Page 10

TEN

carter

By the time I get on the plane the next day, Jack is already buried in the back row against the window of the chartered plane.

His face is covered by dark sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

I know it’s him because he’s had that LA Dodgers cap since the days we played junior hockey together.

It’s faded and the brim is a little frayed all these years later, but it’s his.

I’d bet my left nut on that.

The duffel bag occupying the seat next to him is a clear signal that he wants to be left alone.

Heat bubbles deep in my chest. I guess he must’ve had a late night.

Grinding my teeth together, I find an empty seat next to Masterson and collapse into it.

He gives me a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, man.”

I furrow my brow.

“About what?”

“Seriously?”

I shrug.

“Not sure what you mean.”

He leans in close.

“That chick you brought last night? Taking off with the band after the show? You’re not even a little bit pissed off?”

“I couldn’t give a shit less,” I say.

“We’re not exclusive. Haven’t really ever been. If she wants to be in the middle of a gang bang with those guys, that’s on her.”

Masterson makes a face.

“Fuck. She’s gonna be a walking STD, bro. I hope your dick doesn’t end up falling off because of what you might catch from her.”

“Thanks, my dick has no intention of being anywhere near her ever again,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“I think last night kind of confirmed that we’re over for good.”

He claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Good. I mean, she’s hot, but what the fuck? She’d have sucked Lane’s dick right there on stage if he asked.”

My lips press together.

“Not helping, Masterson.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, man.” He shakes his head.

“Look, I didn’t mean to overstep. I know we haven’t known each other long. Didn’t mean to be an ass.”

“I appreciate it. And for the record, you’re not an ass. You’re just being a friend.” I rub the back of my neck, the stress knot lodged there because of all the tossing and turning I did last night waiting for sleep that never came.

And it wasn’t because of Livvie and Lane, either.

He grins. “Don’t worry. There are plenty more fish in the sea. I heard the flight attendants whispering about you when I got up to take a leak before. You won’t be lonely long, bro.”

I relax against the push seat and loosen my tie.

If the flight attendants were carbon copies of the famous LSU gymnast Livvy Dunne, I wouldn’t have noticed since I was too focused on Jack sprawled in that seat and wondering what the fuck has him so goddamn tired out.

I grip the armrests, my fingertips numbing from the pressure as we taxi down the runway, preparing for takeoff.

Then I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the scenes my mind has been working overtime to concoct of Jack and that fucking dickhead guy.

How could he leave with him?

How could he be so ignorant about that guy’s true intentions?

What if he filmed a video of them fucking and is getting paid to leak it to the press?

I heard him say something about “having everything ready.”

What the hell did he want to have ready?

My temples throb, the engine of the plane growling loudly as we gain altitude.

Three hours and six minutes.

That’s how long it took to get to the private airfield outside of Columbus.

But with these frenzied thoughts polluting my brain, it feels like we’ve been stuck in the air for half the damn day.

The team files out the door of the plane but I linger, waiting for Jack to finally get out of his recliner.

One of the flight attendants rushes toward me.

She bends down to scoop something off the floor and holds out her hand.

I smile and take the sunglass case from her.

“Thanks. I didn’t even realize it slipped out.”

“No problem,” she says.

Her cheeks are bright pink, eyes a deep blue.

Masterson glances back at me and gives me a not-so-subtle thumbs-up.

She pretends not to notice.

I clear my throat, turning when Jack stands up and hoists his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m a really big fan,” she says in a hopeful voice, a bright smile stretching her shiny pink lips.

“Maybe if you don’t have plans tonight, we could get dinner or something?”

Fuck.

Jack walks toward us, his head down, bag slung over his shoulder.

He pulls the cap down even lower.

“Thanks, I’d love to except we, ah, have pretty strict rules about going out the night before games.” I grin and shrug.

“ Don’t want to piss off the coach since I’m still a newbie, you know?”

I rush out the words, keeping Jack in my sight as he passes.

That’s when I see the blueish purple mark near the corner of his left eye.

I hold out my hand to the girl and pump it a couple of times before rushing after him.

I’m practically on his heels as we walk down the steps and can’t help but notice that his movements are stiff.

“Hey,” I say once we hit the pavement.

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look up.

I tug the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“What the fuck? You don’t even?—”

He turns his head slightly toward mine, his bottom lip swollen.

“Can’t you take a hint? I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Well, that’s going to be a little hard considering that we’re rooming together while we’re here.”

“Shit, shower, sleep. None of that requires talking. So why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?” He stalks toward the bus, leaving me no choice but to follow him.

He gets on, finds a row with two empty seats and dumps his bag next to him again.

Masterson waves me over and I drop into the blue-cushioned seat.

He nods toward Jack.

“What’s up with him? He took off last night without saying anything. Was he alone?”

“I don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”

Masterson holds up his hands.

“Whoa. I’m not the Spanish Inquisition, man. I know you guys were teammates back in the day. Just curious if he told you anything since he’s barely said a word since he showed up at the airport back in Oakland.”

“Sorry.” I scrub a hand down the front of my face.

“I figured he was making an effort so we didn’ t all think he was a tightwad elitest scumbag. Maybe he decided to say fuck it.”

“Maybe,” I mumble.

Anger gathers force deep in my gut during the short bus ride to the hotel.

I told him to stay the fuck away from that guy.

What the hell could have happened?

I’ve cracked all of my knuckles and toes by the time we get to the back entrance of the hotel.

Enver and the manager get off the bus and return a few minutes later.

One of the assistant coaches walks down the narrow aisle and hands hotel room keycards to us.

I clutch mine tight and spring up from the seat.

Jack is ahead of me.

He walks fast, bypassing the elevator.

Then he pulls open a door and disappears behind it.

Stairwell.

