Page 8

EIGHT

carter

I half-listen to the guys talking, my real focus is on Jack over at the bar.

He’s standing close to that guy.

My eyes narrow slightly.

After all the booze he’s sucked back during the first set, I don’t know how the hell he’s still upright.

“That’d be great,” Masterson says.

“I’d love to help.” He nudges me.

“What about you, VK? You got time in your schedule to help the kids?”

Kids?

What the hell did I miss?

I clear my throat. “Sorry, I, uh, didn’t catch that. Damn music is so loud.”

Sam flips me a curious look.

“I was just saying that Play It Forward, the organization I volunteer for, is hosting a series of donor sporting events for celebrity athletes. Kind of like all-star teams. The more athletes we can recruit, the more games we can host, and the more money we can raise.”

“Yeah, for sure. I’d love to help. Anything you guys need.”

Sam smiles.

“That’s great news. I recruited Brixton and Jack to volunteer a while back, and Bryce Maxwell and I have been there from the beginning. Between us, I think we can get some awesome teams together. People love celebrity exhibition games. We’ll have them out here and in Ohio to start. And then, depending on how much of a turnout we get, we can take the show on the road. Jase Maxwell and Lucas Bentley, the founders, are trying to find new locations for additional centers. Maybe New York will be next.”

I’d really like to ask more about Play It Forward, but I suspect Sam already explained all of the details while I was zoning in on Jack and his newest groupie.

So I keep my mouth shut and try not to expose any more of my ignorance.

After all, I can google the details later.

Masterson edges closer while Tate leans toward Sam to continue their conversation.

“Hey, what’s up, bro? You’re on another planet right now.” He smirks and nods over at Livvie.

“Wait, lemme guess, you’re thinking of all the shit you’re gonna do to her when you get her home later, yeah?” He claps me on the back.

“You’re living the dream, VK.”

I try to smile but fail.

Epically.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind with the game coming up this weekend.” I steal a glance at the bar and my stomach clenches when I see the guy sign something.

He’s leaving.

“You’re good. So you fucked up at practice a little bit. Everyone does. We can’t all be Larson, you know?”

I yank my gaze back to Masterson.

“What did you say?”

“Must be nice not to have to worry about your spot. I mean, Oakland paid through the nose to get him out of his New York contract. Larson is the highest-paid player in the NHL right now.”

“Yeah, well, nothing is a guarantee. Enver just chewed him out after that last game for not being a team player.”

Masterson laughs and takes a sip of his beer.

“Gimme a break. Oakland is never gonna let him go now that they have him. They’ll fire Enver’s ass before they let Jack go. They brought him here to win, no matter what.” He shrugs.

“It’s great to be number one. At least we got him on our side, you know?”

Jack’s groupie leans in to say something to Jack and then leaves him at the bar.

I fist my hair, following him with my eyes as he moves through the crowd.

“I’ll be right back.”

I don’t give Masterson a chance to stop me before making a beeline to the men’s room.

But I don’t get that far.

The guy stops once he rounds a corner and pulls out a cell phone.

The screen flashes, looking like he’s getting a call or text.

The narrow hallway is dark and quiet-ish.

He sticks a finger in his ear and puts the phone to his ear.

I duck behind a column, straining to hear what he’s saying.

“Hey, I’ve got him. We’re leaving in a few minutes. I’ll text when we get there. Make sure everything is ready.”

What the everloving fuck?

Anger bubbles in my chest, and as soon as he ends the call, I’m around the corner with my hands fisting the sides of his shirt.

“What the fuck game are you pulling?” I growl, slamming him against the wall.

A look of shock flickers in his eyes, then his face relaxes into a smile.

“If you were into him, you should have done something about it sooner.”

“I heard your phone call. What the fuck was that all about?” I say through gritted teeth, my fists clutching him tight.

He puts his hands on top of my fists.

“I don’t think you want an assault charge slapped on you, VK. Am I right? You know, since you’re probably one breath away from being traded again. ”

Heat rushes into my neck, rage flooding me.

“I don’t know who you are but stay the hell away from him. Understand?”

