Chapter 23

Ivan

After just a coupleof days together in Vancouver, Chey left for home and the team continued on the road trip. We were doing well, winning about seventy-five percent of our games, which was a huge change from the last two seasons. Slowly, things were starting to gel, both on the ice and in the locker room. Poker had become a bonding exercise on every flight that was longer than an hour. The coaches often joined us, teasing Connor because he was just so damn ridiculous.

How a kid could be almost nineteen and playing pro sports, and not just still be a virgin, but he didn't do anything wrong. He never tried to sneak a beer, or stay out past curfew, or any of the things rookies his age usually did. Part of me was proud of him, but I was also worried. We could joke about him being taken advantage of by a puck bunny, but it happened more than people thought. The problem was that it could happen anywhere, at any time, by some girl he met at church or the supermarket or anywhere else, if he wasn't aware of what was happening.

He was living with Marty Nadeau, one of the married guys on the team. That was common, putting a rookie in a family setting where someone with experience could watch over him and being around a stable marriage and young kids could hopefully ground him. In this case, if Connor was any more grounded, we'd have to dig him out of a hole every day just to get him on the ice.

He loved playing with Marty's kids, often offering to babysit so Marty and/or his wife Brenna could go out and have fun. If we were traveling, he either attended church services online or he watched the recording later in the day. He was even taking an online college course.

The kid was next level perfect from the outside looking in, but we were beginning to see cracks in his armor when it came to hockey. He'd started out strong and sure of himself, but beyond that one goal, he hadn't had any points, didn't get any penalty minutes, didn't fight, and was generally becoming invisible.

That was the last thing you wanted as a rookie.

He needed to be out there showing the hockey world—as well as the Phantoms organization—what he was capable of.

Instead, he was so caught up in trying to be an idyllic human being, it was having the opposite effect on his career. Marty had tried to talk to him, as had Coach and our GM, but nothing seemed to be getting through to him. So, a small group of us—Canyon, Jensen, Gabe, and me—had decided we needed to get him thinking more about hockey than anything else.

Being a good human being was important.

None of us had an issue with that.

What concerned us was how little hockey seemed to come into play in any facet of his life. Most kids who got a shot at the big leagues at eighteen spent all their time training, watching video, putting in extra time on the ice, and trying to soak up all the information they could from the veterans. Connor wasn't doing any of that, and we felt like he was doing himself a disservice. He could get sent down to the minors at any time, and we were hoping to avoid that, because he had a lot of talent. It was just confidence and experience that he was lacking.

"Extra practice tomorrow," Jensen said as we got ready to head out after our first post-road trip home game. We'd lost tonight, so the timing felt right for it.

Everyone let out groans of frustration.

"It's optional," Jensen continued. "But do we want to keep winning or start losing again? All hands on deck, boys."

"Fine," Evan muttered. "I'll be there."

"Yeah, me too," I said aloud, even though the extra practice had been my idea.

"I'm in," Marty added. We'd had to bring him in on the plan since Connor lived with him and tended to follow his lead a lot of the time.

"Count on me." Canyon let out an exaggerated yawn.

Connor was one of the last guys to say he was coming, which frustrated me all over again. Some days I wondered what he was doing here if he wasn't going to give it his all, but I had to remind myself he was still a kid. And a very confused one at that. At least he was going to be there in the morning, which was a start, but I wasn't sure what we were going to do with the opportunity.

"Get a beer?" Gabe murmured under his breath.

"Sure." I nodded. "Want me to text some of the boys to come with us?"

"We should drag Connor out," he said. "Even if he can't drink."

I nodded, typing out a message to invite a handful of guys but then typing a separate text just to Connor, telling him where we were going and to meet us there. If we gave him a choice, he probably wouldn't show up.

I also texted Cheyenne, who'd been shooting a commercial all day and hadn't made it to the game.

IVAN: How'd it go? Are you done?

CHEY: I just got home. Would you be upset if I went to sleep? I'm exhausted.

IVAN: Of course not. I was going to get a beer with a few of the guys anyway. I was about to ask if you wanted to join us?

CHEY: I'd like to, but I'm wiped. Do you have practice tomorrow?

IVAN: Yes. We called an extra one. Should be done by noon. You want to go to lunch?

CHEY: Sure. Text me when you're on your way home.

IVAN: Good night, sweetheart.

CHEY: Good night. Xoxo

I put my phone away and turned to Gabe.

"You gonna ask Harper to come?

He shook his head. "You know how she feels about doing anything that might be misconstrued."

I was really glad I didn't own a hockey team.

"All right. Then I'll see you there."

I grabbed my keys and headed out.

* * *

The next morning was brutal.

Practice had been meant to be optional, a way for all of us, but Connor in particular, to get out there and work on anything we felt needed attention. Instead, the whole team showed up, Coach got wind of it and came out on the ice with us, and the next thing I knew we were skating laps.

