Page 36

THIRTY-SIX

carter

I slouch back against the wooden bench at The Penalty Box after the press conference, a deep sigh shuddering my chest. Droplets of condensation pebble the outside of the pilsner glass in front of me.

I stare at the beads of water as they slip down the side, Jack’s words replaying in my mind.

I loved you, too.

Loved.

Past tense.

Because I fucked up so royally.

And how stupid was I for thinking that chasing him to the elevator in a desperate attempt to win him back would ever turn out in my favor?

“So, ah,” Masterson says, tapping his fingers on the side of his glass.

“Can we talk about that video for a second?”

I raise my eyes to meet his, waiting.

“How long were you two, um, you know…together?” Tate asks.

“We weren’t ever together,” I say.

“I made sure to fuck things up real good before that ever happened.”

“So you were just hooking up?” Masterson asks.

Then he holds up his hands.

“I’m sorry. Not trying to be a nosy asshole here, I’m just trying to understand how you guys went from hating each other to…” He shrugs.

“You know. That .”

“I know things were pretty tense to start. We had a rocky history, yes. And that’s why Enver decided to throw us together. He wanted us to clear the air.”

Tate snickers.

“Mission accomplished.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet he never saw this coming.” I force a smile and massage the stress knot on the back of my neck.

“Did you always know?” Tate asks, leaning forward, a curious expression on his face.

“I mean, you were dating that blonde for a while. Did you ever think of guys that way, too?”

I shake my head.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I dated plenty of girls but ignored the fact that none of them ever really did it for me. And no, I never had a thing for any other guy. Jack’s the only one. Back in our junior hockey days, he kissed me but I freaked out because I didn’t know what it meant, and it kind of threw things into upheaval for me. It was the last time I saw him before coming to Oakland, and that history caused a lot of static between us. I convinced myself for years that he was just an arrogant prick rival, nothing more.” I rub the knot harder.

“Until it became more. Way more.”

“And now what?” Masterson asks before taking a long gulp of his beer.

“What happens next?”

“Now, nothing,” I say, my shoulders slumping.

“He doesn’t want anything to do with me because I was too much of a chicken shit to admit my feelings to him and to my family. I brought him home with me and he overhead me dismissing our friendship to my dad.” My clenched fists fall to the table.

“I am a fucking idiot. I wasn’t strong enough to tell my family the truth about who I am and how I really feel about Jack. I don’t blame him for wanting to steer clear of me. After all the pain he’d been through, he trusted that I wouldn’t hurt him and I did.”

“Did you tell him all of this?” Tate asks.

“I mean, if he cares about you, then I’d think you guys still have a chance to make things right.”

“I followed him out of the conference and told him I loved him.” I pick up my glass and take a sip of my beer.

“He told me it wasn’t enough for us to put the pieces back together. Maybe he’s right. How could he trust me again?”

“Well, in your defense, you were trying to figure things out,” Masterson offers.

“Right? I mean, this is a new thing for you.”

“Doesn’t matter. I hurt him and he doesn’t forgive. At all. And I knew that, too. Now I have to live with my mistakes.”

“I don’t know,” Tate says.

“I feel like there’s always a way to break through. If he cares about you, he should give you another chance. Maybe he just needs time to get past all this other shit. It’s a fucking lot .”

“I feel like I just piled on to everything else he’s dealing with,” I mutter, running my finger around the top of the glass.

“I want to be with him but I have to respect what he wants.”

“I don’t think it’s over.” Masterson smiles at me.

“I think if you want something, you have to make every effort to get it. If he pushes away, you push back harder.”

“This isn’t a hockey game,” I say.

“Isn’t everything? Hockey is life, VK.”

My lips curl upward into a small smile and I look up at the big screen television hanging over the bar where a bright red breaking news alert catches my attention.

I grip the edge of the table, my attention glued to the images on the screen.

“What the fu?—?”

But the rest of the words die on my tongue .

It’s Jack’s Audi smashed against a tree.

