Page 9
Chapter Eight
GREYSON
Ever since Stella came to my first game of the season two weeks ago, something has shifted in me. Before her presence at the starting game, playing was barely more than a second thought. It was as simple as hit the ice, get the puck, score, and leave.
Now it’s as if I’m noticing everything for the first time since I first played.
Swallowing thickly, I tell myself I’ll deal with that revelation later.
All the noise of the arena fades as the puck drops to the ice. Landon is faster than the other guy, winning the face-off and immediately slapping the puck toward me. It hits my stick and I adjust like it’s second nature, moving into the other team’s defense zone and scanning for my next move. From the corner of my eye, I catch the black-and-blue jersey as the player speeds toward me. I don’t have time to do anything more than glance to my left.
Quickly, I snap the puck in the direction that I know Dominik and Landon should be just as the Colorado Yeti player slams into me. My back hits the board and the weight of the opposing player crushes against me just as the buzzer sounds throughout the arena. I look up at the jumbo overhead screen, watching the replay of Dominik getting possession of the puck before teaming up with Landon to score the goal, officially tying the game in the third period.
The guy who slammed me into the boards cusses, sparing me a quick “you good?” look. I nod, finally noticing the player before me as the team’s rookie, Romeo Gomez. He’s made quite the impression in the hockey world since getting signed onto Colorado’s “new” and improved team.
The team on the ice against us is a night and day difference from what they used to be. Dominik transferred from the old team, formerly known as the Colorado Cougars, and they were a mess when he left them. From what Dom had said, there was no trust, shit communication, and poor upper management. Then the team tanked so badly last year that it wasn’t much of a shock to any of us when a sale was announced at the end of last season.
Whatever the new management and coaches are doing, it’s working. The new Colorado Yetis are so good, it surprised all of us during the first period. Now we’ll be heading into overtime if we can’t score in the next ten minutes.
Which is exactly what happens.
The electric energy of a win dangling right at our fingertips buzzes through me. As we wait for the ice crew members to finish up so we can line up for the overtime face-off, I notice how alive I’ve felt during this entire game.
Shifting my focus back to the face-off, I eye the Colorado player across from me as we wait for the puck to drop. Hunter Riggs practically radiates dominance as he lowers into position. We catch each other’s eye, and I find myself biting back a taunting smirk. Something in my gut tells me the game is ours, but I’m never the one to be cocky and tease our opponents. Hell, I rarely get into fights on or off the ice.
The puck drops and it’s only a matter of minutes before we have complete control. Dom dodges the Yetis’ rookie and passes me the puck. I don’t even think it through as I take the shot to the net and score the winning goal.
My chest tightens and this time when Landon throws an arm around my shoulder, I don’t immediately shrug him off.
We go through the motions, shaking hands with the other team and handing out repetitive “good game” mumbles before heading to the locker room.
We listen to Coach congratulate us, then sit through Landon’s speech about us starting the season with a winning streak. Not that we need the motivation. Everyone here is eager to prove we have what it takes to make it to the championship this year. Considering how close we had been, having almost made it last year, only to lose in overtime and not make it to the final game.
Dean throws himself down beside me, shaking the entire bench as he bounces his knee.
“You coming with us to meet up with Valencia for a drink?” he asks, bending forward to tie his shoe. I knew some of them had made the plans before we got into town to meet up with our old social media manager, but going out after a game is a hard pass for me.
If I’m not actively playing or traveling for a game, going out past ten at night is always a no. I am not built for late nights.
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No. My mom scheduled a phone call for after the game and would kill me if I canceled.”
It’s not a complete lie. My mother really is very particular about our scheduled phone calls. To say she freaked out the one time I did miss a call would be an understatement. She was five minutes from the airport by the time I remembered to look at my phone. In her eyes, the only reason I wasn’t answering was because I had to be in the hospital again. Getting caught up with extra time on the ice was not an acceptable excuse either.
I shiver at the memory of her crying on the phone and finally realize Dean is frozen beside me. The shoelaces slip from his fingers, and he slowly tilts his head to look at me. It takes me longer than it should to figure out why he looks so shocked.
“Dude. I didn’t even know you had a mom.” He gasps and for some reason I will not be looking further into, my stomach swoops with guilt. Surely, I’ve mentioned my family before.
Yet for the life of me, I can’t think of a time when I would have opened up about anything.
Glancing away and clearing my throat, I push up from the bench.
“Doesn’t everyone have a mom?” I try to joke back, but even I can tell it falls flat. Luckily, Dominik and Landon come over and save me from the awkwardness.
“You heading back to the hotel too?” Landon asks me, shifting the strap of his bag up on his shoulder. I simply nod, unable to find the words now.
“Same. I’m exhausted,” Landon says without missing a beat and moves to my side. “You’d think by now I’d be used to hotel beds, but I swear, somehow I still can’t sleep unless I’m in my own bed.”
With a wave to the guys, Landon and I make our way across the locker room.
“Boo!” Dean calls out when we reach the door. “You guys are no fun.”
“Sorry not all of us have an endless supply of energy like you do, Squirrel,” Landon yells back over his shoulder.