“What, are you his keeper or something?” The guy doesn’t seem at all fazed that I still have my hands on him.

“Like it or not, he’s coming home with me. So why don’t you just step the fuck off?”

I slam him against the wall before dropping his shirt.

He smooths the front of it.

The vein in my throat hammers hard, ready to explode.

But this prick knows who I am.

And I’m not drunk enough to make the dumbass decision of cracking my fist against his jaw like some fucking cretin.

“What the hell is going on here?”

I twist around.

Jack stands behind me, a pissed-off look on his face.

“VK, what the fuck are you doing?”

The guy rolls his eyes.

“I think he got a little jealous.” He glowers at me and pushes past to get to Jack.

“But we’re done. Let’s get out of here.”

“Jack, don’t go with him.” I drop my voice and put a hand on his arm.

“I heard him on the phone. I don’t think he’s a good guy. He’s after something. Ask him about it, for fuck’s sake.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to cockblock me right now. And you say I’m a selfish prick.” He lets out a dry laugh.

My throat tightens as Jack backs me against the wall, his green eyes spitting fire.

“So lemme get this straight. You get to go home and fuck your bubble head girlfriend and I have to go home alone because you can’t keep your nose out of my business? Guess what? I’m a big boy.” He shakes his head.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long damn time. I don’t need anyone’s help. Especially yours.”

“I’m telling you, he’s planning something and if you leave with him, I’m worried that he’ll?— "

“Worry about yourself, VK. Trust me, there’s plenty to keep you occupied.” He steps back, jaw twitching as he scrubs a hand down the front of his flushed face. “Leave me alone,” he mutters. “I’m not your fucking problem to fix. I never was.”

I let out an unsteady breath, my head jerking to the guy. He flips me off, a malicious smirk on his face. Then he grabs Jack’s arm and pulls him closer. “Fuck him. Let’s go.”

Jack lances me with one last glare before turning his back on me.

The crowd swallows them as they push past the people on the dance floor.

I lean back against the wall, my heart thundering as I replay his words.

“Worry about yourself, VK. Trust me, there’s plenty to keep you occupied.”

I swallow hard, fisting the sides of my hair.

He’s right. And that fear of never being good enough has followed me around for years. I made the NHL by the skin of my damn teeth and Jack knows it. I was lucky to get drafted to Washington. I worked harder than I have for anything else in my life to get ahead and here I am, back again in Jack’s shadow.

Masterson knows it. Everyone knows it.

And the fact that Jack is stirring up these crazy feelings inside of me is only more of a distraction from proving myself to the team, the coaches, the fans, my family.

For years, my dad couldn’t shut up about Jack and how shocked he was that I was playing in the same league as him. He loved knowing we were friends and encouraged me to learn as much as I could from him. But I guess that’s what happens when you grow up the only son of a college hockey star who’d have gone pro if he hadn’t gotten an injury that took him out of the game.

It was bad enough that everyone compared my athletic abilities to my dad’s while I was growing up. But when your own father compares your level of talent to the guy who has the magic you’d expect the son of a true hockey god to have, it fucking hurts.

I always made my own way. Even with my dad’s influence, I didn’t look for special treatment or opportunities, not that I was good enough to get them anyway.

Everything I have comes from my own hard work. Period.

And for a long time, it looked like my hockey career was going to end after college.

But I got lucky and I didn’t waste the chance to make a future for myself.

That future isn’t guaranteed, though.

I wake up every day with that reality hanging over me.

Jack is now a damn big part of it, bigger than I want to admit.

And way bigger than I’m prepared to handle.

Masterson pokes his head around the corner. “Hey, I was looking for you. I think you might’ve lost Livvie to Lane Maxwell tonight,” he says, pointing at the stage where Livvie is standing, her eyes glued to the drummer. “Sorry, dude.”

My shoulders slump, my eyes locked on Jack’s back as he and the dickhead guy emerge from the crowd on the opposite side of the dance floor.

I guess I should care that my on-again girlfriend is making a play for another guy right under my nose.

But as Jack and his fuck buddy head out the front door of the bar, only one thought assaults my brain.

I wish it was me.