a beat, and I feel something inside me twist. Farren’s not the type to admit she cares, but actions speak louder than words. She didn’t just stick around—she showed up in every way that mattered.
“So…,” she says, cutting through the moment, “you’re basically back to human now.”
I snag on the opportunity. “Which means we’re having sex tonight.”
I expect her to scoff but instead, her lips curve in a sexy smile. “Of course we’re having sex tonight. But I’ve got a job interview tomorrow, so you’ll have to survive without me. I’ve got to get some laundry done and stuff.”
I try not to let the disappointment show on my face. “You’re leaving?”
“I have things to do,” she says, her response light but guarded. “I’ve got to get a job before Rafferty kicks me out.”
The mention of Rafferty gives me an idea—an idea I know might send her running if I’m not careful.
“What if he did?” I ask.
She blinks at me. “What if he did what?”
“Kick you out,” I say, sinking back into the couch like it’s no big deal. “Or another way to say it… what if you moved in with me?”
Her eyes widen, and I can practically see the walls going up. “North…”
“Think about it,” I say quickly, holding up a hand before she can object. “Rafferty’s already talking about you paying rent. You could stay here rent-free. You’d have your own room if that makes it less weird.” I smirk. “We’d be like roommates. Roommates with benefits.”
Farren laughs, but it’s a nervous sound, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. “North, that’s… I don’t know.”
“What’s there to know?” I press, my voice soft but firm. “You’d save money, Rafferty would have private time with Tempe when she visits, and I’d get to see your face more often. Everybody wins.”
She hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the cup in her hands. “It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is,” I say, shrugging.
“No, it’s not. That’s taking it to the next level. It means it’s getting more serious, and I don’t do serious.”
“No,” I counter with a long drawl. “It means I’m making it more convenient for myself to have your sexy body near me. That means I can have you more often and merely plays into the whole sex-with-no-strings thing that you so clearly value. Just think about it, okay?”
Her gaze meets mine, and for a second, I think she might bolt. But instead, she nods slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
We settle back into the couch, the conversation lingering in the air like a third presence between us. On the screen, the Titans are fighting hard, the game tied at one goal apiece. Penn’s line is on the ice, and I watch as he battles for the puck in the corner, his movements sharp but uncharacteristically reckless.
“That was a risky play,” Farren comments, her brow furrowed.
I nod, watching as Penn takes a hit that sends him sprawling. He’s back on his skates in seconds, but instead of resetting, he charges after the guy who knocked him down .
“What the hell is he doing?” I wonder as Penn shoves the guy hard, earning a shove back. They exchange words, and before I know it, gloves are off and Penn is throwing punches.
“Oh my God,” Farren says, sitting up straighter. “Why is he fighting? He can’t afford to take chances like that.”
“Exactly,” I say grimly, watching as the refs step in to break up the brawl. “Centers are too valuable to risk injuries like that. This isn’t Penn.”
“Yeah, but who exactly is Penn? There’s all this mystery surrounding him, he keeps himself cut off from the team and now his behavior is becoming erratic. What I don’t understand is how all of you can just sit back and do nothing.”
I sit up straighter on the couch, her accusing words a low blow. “What would you have us do?”
“Ask him what’s wrong. Offer to help him. Go to the coach with your worries. Any number of things.”
A wave of guilt sweeps through me. I had thought we were doing the right thing by encouraging him to come out with us and maintaining at least a good rapport on the ice, but maybe there’s more we could be doing.
“An intervention?” I ask curiously.
“Maybe,” she muses, nabbing her phone from the coffee table. Her fingers fly over the screen. “But first, what do we really know about him? ”
I recite facts that I know from his bio, but Farren ignores me as she flips through articles on her screen. I keep one eye on the game, one eye on her.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Research,” she says distractedly. “There has to be something that can clue us in.”
I don’t say anything, just watch—my attention diverted periodically to the game—as she scrolls through articles and forums, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Here,” she says suddenly, holding up her phone. “Did you know he played juniors in Ontario?”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at the screen. “What about it?”
She scrolls further, her expression growing darker. “There was a hazing scandal on his team. A boy died. A bunch of players were charged, kicked off the team, some were convicted… but there’s no mention of Penn at all.”
I feel a chill run down my spine. “I remember hearing about that incident, but I didn’t know he was there at the time.”
Farren chews at her bottom lip, her eyes coming to me. “I’m assuming he wasn’t involved. So why would people be coming after him for it? Unless… he was involved.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No way he was involved.”
“You’re just saying that out of loyalty,” she replies, not unkindly but in a way that says she wants to keep me objective.
“I’m not saying it out of blind loyalty. I’m saying it from experience. If he was involved in any type of incident that involved members getting kicked off the team and charged criminally, there’s no way he’d be where he is right now. That sort of stain would follow him. It would either ruin or mar his career in some way. We would have heard about it. Instead, he’s stayed on a path that’s led him to greatness in this sport. Those kids who were responsible… the article said some went to prison. We’re talking about ruined lives and careers. And yet Penn is one of the best in the league. I’m confident he didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“When you say it like that, I agree. No way he was involved.”
We’re both quiet, contemplating what we’ve learned and if it even has any relevance. Her head swivels, eyes locked onto mine. “Do you think someone should talk to him?”
I hesitate, thinking of King and how Penn swore him to secrecy. “Maybe. But not sure what good it would do. King’s already tried.”
“Maybe talk to Coach?” she suggests.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Penn clearly wants to be left alone and if we push it, it could really tear a rift in our on-ice camaraderie. ”
We fall silent again, the game forgotten for the moment. Farren’s fingers linger on her phone, and I can see the worry etched in her features.
“Hey,” I say, nudging her lightly. “Let’s not solve Penn’s problems tonight. We’ve got enough on our plate.”
She gives me a small smile, but her eyes are still troubled. “You’re right.”
I reach for the remote, switching the conversation back to something lighter. “So, about you moving in…”
She groans, throwing a pillow at me. “I said I’d think about it. And only as roommates with benefits. And I’d definitely want my own room.”
“Just checking,” I say, grinning as I catch the pillow and toss it aside. “I don’t want you to forget.”
“I won’t,” she promises, her response teasing but guarded.
I move closer, flipping her onto her back on the couch and pinning her beneath me. Her breath catches, and I grin down at her. “Still scared?”
“Of what?” she asks, her voice soft but challenging. “You? Please.”
I lower my head, brushing my lips against hers. “Of us.”
Her gaze meets mine, and she looks uncertain. But then she smirks, her hands tangling in my hair. “There’s nothing to be scared of because there’s no us. This is just casual and fun, remember? ”
I chuckle, kissing her softly. “Yeah, sure. That’s all we are.”
Her smirk falters slightly, and I know she’s thinking about all the ways this has already become more.
“You wouldn’t have stayed these last few days to take care of me,” I murmur against her lips, “if it was just that.”
Her hands tighten but she doesn’t say anything. Then she whispers, “Do you want me to run?”
“No,” I say firmly. “I want you to consider all the ways this might be different from what you’ve had before.”
“This situation isn’t different from what I had before.” Christ, those words pinch. “I’ve dated. I’ve lived with a man. I’ve taken care of and cooked for them.” Her eyes clear, locked on mine and believing in that bunch of bullshit.
“Maybe,” I say, brushing hair from her temple, my eyes roaming over her face. When my gaze is pinned to hers again, I add, “But I’m different from what you’ve had before. Focus on that.”
She doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t push me away either. Instead, she draws me down for a kiss that’s tentative at first, as if testing the waters to see if I feel well enough for more.
And I do.
Since words seem to bounce off her walls, I instead show her with actions how I feel.