Page 7 of Offside Play (Love The Game #1)

Cody

T he elevator ride felt as if it was never going to end. I slumped against the mirrored wall, my gym bag heavy on my shoulder, and watched the LED display change in slow, torturous increments as I rose higher. Thirty-five. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven.

Each floor put more distance between me and the training facility.

More distance between me and the moment I’d looked up into the stands and saw John—no, Jude —staring down at me with huge green eyes, shocked recognition written all over his face.

With his short, styled brown hair, tanned skin, and lean soccer player’s build, combined with those bright eyes and devastating, dimpled smile, he was the kind of guy I’d take a second look at.

More than a second look, if I were truthful.

But it didn’t matter how hot he was. I would have given him a wide berth if I’d known then what I knew now.

Nielson’s brother . Of all the fucking people in Calgary, I’d picked Brayden fucking Nielson’s brother to stick my dick into.

The elevator finally reached my floor, and I entered my apartment, kicking off my shoes, and dumped my bag on the floor opposite the cupboards that held the washing machine and dryer. My shoulders unfurled, losing some of their tension as I stepped inside the living area.

Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated two walls of the open-plan space.

Straight ahead of me, the Calgary Tower pierced the sky, surrounded by the high-rise buildings of downtown.

To my left, the Calgary Bobcats stadium was the focal point among the shorter, more nondescript buildings, its gleaming roof catching the late summer sun.

Heading straight for the fridge, I grabbed a bottle of chilled water, uncapping it and taking a swig.

The building’s cleaning team had been in today, leaving my apartment spotless.

The white granite countertops shone, the bleached hardwood floors were dust-free, and the pillows on my slate-grey couch were plumped invitingly.

It was perfect. Just as it had been when I’d first viewed it the day I’d landed in Calgary. I’d bought it there and then, furnishings and all. It was a good investment and exactly what I needed to maintain the illusion that I had my life under control.

It was also exactly the kind of place someone with too much money and no one to rely on ended up living in.

Someone with no family and no one they could truly call a friend.

Someone who’d learned early on that depending on other people was a mistake.

Someone whose mother had been too high to remember they existed most of the time and who never even knew who their father was.

Someone who’d learned that caring about people meant giving them the power to hurt them, and who had to learn that the only person they could rely on was themselves.

With a growl, I moved to the windows overlooking the city, pressing my palm against the cool glass. Fuck my past. It was irrelevant now. I’d made it as an NHL player, something that so many people could only ever dream of.

I let my forehead drop against the window, staring out at the towers in front of me.

Somewhere out there, Jude was probably having dinner with his brother, laughing and catching up like normal siblings did.

Maybe Brayden was telling him stories about the team, and maybe he’d mention his asshole teammate who kept to himself and barely spoke to anyone.

It was a good thing he didn’t know what that asshole had done to his little brother in a dark corner of a club.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, hoping for a distraction from the clusterfuck of unwanted emotions my brain was forcing me to feel. Opening my messaging app, I found a text from the dad of one of the kids I coached.

Jack (Marcus dad):

Hey Cody. Just wanted to shoot you a text to confirm the time change for next week’s session. Are we still on for 7pm at the community rink? Marcus is excited

I stared at the message, a weird lump coming into my throat. Marcus is excited .

My coaching sessions were the one thing in my life that felt uncomplicated.

No media, no pressure, no teammates asking questions I didn’t want to answer.

Just me, a few talented kids who might not ordinarily get a chance to play hockey because of the costs involved, and the fundamentals of the game I loved.

Back in Vancouver, when I’d been a scruffy, lonely kid hanging around the rink every day with nowhere else to go, a couple of the guys had taken pity on me.

They’d hooked me up with some of their old equipment and taught me the basics, and then I’d begun practising on my own.

I’d learned to skate, then to play. And then…

well, it turned out I was good at it. Good enough for my talent to open doors I’d never dreamed of before.

Now, I was paying it forward, coaching these kids, and somehow, against all odds, they looked forward to spending time with me.

