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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SAWYER

W hen I recall the worst games in my NHL career to date, I generally think about the ones played in Colorado.

As an athlete, my biggest weakness is—and likely always will be—my psychological approach. If I’m in a good headspace and locked in on the ice, it’s all about the game and nothing else. Even if we’re down by four in only the second period, it doesn’t matter. I’m focused, never wavering from the task at hand.

Over the years, the team’s psych has encouraged me to mentally prepare for games by running through my strongest performances, virtually playing out my best moves, passes, shots, and even hits. A lot of those moments have happened on the Philadelphia Bolts’ home ice. I don’t know why, but this arena brings me good juju. It was the first game I played where I felt a fraction of myself after Sophie’s death. It’s also a place where I’ve scored the most goals, and as a defenseman, that’s the kind of shit you never forget.

Tonight, I’m playing on that exact ice, and we’re up one, deep in the third.

No thanks to me.

This is not an away series I will remember, other than for the way my head has been firmly up my ass the past few days.

The puck spills from Jack when he’s boarded by a Bolts defenseman. I just fucking stand there. I see it sliding toward me, but my skates don’t move. Well, they do, but way too late and slowly.

Jack’s one of the most chill guys I’ve ever played with, but even he’s nearing the end of his patience when he throws his arms out just as the Philly center intercepts the puck and breaks for a turnover.

They score, drawing us level and ending Archer’s recent run of shutouts.

He’s pissed. I can feel his eyes as they bore into the back of my head.

As I skate off the ice for a switch-out, it’s clear Coach is feeling the same kind of way, shaking his head as I flop onto the bench and remove my mouthguard.

With one eye still on the game, he turns to me. “The fuck is going on, Bryce?”

Would this be a good time to tell him I’m playing like shit because of a girl I can’t get out of my fucking head?

She blew me off—for a second time. But unlike the first instance at Lloyd’s last November, this isn’t about my ego; my feelings run way deeper.

“Just not at it tonight,” I groan.

Emmett, who got handed a penalty two minutes earlier—which didn’t fucking help my cause—knocks on the plexiglass next to me.

What’s going on? he mouths.

I shrug and turn back to Coach, who’s looking straight at me.

“If I put you back out there for the final three minutes, do you think you can move faster than my gran?”

I deadpan, knowing he’s not wrong. I’ve been slow as fuck.

“You’re playing like you’re carrying some kind of injury,” Coach’s tone is exasperated, reflecting how I feel.

With zero excuses and consequently no answer to his statement, I replace my mouthguard and stand, ready for the switch when his hand lands on my shoulder.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, Bryce. But you’re the captain, and you need to lead by example. That includes keeping any personal issues out of the rink.”

* * *

News flash: they didn’t stay out of the rink.

I played like shit, but somehow, Matt Rice—our assistant captain and winger—managed to bury an impossible slap shot, clinching the W we badly needed to keep our run of recent form going.

“Well played.” Archer slides up to me as I pull off my left glove and shake hands with some of the opposing players I’ve known for seasons.

“You know they say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, right?”

Archer chuckles from beside me, shaking the Philly coach’s hand. He knows this team well and gets especially pumped for games here since this is his hometown and boyhood team.

“You cost me a shutout,” he replies, voice playful, though I can sense his frustration. “What’s going on, man?”

I stop partway down the tunnel as the rest of the team files into the locker room. I should be happy—even fucking relieved—that my performance tonight didn’t cost us the game.

The tunnel is almost empty when I pause on chewing the corner of my guard and pull it out of my mouth completely.

“Collins,” is all I say, uncertain of the best way to explain what’s circulating in my head.

A rogue grin tugs at Archer’s lips. Maybe he knew exactly what was going on. Maybe he tore his attention away from Darcy for a split second and clocked my hand on Collins’s hip.

“What about her?”

I scrub a hand over my mouth, a brief wave of nausea washing through the pit of my stomach. “I think … I think I want her.”

He shifts his weight, the same smile still across his face. “Tell me something we haven’t already worked out. I could see that when she blew you off last November and again the other night.”

