Page 13

CHAPTER 13

PAXTON

The first day of training flashes by in a blur, complete with more grueling techniques from Blakely—aka Coach Wren—who seems to have spent her entire off-season enlisting Lawson to help her perfect more brutal ways to torture us on the ice. I'm seriously questioning my friendship with him after today.

But despite the ache in my muscles, there’s a deep sense of satisfaction being back on the ice in an official capacity. Sure, we've had plenty of pick-up games before this, but training is on a whole other level.

And I can’t say I’m sad to be walking to the locker room now, more than ready for a shower and a chill night on the couch catching up on true crime dramas with Monroe.

“No,” Clay’s voice rings in the hallway, and I spot him near the locker room doors, his phone to his ear and a scowl on his face. It’s not his normal scowl, but a truly agitated one. “You've got to be kidding me,” he says, now pacing next to the locker room door. “The guy tried to lift his skate. You would’ve laid him out too—” He abruptly cuts off, dropping his phone for a few seconds and pressing his lips together before raising it to his ear again. “That was last season. I can't believe we're still dealing with this.”

More Badgers are filing into the locker room, but I hang back. Clay and I aren't best friends, but we've been Badgers long enough to have developed a closeness. And I'd like to be here in case he needs to vent after whatever this phone call is leading to.

High heels click to my left, the distinct sound alerting me to Elise Fullman’s presence. I swear the woman doesn't own a pair of sneakers, not that she needs to, but I know some of the guys—especially the ones she agents—sometimes hear those heels as a foreboding call. Not for any trouble she causes, of course, but because she lays down the law when it comes to her clients, keeping them in check. It's a small price to pay for the incredible contracts she manages to find them, but still.

I give her a smile and a nod as she stops outside the locker room to talk to Baylor, one of her clients. They talk in a relaxed tone, things I can't hear from where I'm standing. Baylor is like the poster boy for several athletic brands, and maybe he's got a new endorsement coming up that she's letting him know about, which would be great because with how injury-prone Baylor is. He needs all the sources of cash flow he can get in case he pushes it too hard one day and ends his career.

I hate thinking about things like that, but we've discussed it more than a time or two. He's not unaware of how risky a player he is, and he does his best to stay healthy to try to mitigate some of that.

“Fine,” Clay snaps. “Settle it. I want it done.” He hangs up the phone, shaking his head. “Fucking agents.”

“Yours still giving you trouble?” I ask, taking my opening to cross the hallway and stand next to him. We talked about it at his house at one of the last parties. He had one of the best agents in the business—not as good as Elise—but someone who’d taken him on when he was in college. Clay sometimes talked about how he would ride his ass more than he thought he needed it ridden.

“Constantly,” Clay answers. “I think that's in the job description.”

“It isn't,” Elise says from where she stands. Baylor’s eyebrows raise as he looks between her and Clay. “Usually if an agent is giving you trouble, you have the wrong agent or the wrong attitude. Which do you think is most likely in your case?” she asks, a challenging look in her eye that screams she thinks it’s the latter.

Holy shit, this woman has zero fear. She looks up at Clay like he’s a puppy she can train instead of the grumpy NHL captain he is.

His scowl turns curious as he looks down at her. “It definitely isn't my attitude,” he says.

Elise looks him up and down, shrugging. “You sure, Kiplin? It seems every other time the media is reporting about a brawl on and off the ice, your name is written all over it. I know that if I was your agent, I would?—”

“You aren't,” he cuts her off, swinging open the locker room door and disappearing inside without a second glance.

Elise is still looking incredulously at the door by the time it closes, and I flash her an apologetic look.

“Your captain is as charming as ever,” she says to Baylor and me, then looks back to Baylor. “You'll look over the files I sent?”

“Absolutely,” Baylor answers. “Thanks, Elise.”

She nods at the two of us, adjusting her black blazer jacket despite it being immaculate, before she spins around and clicks the opposite direction.

“She's like Batman,” Baylor says, holding the door open for me as we head inside the locker room. “No fear.”

I laugh at that, shaking my head. “I guess you have to be that way if you're in the business of managing guys like us.”

“Definitely,” Baylor says, the two of us breaking off to head to our lockers.

Nash and Lawson are still in the various stages of taking off their gear, the two of them cringing and flinching just as much as me as I start to take off my own. Good, I'm not alone in the pain department.

“I'm just saying,” Nash says, eyeing Lawson. “Maybe you could like…wear her out or something before the next practice so she doesn't take it out on all of us. What did you do? Piss her off on the way to the arena?”

“Ha,” Lawson says, smiling and shaking his head. “Quite the opposite. I go out of my way to make that woman happy every single day. She just happens to be more athletic and in shape than any of us.”

I laugh. “I believe it and feel it,” I say, discarding my gear into my bag and wrapping a towel around my lower half.

