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CHAPTER 8

RUSS

B eav has been on my ass all day. I’ve kept my friendship—relationship, or whatever the hell this is—with Scarlett a secret from him these past few months. Knowing I’ll be seeing her tonight, I haven’t been able to wipe the stupid smile off my face since I woke up. He can give me shit all he wants, I couldn’t care less. It’s not like he isn’t a ball of nerves. Poor guy has also been pining after a girl he had one night with.

The moment my skates hit the ice, the roars in the arena echo, making my heart swell. I allow myself a final glance at the Québec City medical staff and find my girl’s eyes on me. While she’s not cheering, her wide grin is undeniable, even from here. Beav taps his helmet to mine and shouts, “We’ve got this,” before preparing for puck drop.

For the first five minutes, I only have to deflect one shot. Beav and Haas are on fire tonight, keeping Québec busy. We pull off the ice for it to be resurfaced, and as I’m about to return, my message for Scarlett appears on the jumbotron:

CAN’T WAIT FOR TONIGHT, RED!

FROM YOUR BESTIE

Her hand flies to her mouth before her eyes meet mine. She looks away briefly, chuckling to herself, then her gaze snaps back to me. It’s as if the entire arena fades away—there’s only her. My cheesy rom-com moment is record-scratched harder than an early nineties hip-hop track.

Number Nine, Smith.

He claps Scarlett’s ass before hopping over the divider. He touched what’s mine. More than that, she didn’t ask for it.

The fucking audacity.

As everyone piles onto the ice, I make a beeline for the fucker, the only sound of my heart racing against my chest. The entire arena fades away as I pull down my mask and knock into Smith. No one stops me—or at least I don’t think they do. I whack my stick against his cheek before he can react, and the sound it makes—like the crack of a baseball bat hitting a fastball—sends a sick satisfaction through me. He crumples to the ground, but I’m not done. I lift my skate, aiming for his throat. I’m pulled away from him, and through the ringing in my ears, someone says, “He’s not worth it.” Except this asshole is absolutely worth it. I try to wriggle out of their hold, needing another shot.

“Campbell, listen to me, man. They’re going to eject you if you?—”

I charge at him again, but the fucking padding throws off my aim, and my skate misses Smith’s throat by several inches. There’s a blur of white and black in my vision, the faint sounds of whistles blowing, and someone shouting, “You’re done, Thirty-Five.”

It takes me several seconds to process his words as someone ushers me off the ice. The entire arena is filled with boos and chants of “Let him play!”

The moment I reach the coaching staff, all of them are shouting at me. I lock eyes with Coach North and growl, “Nine slapped your sister’s ass. I… I’m sorry, Coach.” He gives me an empathetic nod and helps me out of some of my gear as he leads me to the locker rooms.

“Thank you,” he mutters, low and steady. “I saw it happen. While Scar can protect herself, I’ll make sure his life’s a living hell after what he did.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I sigh, the entire interaction flooding back to me. If it wasn’t for the extra gear, I would’ve killed him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s get you out of here before press. I’ll take care of it.” His steady, reassuring voice calms me.

Once I’m changed into sweatpants and a hoodie, security escorts me to my car. I hesitate—I shouldn’t be driving—and ask one of the attendants to order a rideshare. I’ll get my car in the morning. Within five minutes, an unmarked sedan pulls up. Not a brand-name service.

“Mr. Campbell, my name is Trevor. I’ll be your driver for the evening.” I glance back at security, and they nod. I blow out a long breath and I slide into the backseat, hating I’m being chauffeured, even if it’s the safest option. If his front windows were tinted, I could sit in the front with him. He could help me forget what happened by talking about anything from hockey to his family to how we’ve had drier weather than normal. Instead, I’m on time-out. I lost my shit on a player for being inappropriate with a woman. She’s part of his team, for fuck’s sake. If I’m being honest with myself, I still would’ve lost my shit on him—even if it wasn’t Scarlett. Group therapy is going to be a joy on Monday.

When the league required therapy for all athletes, I chose a group with three guys who didn’t play hockey. My sister studied psychology and drilled into me the importance of attending therapy. I wouldn’t be able to work on myself if it was a damn pissing match. The guys in my group are more like friends now. Ronan is quiet but has a great sense of humour. Will is constantly complaining about his PR manager, but I’m certain it’s because he wants to bend her over. Lucas is always making sure we’re inclusive. Truth be told, I was a fucking asshole before I met them. I don’t want to be that guy, and hate that I’ll have to tell them what happened. They might look at me differently—like a monster. I’m out for the game, but what if the league slaps me with a suspension? My team needs me.

Scarlett didn’t need me, but there was no way in hell I’d stand by and watch one of her players disrespect her that way. I selfishly want to be needed by her.

Fucking hell, is this the shit my therapist has been spewing for months? A saviour complex?

Once I’m home, the adrenaline crash kicks in. I take a quick shower before taking a nap, hoping to wake before the game is over. The turning of a key wakes me, and I’m back on high alert.

“Russ?” my favourite person in the world asks hesitantly, stepping into my apartment.

“Hey, Red,” I shout back, albeit groggily. “What are you doing here?”

My heart leaps into my throat at the sound of her tossing her keys and the thump of what must be her purse on the counter. “What were you thinking?” she seethes before she’s even in view.