He misses fucking nothing.

I pull off my helmet, scratching at the back of my neck. “No, you aren’t listening. I want her. For more than sex. I’m really …” I fill my cheeks with air. “I’m completely into her. I can’t stop thinking about her. My boy is enraptured by her, and, goddamn, man, so am I. I thought I could let it go, you know? Keep it together and not let feelings get in the way.” I puff out a single harsh breath. “Seeing that guy with her the other night …”

“The blond dude?”

I nod once. “Seeing him make a move on her? I couldn’t stomach the thought of her going home with him. I think … I think the only bed I want her in is mine.”

Archer looks off to the side, discomfort painting his face.

I knew he wasn’t the right person to talk to about this. Jack would’ve been my better option. Archer has never been into feelings, especially when it comes to women. He’s a great guy and a damn good friend, but this kind of conversation just isn’t in his wheelhouse.

“Shit, Sawyer,” he replies, “I don’t know what to say. Are you telling me you’re in love with her?”

“No,” I bite out, my frustration at this entire situation growing constantly. “I’m just saying, whatever I’m feeling, it’s strong. When we hooked up, I had feelings. She was the first woman since Sophie that I really connected with on some kind of level and in a totally different way from what I’ve ever had before. She challenges me.” I giggle like a fucking teenager. “You were right when you asked if we’d slept together that night I took her home. We did, and it was one of the best nights of my life. Not for her though. She told me I was an average lay.”

His eyes shoot up before he doubles over with laughter. “Jesus, I would never fucking recover if any girl said that to me.”

He laughs harder, and I wait—with added petulance—for him to stop.

“And after her saying that, you’re telling me you’ve fallen even harder for this girl?!”

I offer him a tight smile. “Essentially, yes.”

“Jesus. You really are fucked.”

“Thanks. Really fucking helpful,” I reply.

Archer’s laughter calms. “What is this about Ezra? You said he’s enraptured by her or something.”

I think back to the meal at Jack and Kendra’s and the look on his face. The sounds of his laughter and squeals as they filled the street with him riding on the back of her bike. The look on Collins’s face at the table that night when I’d told Ezra we couldn’t go over and again when I said he couldn’t keep coming over to her garage. She wasn’t just disappointed for him; she was genuinely gutted herself. I could see that. I could feel the warmth radiate from her.

“It’s difficult to explain, but he comes alive around her. It’s hard not to fall harder for the person who makes the world a better place for your child.”

He’s not a dad, but I know my goalie gets it.

“So, what are you going to do?”

I laugh without humor. “She doesn’t feel the same way. It’s likely she’ll leave town in the next few months, maybe even weeks. If I carry on down this line, then I’m on a one-way ticket to getting hurt. Still, it didn’t stop me from asking her to come home with me on Wednesday. I’d even posed as her boyfriend to deter the lecherous asshole from moving in on her.”

Archer makes an agreeable noise, and it guts me.

He pauses briefly before speaking. “Total transparency. From what you’re saying, I think your feelings are already at risk.”

“So, what’s your advice?”

He smirks in response. “Well, hopefully, mine is better than the gem you gave me about Kassie and Shane.”

I roll my eyes and wait for him to have his moment.

“Tell her how you feel.”

I shake my head, nausea rolling through me again. After Sophie, I made a deal with myself that it was just Ezra and me—a team. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Archer lifts a brow, unconvinced I have a realistic alternative. “You think you get anywhere in life without taking risks? Of course you fucking don’t.”

He has a point, and ordinarily, I’d agree. But this doesn’t feel like a risk, more like emotional suicide. Especially after Wednesday night’s failure.

“I think you need to tell her,” he reaffirms. “If she tells you to take a fucking leap, then, yeah, it will suck, but at least you’ll have an answer.” He pauses and eyes me carefully. “But I care about you, man, and this is cutting you up in some way. Also,” he tags on, “I value shutouts, and that was a fucking shit show out there tonight. So, let’s just say we’re both fully invested in you getting your shit together.”