Ambulances, police cars, and flashing lights surround the wreck.

“No,” I mumble, staring at the words in the looping ribbon at the bottom of the screen.

“No, no, no, fucking no .”

Tate and Masterson twist in their chairs, all of us now locked onto the scene playing on the screen.

NHL star Jack Larson was in a car wreck in the northeast section of Oakland this afternoon after escaping an altercation where he’d been shot.

No word on his condition, but he was transported to Mercy Memorial Hospital for treatment.

I shoot up from the bench, damn near choking when my heart leaps into my throat.

Jack is hurt. Shot. Maybe…

No. I won’t even think it.

I have to go to him.

Tate and Masterson spring up from their chairs.

“Let’s go.”

I look at them, my gut wrenching hard.

“Okay,” I croak out.

We pile into my truck and I stomp on the gas, peeling away from the curb.

We sit in silence as I maneuver my way through the city streets, blood rushing between my ears.

I pull into the Emergency Department and stop the truck near the entrance, not bothering to take time to find a parking spot.

Let them tow me. Who gives a fuck?

I don’t waste a second and push through the revolving glass doors.

I run into the Emergency Room and stop at the reception desk, choking on every shallow breath.

“Jack Larson,” I pant.

“Is he okay?”

The nurses exchange a look.

One of them stands up.

“Sir, we’re not permitted to give out patient information unless you’re family.”

“He’s…my…brother,” I rasp.

“He’s got nobody else. Please, you have to tell me if he’s going to be all right.”

She purses her lips.

“Carter,” a voice calls out.

I turn to see Sam running into the room with Brixton right behind him.

“Is he okay? Have you heard anything yet?”

I shake my head.

“They won’t give me any information.”

Sam turns his attention to the nurse.

“Listen, we’re the only family he has. You have to let us see him.”

She sighs and motions for us to follow her into a corner where she speaks in a hushed voice.

“He’s in surgery right now. He came in with a gunshot wound and lost a lot of blood, so the doctors are working on repairing his arm. The airbag prevented him from going through the windshield, but when it deployed, it knocked his head against the window, giving him a brain contusion. We need to see how things look when he wakes up in a few hours.”

She leans toward me and drops her voice to a whisper.

“And for the record, I just saw a video on Reddit of you two kissing, so I know he’s really not your brother. But I’ll keep your secret and make sure to keep you both posted.”

I nod.

“Thank you.”

She walks back behind the desk and I pace in front of the row of chairs.

“I can’t believe this is happening. How the hell did he get shot? Where did he go after that press conference?”

Sam shakes his head.

“I have no idea. I tried calling him after he took off, but he didn’t answer.”

“He was in a bad area of Oakland,” Brixton says, shaking his head at his phone screen before he turns it to show us another social media post .

A chill slips down my spine.

“But why? What could he possibly be doing there? Alone? Why didn’t he…?” I swallow hard, my voice trailing off.

Because I know the answer to my own question.

He didn’t tell me where he was going or what he was doing because in his mind, it’s over between us.

I lost my right to know, to help him, and to support him.

“You know how headstrong Jack is. Whatever he did, wherever he went, he had a reason. Let’s just be thankful it wasn’t worse.”

I start pacing again.

“Goddammit, he’s hurt and it may be really bad. He should have told me. I could have helped.”

“And you might have gotten yourself shot, too.” Sam clasps a hand on my shoulder.

“I know you’re beating yourself up right now but stop. It won’t help Jack.”

“I messed up so badly. He hates me, maybe worse now than he ever did before.” I scrape a hand down the front of my face.

“I tried to tell him how I feel after the conference but he didn’t care.”

“I never told you it would be easy to win his forgiveness.”

“I won’t ever stop trying,” I say.

Sam nods. “Good, because he needs someone who’s willing to fight for him like nobody else ever has. Prove to him that you’re that person.”

“I will.”

Because I can’t lose him again.

I won’t survive.

And when he wakes up, I will find a way to make him believe that.