Page 14 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

“ I t’s only a few more days,” I say.

“I know,” Lottie replies with a long sigh. “But it’s been, like, two months since I’ve seen you play. Or even seen you at all. It’s weird and it freaks me out.”

“I’m okay, I promise.”

“I know you’re okay. Still doesn’t feel right. We haven’t gone this long without seeing each other since you did that summer intensive camp when you were fourteen.”

“Yeah, I was real lucky to stay close to home for so long. But we all knew the NHL is fickle.”

Lottie likes routine. Upset to her carefully created schedule sometimes throws her off balance.

I think it’s helped that she’s living in my house, it keeps her connected to me, in a way.

On top of that, I make a point of video chatting with her as often as we can.

With my crazy schedule, that’s not always so easy.

“Three more sleeps, then you’ll be here. And there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Someone you want me to meet for you, or someone you want me to meet for me ?”

I laugh at her question, because yeah, I’ve tried to set her up a time or two. My sister is a hopeless romantic, but hasn’t had much luck in the love department. She never takes my suggestions, though. She says hockey players are too emotional.

She’s not necessarily wrong.

“Both, really. It’s someone I like a lot, and I think you’d be great friends with.”

“Someone you like a lot ,” she repeats. “Is it a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not bisexual.”

“A few more, I guess. Sports are weird. There’s no way you all like to spend so much time together, especially in the gym and locker room all half naked, without some feelings happening. And that’s totally okay. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“You’re right, it wouldn’t be something shameful. As I’ve said, I can appreciate a man’s form without finding it sexually attractive. Much in the same way women find other women beautiful. My dick just doesn’t get excited by it.”

“If you say so,” she says. It’s what she always says. Her views on sexuality are very progressive and as simple as she finds attractive people attractive. She has no other precursor. “So, who is this woman?”

“She’s my neighbor. She’s also Willa’s best friend.”

“Isla’s sister?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s weird, too. What are the odds?”

“Maybe it’s fate?”

“Since when do you believe in fate,” she asks.

“Since Kit laughed and it was like the sky cleared up for the first time.” Silence follows my statement. Lottie isn’t quiet, ever. She’s always got plenty to say and has no filter. “Say something.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“No.” I laugh. “She’s special, Lottie. Please say you’ll meet her.”

“Of course, I’ll meet her,” she says, as if exasperated. “I’m curious as hell, wondering who this woman is that has you tied up enough to speak in prose.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say through a laugh.

“You shut the fuck up, Mr. The Skies Opened at Her Laughter.”

“Yeah, all right, smartass. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“See you in a few days, Shakespeare. Love you!”

“Love you, too,” I say before ending the call, grabbing my duffle, and heading onto the plane.

Lottie teasing me isn’t surprising. Our relationship has always been full of giving each other playful shit. I also know, she’ll give Kit a fair shot but won’t blow smoke up my ass if she doesn’t like something about her.

I don’t see how she couldn’t absolutely adore her, though. And vice versa.

We’ve been gone for three nights but we’re heading back for a long home stand. As excited as I am to see my family in a few days, I’m looking forward to seeing the woman across the street chase her yapping dog around the yard, too.

It’s been a hot minute since I told her I want to date her. Kit hasn’t brought it up, so neither have I. Perhaps that means her answer is no, but I’m stubborn enough to want to hear the word before I give up the idea.

Taking a window seat in the middle of the plane, over the wings, I release a long sigh.

“Why do you always sit in the same spot,” Cillian asks, taking the aisle seat in the same row. Mostly, the two of us only interact when it’s necessary. It’s just weird. I mean, I used to fuck his wife. That’s awkward as hell.

“As a kid, I read that it was the safest place to sit in a plane. Now, it’s habit.”

“Is that true?”

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue. I imagine if the plane is going down, there isn’t a safe place to be.”

“What the fuck, man,” Zander says when he takes a seat in the row in front of us. “Literally any other subject would be more appropriate right now.”

“Blame Wylder, he asked.”

“Not intentionally,” Cillian protests. “You could have lied and told me it was superstition.”

“I mean, it is that, too. Now. That’s just not how it started.”

“It started out of fear,” Cillian says.

“Don’t all superstitions?”

Cillian cocks his head, thinking about that for a moment before he answers.

“I’d never thought of it, but yeah, it is fear that makes me not change my routine up.”