Not as a punishment, not because we'd lost or done anything wrong, but as a way of keeping us on our toes and making sure we were staying in shape. Most of us were fine, but there was no doubt a couple of the guys were struggling, and I almost laughed. That was what too much beer and partying could do to you. Ironically, Gabe was the oldest guy on the team, but he was in great shape, easily keeping up with Canyon and me.

"Not bad for an old man," I told him when we hit the showers.

He flipped me the bird, though he was grinning. "That's what keeping up with cardio can do for you. In addition to weightlifting."

"Weightlifting is where I need work," Connor said, joining our conversation. "I can run all day long—I did cross country in the off-season in high school—but weights intimidate me. I do it, of course, but I need more work in that area."

It was good to hear him being self-aware of something like that.

"I can work with you," I told him, playfully flexing my bicep. "I love the gym."

That wasn't true, but I'd fake it if it meant helping the kid.

I'd had some great mentors when I was starting out, including Gabe, which was why I felt strongly about paying it forward. I could only hope that in seven or eight years, when I was at the end of my career, Connor would think fondly of this—and me. If I was getting a little sentimental as I got older, it was okay. Since most of it was in my own head, no one could give me shit about it.

"What are you doing the rest of today?" Gabe asked me.

"Chey and I are going to lunch or something," I responded. "I'm heading over there now. Why? What are you up to?"

"Not much. Lazy day for Harper and me. We're still settling into the new house. I think the pool guys are coming to finally start on that."

Harper's house had burned down in a fire just before the season started, so they'd been looking for a place to rent when a Beverly Hills foreclosure fell into their lap. It needed renovations, but he'd told me they got it for a steal.

"At some point, I have to think about a house," I said, "but condo living is so much simpler."

"Those association fees can be a killer, though," he said.

"Yeah. When I moved here, I wasn't sure what was going to happen with the team, so I kept things simple, but since it's looking like I'm going to be here a while, I'll probably start looking in the spring."

"What about Chey?" he asked quietly.

I hesitated.

I'd given some thought to asking her if she wanted to live together, but I was still reluctant to get that specific with our relationship.

"I don't know," I said at last. "I'd like to ask her to move in, we spend a lot of time together when we're not traveling, but it feels…soon."

"You having doubts?" he asked, meeting my gaze curiously.

"No. I'm crazy about her."

I let the unsaid part of my sentence hang without saying the words.

"But…you're not sure about her," he said at last. "How come?"

"She's been very clear that she's not interested in getting serious."

"Women who say that are either protecting their hearts, protecting their careers, or some combination of the two. After all these years in the spotlight, I'm a thousand percent sure she's been preyed upon, so she probably doesn't trust easily."

Why hadn't I considered that before now?

"I think she falls into the latter," I said.

"Does she not trust you?" he asked.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"You need to talk to her."

"What am I supposed to do, just come out and say, ‘hey, do you trust me?' I mean, that's random, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "I don't think you approach it quite that way, but that's how relationships with strong women work. I know you're aware of her beauty, but have you paid attention to her brand? To why she's as popular and as successful as she is? People pay her to endorse their products. They trust that she knows what's what in beauty, fashion, stuff like that. It's not just what she does, but who she is."

"Like us," I said slowly. "Hockey isn't just what we do, it's who we are."

"It's kind of what we're trying to teach Connor. That if hockey is his goal, his career, and his future, he has to lean into it both on and off the ice. And it's like that for Cheyenne, too. She lives that life, traveling everywhere, with bodyguards and drivers and security. Because it's all encompassing. And you have to be okay with that long-term, once the honeymoon period is over."

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds as I pondered his words.

"On top of that, be prepared to have a difficult conversation about money. She makes a lot more than you, and you're going to have to man all the way up to be okay with it."

Shit.

We'd never talked about money.

I knew she made a lot, but I'd never thought about the fact that it might be significantly more than I made.

It didn't matter to me, but it might make a big difference to her.

"We both have money to do the things we want to do," I said carefully.

"You were just talking about buying a house. What's that going to look like? How much have you saved? Do you plan to have a mortgage? Would the two of you split it if it goes that way?"

I grimaced. "I haven't thought about in much detail."

"Sounds like you need to."

He was right, of course, but it was scary, and I wasn't the kind of guy who got scared very often.

Maybe Marina had done more damage to my self-esteem than I'd realized. She hadn't asked for a lot of stuff when she'd left, so I'd given her cash instead. She couldn't work here in the US, and since shipping dishes and other items we'd amassed over the years wasn't cost-effective, I'd written her a check.

With Chey, money felt like a non-issue, so I hadn't spent any time worrying about it, which wasn't like me. I tended to be careful about anything to do with finances, but for some reason, I trusted Chey.

I trusted her.

The reality of it hit me harder than I'd been anticipating.

I trusted her because I was in love with her.

And I had no idea if she loved me back.