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TWO

carter

My pulse throbs hard against my throat as our icy glares tangle in the darkened silence of the corridor.

I shouldn’t be here right now.

I should’ve gone straight to the locker room.

But the press assault on Jack Larson grabbed my attention and yeah, I wanted to see the asshole squirming in the hot seat.

He fucking deserved to be knocked off his throne, walking around here like his hockey stick is a goddamn triton.

He’s not the only one on this team with what it takes to be a winner, not the only one who got paid a shit ton to relocate out here.

So I followed him.

Cornered him after the press lashed out.

And fuck me, memories of that night years ago hit me like a brick to the chest.

Anger rumbles deep inside, knotting in my gut, ready to erupt.

My lips twist into a snarl, my breaths shallow as Jack’s arrogant expression darkens.

That kiss we shared…

shit, it scared the hell out of me.

And yeah, I may have reacted badly, but he had no idea why .

He didn’t give me a chance to apologize or explain before he cut out my heart and exposed my deepest fears.

I fucking hate him for that.

“You should have kept your showboating shit in New York,” I say.

I grind my teeth together as unwarranted, fiery rage shoots into my limbs.

Years of pent-up anger course through me.

I went to him that night because he was upset.

We were close, or so I thought.

And I knew he needed a friend.

Shame on me for thinking he had the capacity to give a shit about anyone but himself.

Something about Jack intrigued me from the second I saw him.

I studied him, his shooting style, the way he moved on the ice, his workout regimen, everything.

I wanted to be just like him, to shine like he did.

The other guys on our junior hockey team kept their distance because he was aloof and quiet.

They assumed he just had a superiority complex.

But I couldn’t stay away.

His aura, his confidence, his swagger—it all pulled me in.

And we became friends.

Close friends.

He never really opened up about his past, though.

Only about what he wanted for the future.

We spent a lot of time talking about how we’d play in the NHL together someday.

Jack pretty much kept to himself when we weren’t together.

Only one guy on the team knew of Jack because he lived in a neighboring town.

Kyle Donovan, one of the biggest, entitled pricks I’ve ever met.

He joined the team midway through the season and being jealous as hell of Jack, was determined to outshine him no matter what.

So when Coach Dalton announced that Jack was drafted by the AHL San Mateo Condors, Kyle lost it because he wanted that spot.

On the last night of junior hockey camp, he spewed some shit about Jack’s deadbeat dad and broken family, just to tear him down.

Jack went nuts. Beat the shit out of Kyle, and then took off.

I went after him.

I had no fucking idea what would happen next.

And him kissing me wasn’t even close to the true cause of my shock.

I wrap my gloved fingers tight around my hockey stick.

“Actually, you should have just stayed in New York with the rest of the league’s assholes. Nobody wants you out here.”

I swallow hard, pent-up ire bubbling up to choke me.

He left me drowning that night.

And ever since I heard we were both drafted to Oakland, all that anger and pain completely consumed me again.

Just like it is right now.

Jack’s green eyes flash with the cockiness that only comes with having a Stanley Cup championship at the top of a long resume of athletic achievements dating back to junior hockey days.

My back stiffens.

It was always easier to hate him than to process what happened between us.

To process what’s flared to life again since he showed up in Oakland.

“I didn’t ask to come out here. Team management begged me to take their deal. They wanted someone who wouldn’t crack under pressure. So I really don’t know why they came looking for you ,” Jack says, his pompous-ass voice grating against my ears.

Holy shit, this guy has balls.

I take a deep breath to stop myself from pummeling him with my stick.

“You always thought you were such hot shit.”

“And you’re pissed off because you’re not?” he says, a hint of a smirk lifting his lips.

“How is that my problem? ”

I want to pound this fucking guy’s head against the wall so badly right now.

My voice shakes as I move closer to him, the heady smell of his sweat stinging my nostrils.

I breathe him in like I need to store up his scent, like I don’t want to forget it.

As if I ever did.

I press my lips together.

No. Fuck no .

That night didn’t mean shit.

He was upset and vulnerable.

And I…fuck, I was confused.