“Still think you could up your efforts in the wearing out department,” Nash says, wrapping a towel around his hips. “I mean, honestly, if you took even a fourth of her energy levels down, we might not be so sore today.”

Lawson rolls his eyes. “All right, Nash,” he says. “Just for you, I'll up my game.”

We all laugh at that, and then Lawson is glancing toward me.

“How are things going with you, Pax?” he asks.

I shake my head. “From the way you're looking at me, Lawson, it seems like you already know.”

Nash laughs, giving me the same look Lawson is, and I roll my eyes.

“No secrets between those girls, huh?” I say playfully.

“Act like we’re not the same,” Nash says, tilting his head.

I nod. “Okay, fair,” I say. “And to answer your question, Lawson,” I continue. “Things are fucking great.”

Lawson and Nash whoop and clap, causing a small scene in the crowded locker room that has me shaking my head.

“So you two are like together together ?” Lawson asks. “Because Blakely hasn't answered me when I ask.”

I swallow hard, quashing the emotions that tangle my throat. “We're not putting any labels on it,” I say and silently reiterate that fact to myself.

I know Monroe. Labels, especially when they come to relationships, are the last thing she wants to talk about.

Nash hisses, looking at me with a hint of pity that I quickly wave off.

“None of that,” I quickly say. “The last six weeks have been some of the best of my life,” I continue. “So, I don't need either of your pity.”

“Noted,” Lawson says, flashing Nash a look before returning focus on me. “So, she's still living with you. Any signs of her moving into her own place on the horizon?”

“She's not even looking.” I’m unable to suppress my grin. “Which is good because she deserves time after what she's been through.”

Nash nods. “It's cool you can give Monroe a safe place to land?—”

Liam's forced laugh sounds right behind me, and I quickly whirl around. “She's still living with you? Talk about mooching off the charitable,” he snaps. He puffs his chest up like he’s preparing for a fight.

I note the move, cocking a brow at him. “Why are you getting all puffy, Liam?” I ask, Lawson and Nash laughing. “Do you actually think you're worth my time and energy to fight?”

“Oh, shit ,” Lawson says from my right.

“Fuck you, Ritchford,” Liam says like he's five years old. “I just think it's funny that she's still at your place. I mean, it's pretty obvious she's using you as a rebound. I didn't think your little friendship could get more pathetic than it already is with you rushing to help her anytime she picks up the phone.” He purses his lips. “It was so cute,” he says in a baby voice. “Fucking whipped.” He shakes his head before he stalks off to the showers.

“That guy is such an asshole,” Nash says.

“Like the mean kind of asshole, not just the grumpy kind like my bestie Kiplin,” Lawson adds, making sure Clay hears him from where he sits on a bench a few spaces down.

Kiplin flips Lawson off, but he’s glaring toward where Liam just stalked off.

“We should get him kicked off the team,” Nash says.

“The love of my life does happen to know the coach,” Lawson offers, the two of them and their instant support of me making me laugh, but I wave them off.

“Unnecessary,” I say, despite the sting of his jab winding tightly in my chest. I know Monroe better than he does, but that doesn't stop me from wondering if she is using me as a rebound or a convenience.

A package of pleasure and support and a safe place to land.

I quickly decide if she is, I don't fucking care. I'm happy to be whatever she needs me to be.

“He's not worth the energy,” I force myself to continue, working around the tight emotions in my throat. “And besides, we don't have to like the players we work with,” I say, and then smirk at Lawson. “I was certain I’d hate you the minute you skated onto the ice last season.”

Lawson covers his chest dramatically as if I've stabbed him in the heart. “You're supposed to be the nice one,” he says, his tone drenched in fake sadness. “I expect that shit from Clay, but not you, never you, Pax,” he says in a singsong voice that sends us all laughing and rolling our eyes.

“Give it a rest,” Clay says as he pushes off the bench and heads toward the showers.

“I'm still invited to the party this weekend right, bestie?” Lawson calls after him.

“Yes,” Clay snaps but then flips him off again. “Unless you keep running your mouth.”

Lawson mimes locking his lips with a key, but the effect is wasted because Clay has already disappeared to the showers.

Nash and I laugh though, and I appreciate my friends’ ability to help me shake off the tension I know will explode if I keep burying it like I do, but I honestly have no other choice.

If I press the issue and ask Monroe to define anything between us, she’ll bolt and freeze me out.

I've seen the situation unfold a dozen times before. Anytime a boyfriend tiptoed toward firm definitions.

I completely understand where she’s coming from, which is why no matter how hard it hurts, or how terrified it makes me, I won’t be the one to force the issue.

I meant it when I told her I wanted to be whatever she needed me to be for her, and I will continue to be that. Even if the day never comes where she tells me she wants me and only me forever.

And as much as that hurts, it only makes me that much more appreciative of every day I get to spend with her where I can pretend like she’s mine.