Me . The antisocial asshole who was everyone else’s last choice to hang out with.

That was something that I’d never take for granted.

Me:

Yeah, we’re still on. Tell Marcus I’m looking forward to seeing the improvement in his backhand shot

Jack (Marcus dad):

Will do. Thanks. You’re making a real difference

A real difference. What would my teammates think if they knew that the “girlfriend” I was supposedly seeing was actually a group of kids who just wanted to get better at hockey?

They’d probably think I’d lost my fucking mind, spending my free time teaching instead of partying or hooking up like a normal twenty-four-year-old.

But when I was on the ice with those kids, I wasn’t the Calgary Bobcats left winger Cody Clements. I wasn’t the grumpy asshole who scared away the media and kept his teammates at arm’s length. I wasn’t the fuck-up who’d been traded here because I’d messed everything up with my previous team.

I was just someone who loved hockey enough to pass it on to someone else.

If I could help even one kid avoid some of the struggles I’d been through…

maybe that was worth something. And if I let my teammates come to their own conclusions about my personal life, who the fuck cared? It was no one else’s business.

After replying to Jack to say I’d see him and Marcus at the next session, I placed my phone on my kitchen countertop and moved to the other set of windows. The ones that looked out over the stadium.

In two days, we’d be back there for our next playoff game, and I’d have to pretend that nothing had changed. That I hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about a certain British soccer player’s body or the way he’d looked at me during practice with those shocked, bright green eyes.

Fuck. Six months ago, I’d been warming the bench for Boston, my three-year contract becoming more worthless by the day as I racked up minutes on the bench instead of ice time.

Too many fights, not enough goals—that was what the management team had told me when they’d placed me on unconditional waivers. I’d thought my NHL career was over.

Then Calgary had taken a chance on me, buying out the rest of my Boston contract and giving me a fresh start. I’d been determined to keep my head down, to stay out of trouble, and prove I belonged here. No drama. No complications. Just hockey.

Until this weekend.

Fucking hell. How had I managed to fuck everything up so spectacularly?

The second my skates touched the ice, I’d noticed him, sitting alone in the stands.

And then one of my teammates had mentioned Nielson’s twenty-one-year-old brother, who was sidelined with an injury and had flown to Canada on a whim.

Jude Nielson . Brayden’s little brother, the soccer player I’d heard him mention once or twice during the rare occasions I’d been forced to interact with the team outside of training and games. The one who’d been injured and had been forced to sit out for the rest of the season.

The one I’d fucked against a wall less than twenty-four hours ago.

I gritted my teeth. Last night had been a mistake. One I wouldn’t make again. Jude Nielson was off limits.

My phone buzzed again, and my heart rate spiked as I took in the words on the screen.

Unknown:

We need to talk

Me:

How did you get this number?

The response came almost immediately.

Unknown:

I have my ways

Of course he did. His brother had my number, after all. Growling under my breath, I stabbed out his name, adding him to my short list of contacts.

Me:

There’s nothing to talk about.

Jude:

You sure about that? I’m gonna be at your games for the next few weeks

Fuck. I hadn’t even thought about the fact that Jude would be there, in the stands, watching me play, both of us pretending that he was just another face in the crowd.

My thumbs flew over the keyboard as I tapped out a reply.

Me:

Stay away from me

Jude:

Easier said than done. My brother’s your teammate, remember

He was right, but it didn’t mean we needed to voluntarily speak to each other.

It was too fucking dangerous.

Me:

Stay away. I mean it

Jude:

We should at least speak about it. After that I’ll stay out of your way

Me:

No

My phone buzzed with another text, but this time, I didn’t even bother unlocking my screen. Leaving it on my kitchen island, I headed down to the gym in my building.

I could physically drain myself with exercise, but there was nothing I could do to get rid of the memory of green eyes watching me from the stands, or the way Jude had looked when I’d pressed him against that wall.

The truth was, I wanted him then, and I still wanted him now.