Conflicted. And something foreign swarmed my mind, something that shocked the shit out of me, something I didn’t understand.

I didn’t know what was happening to me so I thought…

I tried to…

I suck in a breath.

It was one time. One really strange and fleeting moment that made me think and feel things I never had before.

I chalked it up to all the pressure I was under, the hopes of being drafted to the AHL, the uncertainty about whether or not I was good enough, being faced with the reality that maybe I just wasn’t…

no matter how hard I tried.

It all messed with my head.

So did what happened with Jack.

Being friends with him was bittersweet because he was so damn good, it made me doubt my own ability.

I guess I was jealous, too, always being compared to him, never measuring up.

And he used that against me.

The asshole fucking shattered me.

For years, I trained tirelessly every day, getting up at the crack of dawn to work out, to practice, to do everything and anything I could to be the best.

Except I wasn’t, not as long as Jack was around .

And it pissed me off, always feeling like I’d never be recognized by NHL scouts even though I lived, ate, slept, and breathed hockey.

That was part of the reason why I was so drawn to Jack.

I felt like maybe if I mimicked him and played like him, I’d be recognized, too.

It didn’t work that way.

When we played junior hockey together, he never had to work for anything he achieved.

Everything came naturally to him.

Then he got out, got exactly what he wanted.

And I was left behind with all of those unresolved feelings and without any offers to join an AHL team.

Hell, I didn’t know if I was going to make it beyond college hockey.

What happened that night always hung over me like a black cloud, a harsh reminder of what I might never achieve.

Jack became a true all-star, always in the public eye.

And years later, when he picked up with Sam Hartley, the tight end for the Oakland Saints, they were a golden double.

He was on top of the world.

Until recently, it looked like he might stay there.

Can’t say I wasn’t a little happy to read about his love life imploding on the pages of every print and online tabloid.

“None of the guys need a spotlight shining on them for validation,” I say.

“We play as a team. No one person is more important than another. Maybe the Renegades were cool with you stealing the show, but other teams play for the collective win.”

“And since you obviously didn’t have too many of those when you were with the Washington Panthers,” he says.

“Maybe you should change up your strategy. ”

I shake my head, a sharp laugh escaping my lips.

“For the life of me, I can’t imagine why Sam Hartley chose Brixton Scott over you,” I spew, sarcasm dripping from my words.

“That must’ve stung, huh? I know how much you like your picture to be slathered all over the news.” With a shrug, I force my lips upward.

“But who knows? You keep fucking up like you did tonight, and I guarantee the press will have your mug all over the place.”

“Green isn’t your best color, Van Kleef. You really should find a new one.” His narrowed eyes cloud over, the smirk dropping from his lips.

“And don’t talk shit about things you don’t understand. My personal life is none of your goddamn business. Just because we’re teammates doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“No, you made sure of that a long time ago, didn’t you?” I growl.

He stiffens. “Maybe you should get a life of your own instead of worrying so much about mine.”

“As if I give a crap about what you do off the ice.”

Something swirls in the air around me, making my heart thump hard and heavy in my chest. I manage to squeeze out my next words, my throat tight.

“You’re not a god, much as you want to believe you are.”

“I think you should shut the hell up now before you say something I’m gonna make you regret.” Jack edges closer, his eyes taking on a menacing glare.

My temples throb. His look is meant to ward me off but somehow, it has the opposite effect.

A faint ringing sound echoes in my ears.

I dig my stick into the concrete floor, trying to grab onto the thoughts blasting through my mind.

What. The. Hell?

Jack’s chest practically grazes mine and my mind suddenly blanks out for a brief second, all of the toxic thoughts I’ve had, the words I’ve imagined saying fizzling to white noise.

The collar of my jersey clings to my skin, sucking it tight like a noose.

“The whole world doesn’t live in your shadow, Larson,” I rasp when my mouth finally decides to wake up.

“You think you’re untouchable because you’re a star. But your star is starting to dim. And when it goes dark, nobody will give a shit about you anymore. You’ll have nothing.”

And with that last word, I turn and leave because fuck him .