Page 41 of What If I Hate You (Anaheim Stars Hockey #6)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

BARRETT

T he sound of my phone ringing jolts me out of my daze as Killer sits on my lap purring.

I almost spill my coffee as I reach for the phone, assuming it’s Blakely telling me how her meeting with Simon went this morning.

My heart skips at the sight of Marlee’s name flashing on the screen, but I swipe my thumb and answer her call.

“Hey Marlee. What’s?—”

“What did you do to her, Bear?” There’s a sense of urgency to her tone that sends adrenaline pumping through my veins without the need to finish my coffee.

“What? Who? What’s going on?”

“Come on Bear, you know who. What did you do to Blakely?”

“Marlee I didn’t do anything to her.” My chest clenches. “Why are you asking me this?”

Instinct has me standing and pushing my feet into my tennis shoes while Marlee explains. “Because she’s here. At the arena. And she’s…” Marlee sighs. “She’s not in a good headspace at all but she wouldn’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Fuck.”

Simon.

It has to be about her boss.

“I think I know. I’m on my way, Mar. Give me ten minutes.” I hang up, my thoughts racing. Less than ten minutes later, I push through the players’ entrance and the sound hits me first. Sharp, angry cracks echoing through the empty rink. I walk out into the arena and stop dead.

Blakely is on the ice, hair half-falling out of a messy bun, cheeks flushed, absolutely murdering pucks with a stick that’s clearly not hers. Each slap sends the puck screaming into the net like it personally insulted her mother.

Marlee’s leaning on the boards beside me, sipping coffee. “Told you.”

“What happened?” I ask, eyes still locked on Blakely.

“She showed up an hour ago, grabbed a spare stick from the rack, and hasn’t stopped shooting since. No clue what set her off, but if the net could file a restraining order, it totally would.”

Blakely whips another shot into the top corner, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath. She looks like she’s in a fight with the entire sport of hockey, and hockey’s losing.

“I wish I could have seen her play. She can skate,” I murmur.

Marlee shrugs. “Well, now’s your chance. Get yourself out there and fix her before she takes out the glass.”

“I’ll try.”

“Is this about her boss?”

I nod silently and then add, “Has to be. She had a meeting this morning.”

Marlee cringes. “Hmm. Something tells me it didn’t go well.”

“What ever gave you that idea?” I murmur as I give her a helpless expression.

“Look I’ve seen Blakely mad enough times to know how she gets. I know she needs to work out her anger but this…” She shakes her head. “This is next level frustration. Good luck, Teddy Bear.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I watch Blakely skate a bit, her speed alone would rival Bodhi’s on a good day and her footwork as she changes positions is like watching a finely choreographed dance.

I’m in awe of her really. She not only knows the game, and can play the game, she lives it.

Hockey is in her. It’s every part of her.

After a few minutes of watching her sprint across the ice only to slap several pucks angrily into the net, I step out onto the cold surface without skates, my sneakers squeaking as I shuffle toward her.

She doesn’t look at me as she fires another puck.

“Pretty sure that net owes you money,” I call out.

She ignores me, collects more pucks with her blade, and fires again.

I stop a few feet away. “So…are you mad at the puck, or is it just unlucky enough to be standing in for someone else?”

She finally glances at me, eyes blazing. “What do you want, Cunningham?”

Oh, we’re back to last names now?

Wonderful.

“To make sure you don’t throw your back out or break my cage, Rivers.”

Her jaw tightens, and she rips another shot. “Just go away.”

“No can do, sweetheart.” I crouch, grabbing one of the scattered pucks and sliding it in front of her only to watch her whack it down the ice. “You can keep hitting pucks until your arms fall off, or you can tell me what happened and let me help you fix it.”

“I said I’m fine.” She cracks the next puck and it sails into the net. From center ice she really is an impressive shot. “Some things you just can’t waltz in and fix. And I didn’t ask for your help so just leave me alone.”

“Blake—”

“Don’t,” she snaps, not even looking at me. She lines up another shot and slams it into the top corner. “Don’t you dare try to talk me down right now.”

I step toward her, slow and steady, like she’s a wild animal that might bite. Because right now, that’s exactly what she is.

“What happened?” I ask, trying to be the calm in her chaos.

“What happened?” She whirls around, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, sweat sticking strands of hair to her forehead.