“Same,” Zan agrees. “I freak the fuck out if I tape my stick wrong because I’m scared it’s going to jinx my play.”

“Then you’ve probably never stepped on the ice with a badly taped stick, because I’ve never seen you play any way but solid,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says, shock tinging the single word.

“You know how good you are, right?”

“We all think we’re good, until we have an off day and think we’re shit,” he says.

“When do you have an off day?” Cillian asks.

“I have them,” Zander says.

“Lies,” I say. Alexander Fane never shows any sign of having an off game. He’s the one guy on the team you can always count on being where you need him to be. Every single time. Defensemen don’t always get a lot of praise, but he sure as hell deserves it.

“All right, you can both stop blowing smoke up my ass,” he says, turning around and putting his headphones on.

“The kid doesn’t know how to take a compliment,” Cillian says.

“I’m not sure any of us are that great at it. Except Letty, he eats up praise.”

“Letty’s like a poodle,” Cillian says, looking Letty in the face as he moves down the aisle.

“Woof, woof,” Letty says, grinning like a kid.

“Good boy,” Cillian says.

“Unhinged,” I say. “Every last one of us.”

“There’s a lot of truth in that.”

After we reach altitude, Coach Cole stops by our aisle.

“The new program is live. Check it out,” he says, handing a tablet to Cillian.

“You can move any combination of players onto the ice, pick a play from the left-hand column, and it will show the stats. The right column lets you pick your opponents, so you know how well you do against any team’s players. ”

Cillian moves to the middle seat, holding the tablet between us so we can both manipulate the program.

“How current?” I ask the question because it’s only been hours since our last game, and it’s late. I wouldn’t expect tonight’s statistics to be uploaded already.

“As current as it gets. Tonight’s game is included.”

“Damn, this is cool as hell,” Cillian says.

“She’s pretty fucking amazing, isn’t she?” I muse, awed.

“Kit? Yes, there’s a reason we wanted her. This is just the tip of it,” Coach says to me. “I hear you’ve been spending time with her.”

“We’re neighbors.”

“And?”

“And I like her. She’s…special.”

“She is,” he agrees. “Take care with her.”

He takes the tablet back and moves to another group to show them their numbers from the game.

“That’s the second warning I’ve gotten about Kit. Does everyone think I’m a monster?”

“A monster? No. A playboy who has no qualms hiring a sex worker, yes.”

“I’m not the first, nor will I be the last NHL player to hire someone for sex,” I argue. “I was single, too.”

“Is that a dig at me?” Cillian moves back to the aisle seat but keeps his eyes narrowed on me.

“Fuck, no. That’s not what I was getting at. I’m just saying that night didn’t harm anyone but me. It’s really nobody’s business.”

“You’re right. But Kit is family and is our business. Everyone’s just looking out for her.”

“And what if that’s the job I want?”

“What does Kit want?”

“She doesn’t know yet. Whatever she decides, I’ll live with it, because I just want to be part of her life.”

“A sentiment I know well,” Cillian says.

For the first time, I see firsthand the regret he has for the time he missed with Isla and Sadie.

For the first time, I feel a little bad for him.

I’ve spent so long being jealous of what’s he had, what he lost, what he eventually won back; that I never saw him as worthy of Isla or Sadie.

It was natural for me to envy him, which made it impossible to see that he knew regret and pain intimately. Hating that he had everything I wanted made me only see Cillian Wylder as a smug, arrogant asshole. Not a human with a heart and love for his family.

Isla once told me “Lonely people do stupid shit.” I can attest to that, now.

My stupid shit was mostly years of destructive thought process, but that takes a toll on you.

It wears you down, day after day. Eventually, I was a husk of a man trying to fill the void any way I could.

Mostly with random women. That hadn’t been my life before I dated Isla.

Picking up whatever puck bunny looked the hottest after a long game didn’t appeal much to me.

I was with women, I dated, but they were typically friends of friends or old acquaintances.

After Isla reconciled with Cillian, I stopped dating, stopped sleeping with the same woman more than once. Most devastatingly, I stopped connecting.

Then, I moved across the street from Kit Ashcroft.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I didn’t want to hurt Isla, either,” he says. “Sometimes life gets in the way of even our best intentions. I wish I’d had people in my life giving me reminders of what was most important. Maybe things would have turned out differently and I wouldn’t have lost so much time.”