I make my way to the kitchen, and the moment I see Scarlett, I barrel into her, nearly knocking her over as I take her into my arms. “Fuck, Red, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s… okay,” she manages, muffled against my chest. I accidentally bump her suitcase and it clatters to the ground.

I pull back to ask, “What are you doing here?”

“Rach bribed your friend for your spare key. I had to make sure you were okay, since you weren’t picking up your phone.”

Bringing her back into me, I sigh, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened, but I’m so fucking happy you’re here.”

“I need a shower—without an incredibly attractive hockey goalie trying to feel me up. I’ll stay with you tonight if I can shower alone and we’re both wearing clothes.”

“Of course.” I can’t help asking, “Who won?”

“You did, but that’s not why I’m here.”

I can’t help my heart swelling and take her face in my hands, kissing her as if I’ll never feel her lips on mine again. How is she even more beautiful than when we video chatted just two days ago? Having her safe and wrapped in my arms brings me more peace than I’ve felt in months.

Scarlett pulls back and places her palms on my chest. “Maybe I should go.”

“Go? Why?”

Her eyes search mine, and she stops and starts to reply a few times before settling on, “We shouldn’t do this, especially after last night and what happened on the ice today. We’re friends and?—”

“No,” I growl. “We’re not friends. It’s a fucking label we slapped on this to explain how every morning you wake up to a text from me, and a few hours later I wake up to a voice memo from you. We start and end our days with each other. We spend hours every day talking. You’ve told me your secrets and I’ve told you mine, and there is no one in this world I care about more than you.”

“That’s what friends do, Russ.” She sighs and chews on her bottom lip.

“Fine, you’ve got me there, but does your heart skip a beat every time you see a message from me?” She doesn’t reply, and I press on. “Do you get wet thinking about how I’d properly fuck you if you were mine?” Her eyes widen as she sucks in a breath and I can’t help a small smirk pulling at my lips. “Do you miss me all fucking day, and the moment you hear my voice, you finally relax? You know the answer is yes to all of it. You don’t want to be my friend, you want me as much as I want you. The only reason we’re friends is because I can’t have you.”

I take a step back and lean against the counter, folding my arms over my chest. She rubs her hands down her face and lets out a deep sigh. I could lose her for this, but I’m done dancing around everything. I’d risk it all to be with her.

“What do you want me to say? That I’ll quit my job and move here to be with you? Because I won’t… but I also can’t lose you.” She steps toward me and places my hand over her heart. “I love you, Russ, but we can’t be more than friends.”

All of the air leaves my lungs. She’s my dream girl, the once-in-a-lifetime person you meet and are supposed to spend the rest of your days with. And she loves me. “We’ve always been more than friends.” I lift her by her waist and twist to set her on the counter. She squeaks as I set her down. As I step between her legs, I admit, “I’m yours, Red.”

“You’re going to break my heart.”

“No.” I lean in to press a soft kiss to her neck and whisper against her skin, “When it comes to you, I have exactly one goal in mind: to keep you.”

My phone vibrates on the counter and my instinct is to answer it—it’s usually Scarlett. With my girl here, her hands resting on my sides, there isn’t a single damn reason to see who’s calling. It stops, but as I’m kissing up to her jaw, it buzzes again.

“You should get that,” she breathes, fisting my shirt and pulling me closer.

“It isn’t you calling, so whoever it is doesn’t matter.”

“They’ll probably keep calling. It could be Berkeley or one of the coaches.”

“Fine,” I groan and step away from her to answer it. Unfortunately, she’s right and it’s her brother calling. “Hey, Coach.”

“Fucking hell, Campbell! We’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Smith was hospitalized and the league is asking for a suspension. We’re trying to keep it to ten games, but Québec is asking to pull you for the rest of the season.”

“I hit him with my twig for fuck’s sake. He’ll be fine.”

“It was your skate. The blade nicked him and he lost a lot of blood.”

“No, I missed,” I insist, raking my hand through my hair, recalling how my gear got in the way.

“You did, but when you were pulled away from him, you sliced into his neck. We’ve been reviewing the footage, and it was an accident, but the league is taking it seriously.”

“What about what he did with Scarlett?”

She whisper-shouts, “I’m okay.” I press my finger to her lips, not wanting her brother to suspect she’s here. While I don’t want to hide from him, now isn’t the time to divulge that I'm in love with his sister.

“His team will take care of it; there was video of that as well. My concern lies with you and your career. We’ll sort this out, but for now, try to stay home and avoid all press. We don’t want to add fuel to the fire.”

“Understood. Thanks, Coach.”

“Get some rest, we’ll talk in the morning.”

We hang up and I rest my forehead on Scarlett’s. “He’s hospitalized.”

“I heard,” she sighs. “It was an accident, but you shouldn’t have attacked him in the first place.”

“He touched you,” I seethe, a rumble vibrating my chest.

“I’m a big girl, bestie,” she teases, pulling back and bracing her hands on my shoulders. “I can handle myself. I’ve worked in a male-dominated field all of my life. An ass grab or smack comes with the territory.”

“The fuck it does! No one should ever touch you without your consent.”

“You’re right.” Scarlett closes the distance and kisses me. It’s soft and gentle, not the playful licks and nips I’m used to with her. She speaks against my lips, “I only want you to touch me.”