Luckily, the bus ride back to the hotel is short and neither Landon nor any of the other guys who chose to turn in try to talk to me. Which is normally something I’ve always welcomed before. Only now, with all these damn revelations I’ve had recently, I suddenly feel like a shitty teammate. The guys don’t include me in their conversations because I’ve only ever shut them down when they have tried. The idea of small talk or “shooting the shit” never interested me before, so why the hell is it suddenly bothering me that they’re giving me the seclusion I used to crave?
By the time we make it to the hotel, I’ve spiraled so far into my mind that I’m absolutely dreading getting on the phone. At least I can count on my mom to be oblivious to my miserable mood, knowing she’ll likely ramble on and on about the latest drama at the golf club or whatever stupid thing my father did since we last spoke.
I just need to manage a hello, a few grunts of agreement, and a goodbye, then I can be left alone. That is until Dominik gets back from the bar since we room together during away games.
Checking the time as I enter the hotel, I bite back a groan when I realize I won’t have time to shower. I’d be surprised if I even manage to make it into my room before she calls. I rinsed off in the locker room after the game. But I never quite feel clean enough until I can take my time and shower without a bunch of other naked dudes around me.
Once back at the hotel, I make an effort to at least acknowledge the guys who head toward the bar, ignoring their shocked expressions, and head up to my room. Luckily, Landon agreed to one drink with the team here before he turns in, so I have the elevator to myself. The doors have barely finished opening to my floor when my phone rings.
Biting back my sigh, I hit the accept button. “Hey, Ma.”
“That was a close game,” she says by way of greeting. It’s not something I take offense to. If anyone thinks that I hate small talk, they should meet Kelly Moreno. She always gets straight to the point.
“The Yetis are good,” I tell her while pressing my room key card to the sensor. Tonight’s game was close because both sides showed up to win. It’s that simple.
“Maybe if you hadn’t shortened your time on the ice, it wouldn’t have been such a tight game.”
I blink, dropping my bag in the corner of the room. “It was a seven-second difference from my last game.”
“We both know that’s enough time to score.”
It takes more effort than normal not to lash out at her harsh critique. My mother has always been a fierce supporter of my hockey career. Not always to this extreme, though. Back in high school, I’d be lucky if she and my father showed up for one game during the season. They made sure I always had working gear and equipment and always made time for “debrief breakfast” the morning after a game.
This intense attention and criticism only started after the accident.
She made sure I had a full staff of physical therapists to work with to regain full strength and agility on the ice. At the time, I was both heartbroken and physically set back. If it were up to teenage me, I would have told the university in Boston to take back their hockey scholarship offer and given up on the sport altogether.
One call from Kelly Moreno and they held my spot until the following season.
That’s when she went all in on making sure I succeeded. For the first time in my life, she was showing up at practices and coming to scrimmages held by a local hockey league. By the time I was ready to head off to Boston, she went from rarely being by my side, to the one person I could depend on cheering for me. Even all the way in Georgia, if she couldn’t watch my game live, she’d find some way to get her hands on a recording the second the game was over by using her power of persuasion. AKA—her wallet.
That woman has never met a problem that money couldn’t fix for her.
It’s something that hasn’t changed even when I made it to the professional leagues. Fans who hate blackout games should really get in touch with her to figure out how she manages to watch every single game regardless of who’s streaming or not.
“At least we won,” I grumble, dropping to sit on the edge of my bed.
“I suppose.” She hums in acknowledgment. “Anyway, we can talk about your performance tonight another time. There’s something far more pressing we need to address at the moment.”
“And what would that be?” I let out a heavy breath, scrubbing my free hand down my face as I wait for her to start in on whatever world-shattering drama she has going on now.
“Don’t play coy with me, Greyson William Moreno.”
My spine straightens at the use of my full name, knowing she only pulls that out in extremely serious situations.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Frantically, I try to figure out what she could be referring to. We’ve only had five games so far, and we’ve won every single one. More than that, I’ve been at the top of my performance.
Her tone is dripping in annoyance when she answers. “I saw the pictures.”
I stare at the dull multicolored carpet at my feet, trying and failing to decipher the meaning of her statement.
“You saw pictures…” I muse out loud, hoping it’ll trigger something, but it doesn’t. There are probably less than one hundred pictures on my phone, and I’d be surprised if more than ten were actually taken by me . I couldn’t say the last time I even wanted to take a picture.
That’s a lie…
My throat tightens as I recall the ungodly amount of times I would pull out my phone to snap a picture of Stella. Back then, I was constantly having to upgrade my phone storage because I refused to delete a single one.
Ah, and there’s the revelation of why I hate seeing the camera icon on my phone now.
Shaking off yet another jaded memory, I focus back on figuring out my mom’s current issue. “Mom, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“The pictures with Stella,” she snaps.
“Shit,” I whisper.
“Watch your language, young man.” My mom hisses and I resist rolling my eyes on the off chance she uses her ‘mom-tuition’ to know I was silently sassing her.
“Mom,” I start, but she immediately cuts me off. The borderline hysterics are audible as she rambles.