“What happened , Barrett, is that I’ve spent years working my ass off, proving I know this game better than half the guys who write about it—hell, better than some who play it even—only to have my boss tell me I can either move to another team or sit in a corner like a good fucking little girl because apparently having a vagina is a liability in the press room! ”

Another puck flies off her stick like she’s trying to kill it.

I grit my teeth. “That’s?—”

“Don’t say it’s bullshit, Barrett,” she cuts me off, voice rising.

“I already know it’s bullshit. But what really gets me is that the absolute fucking bullshit of bullshit is coming from people who are supposed to respect me.

The very people who hired me! I’ve worked my ass off to be more than the girl in the press box, and apparently it doesn’t matter because I don’t have a damn dick! ”

“Blake—”

“No!” She smacks another puck into the net, her stick trembling in her hands.

“You don’t get to come out here and try to calm me down with that whole quiet, steady, stoic goalie crap you do.

I’m pissed, Barrett. And you standing there looking at me like I’m a stray cat you’re trying to coax out from under the porch isn’t helping. ”

I take another small step. “Then tell me what you want me to do.”

Her eyes flash as she shouts at me. “I want you to stop looking at me like you’re scared I’ll fucking break.”

“I’m not scared you’ll break,” I say, standing my ground despite the raw intensity radiating off her. “But if you keep swinging that stick like you’re trying to chop down a tree, you might just hurt yourself.”

Blakely slams her stick against the ice and glares at me, her breath coming in sharp, frustrated bursts. “I’m not scared of breaking, Barrett! You think I’m out here venting because I need to calm down? No. I’m out here because I refuse to let anyone dictate how I feel about my own career!”

“Then let’s talk about it!” I counter, frustrated. “But yelling at me doesn’t help anything! You can’t just shoot pucks at the net until they magically fix your problems.”

“Why not?” She spins around, fury and passion igniting her eyes. “Isn’t that what you do? Take a hit until you can't anymore? Buck up and deal with it? It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with pressure, Mr. Golden Boy. You put yourself out there every time you step on the ice.”

“But shouting at me about it won’t change anything!” I fire back, frustration flaring in my chest. “You think you’re the only one who deals with pressure? We all have a job to do, Blakely. I’m trying to support you, but how can I help when you’re acting like this?”

Her eyes narrow, and I see the fight in her. “Support me? Is that what you call this? You think telling me to calm down is support? You think standing there like a stoic statue while I’m losing my mind is helping?”

“I’m not a fucking statue!” I shout back, my own temper rising. “I’m here because I care! But if you keep yelling at me like I’m the enemy, I’m not sure what good it does for either of us.”

“I’m not yelling at you because I see you as the enemy,” she retorts, her voice fierce. “I’m yelling because I’m tired of everyone else deciding what I can or can’t do just because I lack a penis between my legs.” She gestures with a hip thrust for visual representation.

I lift my arms in an outstretched shrug. “Okay then what are you going to do about it?”

“I quit, Barrett!”

She’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with fury that’s more than just anger.

I stare at her. “You—what?”

“I quit my job. And you know why? Because I’m in love with you, and apparently that means I can’t be good at what I do. Apparently it means every single thing I’ve worked for is worthless, because I don’t have a damn penis and I had the audacity to fall for one of the guys on the team.”

It’s like the whole rink goes still.

“You’re in love with me?” I ask quietly.

She throws her hands up. “Oh my God, that’s what you heard?”

Trying to hide my smile, I cock my head as I shrug. “Kind of hard to hear anything else after that.”

Her eyes flash. “Of course. Of course, you’d focus on that instead of the fact that I just lit my career on fire!”

I take another step, close enough now that I can see the tremor in her hands. “No, I heard that too. But we’re gonna deal with the career part together. And the love part,” I reach for her wrist, slow enough for her to pull away if she wants, “we’ll deal with that together too.”

She doesn’t pull away. But she doesn’t look at me either. She just swallows, chest rising and falling fast, like she’s not sure whether to kiss me or slap me.

And honestly, I’m not sure which one I’d deserve more.

“Say it again,” I murmur. The air between us crackles, thick with tension. I can’t breathe, my heart hammering in my chest while I wait for her to respond. Every second feels like an eternity, and I’m acutely aware of the way she’s looking anywhere but at me, her jaw tight and fists clenched.

“Blakely,” I say, my voice softer now, more careful. “I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, she lifts her gaze to mine, fierce and vulnerable all at once. “What part do you want me to say again, Barrett? The part where I quit my job? Or the part where I’m in love with you?”