Goddammit.

Even though the staff shut down part of the hotel for us, it’s still going to take ten years for us all to get upstairs in two elevator cars.

After what feels like a forever stretch of time, I get into an elevator with Tate and Masterson.

They’re making plans for dinner at a nearby steakhouse.

“You in?” Masterson asks.

“Thanks, but my dad is in town on business. I’m going to meet him and get back early.”

“Smart.” Tate winks at me.

“Responsible. Using Enver’s ass as a hat because you’re the team noob.”

My chest tightens at that.

Newbie. Again.

Nobody calls Jack a newbie.

He’s been on this team for the exact amount of time I have, but none of the guys playfully accuse him of trying to suck up to Enver .

He doesn’t need to.

He’s a god, and then there’s the rest of us.

And I’m the one who’ll never measure up.

His words, ones I’ve never forgotten, and they cut deeper than any others I’ve ever heard.

“Enjoy your early-bird special,” Tate taunts me as I walk into the hallway.

I flip them off and manage a tight smile before the elevator doors close.

Then, like I’m walking a death march, I square my shoulders and head toward the room.

I drop my bag on the floor once I walk inside the empty room.

The faucet in the bathroom stops running a second later and Jack walks out in a gray wife beater and black basketball shorts.

His messy hair falls over his sullen green eyes in that sexy, just fucked way that I’ve fantasized about for too long to admit.

“Jesus,” I say, my jaw dropping.

The bruises are angry, dark, and swollen.

“You know, you’re not going to be able to wear your cap and sunglasses to the game tomorrow. Everyone will see what happened. They’ll ask. You can’t just shut them down.”

“I can handle myself just fine,” he growls.

“Doesn’t look like it. I told you that fucking guy was bad news.”

Jack lets out a sharp laugh and pulls on his socks and sneakers.

“That’s what you’ve been waiting for? A chance to say ‘I told you so’?” He looks at me, his gaze darkening.

“Yeah. You were right. Okay? Leaving with him was a stupid decision.”

He springs up from the bed.

He’s got a couple of inches on me, so when he backs me against the wall, I’m forced to look up at him.

Which I’m sure he loves because he’s such a goddamn egoist.

“What happened?” I ask in a quiet voice.

“Why did he hit you?”

Jack lets out a scoff.

“Don’t ask about shit you’re never gonna understand. Go live your perfect little bubble of a life and keep your questions to yourself. My life isn’t up for discussion. Period. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to cry on your shoulder. I just wanna be left alone.”

He pushes past me but I don’t let him go.

I grab onto his arm, his muscles tensing under my fingers.

He lets out a deep sigh but doesn’t look back at me.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry. I really am.”

That’s when he twists his head toward me, an icy hand snaking tight around my heart when I see a flicker of sadness bleed into his expression.

“I don’t need your pity. Save it for someone who gives a shit.”

I tighten my grip on his arm.

“You don’t always have to shut everyone out, Jack. Not everyone.” I take a deep breath.

“Not me.”

“Yes, I do. Especially you.” His eyes drop to where my fingers wrap around him.

“Just let me go.”

***

A few hours later, I toy with my fork in the lobby restaurant, the scene in the hotel room looping through my mind.

My dad finishes cutting his steak and puts his utensils down.

“What’s wrong, Carter? You’ve barely touched your food. You nervous about the game tomorrow? ”

“Not really.”

I take a long sip of my water then put the glass on the table.

Droplets of condensation slip down the sides of the glass.

I stare at them as they hit the chipped wooden tabletop.

“You’re going to prove yourself to this team. You’re a strong player, and they know what they got when they took you in that trade. Your heart?—”

“Heart isn’t always enough.” I raise my eyes to my dad.

“You can have all the heart in the world but talent takes over. You know that.”

“You can still be a leader even if you’re not the best.” Dad folds his fingers together.

“I’ve always told you that and you’ve taken to that role.”

“I know, Dad. You remind me over and over how not being the best is okay, how being a good leader is just as important.” My tone is snippy and I cut myself off before I can say more.

“Where’s this coming from?” Dad asks.

“Why so tense? You must be excited to play with your friend Jack Larson again. Talk about a world-class athlete. He must have gotten a lot of money to leave New York.”

I just stare at my father, shaking my head.

“Not that you should be ashamed of what you got in your contract,” he hurriedly says.

“But Jack is a different story. He always was. Except…”

Dad’s voice trails off and my eyes pop open wide when Jack walks out of the elevator.

He must’ve just gotten out of the shower, his skin pink and hair slicked back.

He’s in a t-shirt now and a different pair of basketball shorts.

Still sullen. Still bruised.

Still gorgeous.

My heart immediately stutters and my throat tightens as he gets closer.

It’s like his presence alone sucked all the air out from the room.

“…it must be difficult for him to be a gay player in the NHL. I don’t care how talented you are, that will always be a stigma you carry. It will always cloud your success.”

I look back to my dad.

“It’s not like a disease, you know. It’s who he is. He shouldn’t be crucified for it. Not like he had a choice in the matter.”

A surprised look clouds Dad’s expression.

“No, I understand that, but people are narrow-minded, no matter how much of a superstar you are. Times are still challenging. There’s a lot of intolerance. I would never want that for you. And besides, you already have your own challenges. You’re competing with the best. You don’t need any other strikes against you.”

I pick up my fork again and drag it through the heaping pile of mashed potatoes on my barely touched plate.

My own challenges.

Fuck, there are too many to count.

Out of the corner of my eye, I track Jack at the bar, his face buried in his phone.

He suddenly turns as if he feels me watching and meets my curious gaze.

The loneliness in his expression makes my heart clench.

And I realize that my next greatest challenge isn’t how I navigate the ice.

It’s the guy staring right back at me.