“I mean, what was she even doing there, Greyson? Why was she at your game? Does she think she can just waltz back into your life, and you’d just forget the fact that she left you when you were broken?”
I wince at the last bit and cut her off before she can continue.
“It’s not like that.” I pause, silently cursing myself for not taking the time to think about what I would tell my mother. It was idiotic of me to assume she wouldn’t see me with Stella at some point.
Hell, the whole reason Stella is even around is so people notice me with her. Yet here I am, surprised that my mom saw.
“Then tell me what it is like. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks as if you’re getting cozy with the same woman who broke your heart. I mean, do I need to remind you how she just up and disappeared?”
“No, Mom. You don’t need to remind me of anything. Trust me.” I suck in a deep breath, needing to calm myself down so that I don’t end up raising my voice at my own mother. “It all just…happened. She’s new to the city. From my understanding, she got a job at some publishing company and happens to be friends with my teammate’s fiancée.”
It’s not all a complete lie.
Stella is new to the city. She did seem to know who Lilly was when they met. And by the time we met up after the game, she was exchanging inside jokes and phone numbers with both Lilly and Ari.
None of that stops the nerves that pool in my stomach as I wait with bated breath for my mom’s response. Reminding myself I’m an adult and she can’t ground me for fibbing anymore doesn’t actually seem to stop the full-body reaction, though.
After a long, drawn-out pause, my mother finally speaks.
“Did she have anything to say about why she left?”
My shoulders relax a tad and some of my unease is replaced by the sharp tightening of my chest that happens every time I remember Stella’s disappearing act.
“It didn’t come up, no.”
“Well, hopefully, that was it and she doesn’t show up at any more of your games. I know it’s hard when there are mutual acquaintances involved, but she has no right to just show up like this. No warning, no sense of respect for your place of work. It’s insulting. I knew she was horrible when she walked away from you, but to just turn up now?”
I grimace, debating how to tell her that Stella will most definitely be pictured around me again.
“Maybe I should come down for the next few games, just in case she decides to show up. That way I can?—”
“No!” I practically shout, shocking myself, and undoubtedly her since I rarely raise my voice. I shove to my feet and pace the length of the two queen beds before pivoting and heading back. As I pace, I scramble to get my thoughts together.
“Greyson, it’s no problem. I can be there to help you and?—”
“Mom, no,” I interrupt gently this time. “I am twenty-five years old. I don’t need you to come swooping in like my knight in shiny Prada. I don’t have any plans to let her close again. If she’s at future events or games, I can handle it.”
“Oh, baby, I know you can.”
“Then you need to let me.”
Her sniffles echo through the speakerphone. “It’s hard to sit back and not do anything when I see you in a situation that could hurt you. I’ve worked so hard to protect you.”
“I know, and you’ve done a wonderful job at that, Mom. But I am a grown man. I don’t need you to come fight my battles for me anymore.”
She sighs heavily. “I just know I could help.”
“And you’ll be the first person I call if I need it,” I assure her.
“Fine. But you must promise me that you won’t let her trick you into anything. I don’t trust her timing on this. She’s probably hoping to scheme you into giving her money.”
I don’t bother trying to tell my mom that I could offer Stella the entire net worth of our family and she would turn it down in a heartbeat. If there is one thing that’s for sure, even if I no longer know the woman that Stella has grown into, to her core she is not a materialistic person.
Instead, I simply placate my mom.
“Yes, Mom. Trusting Stella is one of the last things I will ever do again.”
With that, my mom changes the subject to the latest gossip she learned and gives me a brief update on how my dad is doing. The entire time she talks, I can’t help feeling more guilty for agreeing to my mother’s promise than I did about stretching the truth as to why Stella was even at my game.
I didn’t think it was a lie. My plan was never to let Stella get close enough to hurt me again, so that would mean not trusting her.
Before my mom hangs up, she makes me reassure her again that I won’t trust Stella.
Groaning, I toss my phone onto the bed and head to the bathroom to finally scrub my body clean.
The hot water hits my aching shoulder muscles, and I bite back the moan as they finally start to relax under the pressure. I drop my head forward and try to enjoy the moment alone.
Only when I close my eyes, I’m met with the image of Stella at the game, in a jersey that had my fucking name .
I shouldn’t have this visceral full-body reaction. There are hundreds of people who show up wearing a jersey with my name and number.
But the memory of Stella in my jersey makes my goddamn cock twitch.
Unable to control my thoughts, those three words she said to me before the game bounce around my skull as if she were standing beside me right now.
Don’t fall down.
Slapping a hand out, I hold my breath and blindly find the temperature dial. Cold water washes over me, effectively wiping all thoughts from my mind. I go through the rest of my routine in a rush, getting through what should have been a relaxing private moment just as quickly as I did when I rinsed off back at the locker room.
I’ve done my very best not to think about those words. Surely it was a slip of the tongue and there was no way the meaning behind them was still the same. No, based on how quickly she scurried away after blurting them out, she didn’t mean them.
As I go through the motions of drying off and getting into bed, though, I can’t help but wonder why it’s more disappointing to think she didn’t mean them.