Chapter 15

Jensen

Fighting had its purpose in hockey.

It was used to show the other team they couldn’t get away with anything dirty or to vent frustration on a bad night. Most of us didn’t fight just for the hell of it, and we didn’t pick fights with the team who was down by six goals. This particular player for Detroit thought he was special, apparently. He’d been mouthing off all night, then he took a swing at Ivan.

Ivan was a big guy who could take care of himself, but this was ridiculous. It had been going on all night and they were wiping the ice with us, so there was no reason for it. They had absolutely nothing to prove. If anything, it should have been us instigating shit, not them.

With an annoyed grunt, I yanked Dalton off of Ivan like he weighed nothing and tossed him a few feet in the other direction.

“Enough,” I told him.

“I like when you play caveman.” Ivan barely got the words out before Dalton was back on his feet.

“Fuck you!” He came charging back at me, hitting me hard enough to knock off my helmet.

This kid really had a death wish.

And if he was looking for a fight, I’d give him one.

He wasn’t the only one who was frustrated.

I brought my right fist up under his jaw, loosening his helmet, and then followed it up with a cross to the jaw that knocked it free.

Now we were even.

But he wasn’t giving up, swinging wildly as I bobbed out of reach. He was a good six inches shorter than me, so he was having to swing up, which gave me time to duck each blow. I let him tire himself out a little before going back at him, with a few quick jabs to his mouth that drew blood.

He went down on one knee, and I waited to see if he was getting up and the refs finally intervened.

“Come on, Big Bang,” one of the refs said, shaking his head. “He instigated but you didn’t have to do this.”

“We’re down by six!” I snapped. “What the fuck?”

“You have a point, but rules are rules. You’ve got five. Go sit down.”

Dammit.

My team would be without me for five long minutes, and I was itching to be out there doing something. Anything that might help. Even one more goal at this point might boost morale.

Oh, who was I kidding?

I wasn’t sure there was anything capable of boosting morale at this point.

I wiped my face with a towel and then squirted some water over my head to cool down. The team needed a complete reset or maybe an overhaul, starting at the top. It wasn’t my place to say so, but I couldn’t help but think about it. Things were just getting worse and I couldn’t see so much as a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. If anything, there was train after train heading our way.

With less than a minute left to play, my penalty was over and I jumped onto the ice, ready to get back into the action.

I hated that this was Bailey’s first time seeing us play and we’d performed so badly. The arena had started to clear out after the second period, so our fans weren’t impressed either.

I really hated being in this position.

“Banger, look out!” I heard the warning just as someone slammed me into the boards.

Thank fuck for good equipment. A hit like that, with my back turned, could lead to a serious injury.

I was pissed when I turned around.

Dalton was gone since he’d gotten a game misconduct for instigating, but the guy who’d hit me was smirking, like he was proud of himself or something.

Yeah, I was going to knock that smirk into the middle of next week.

“You wanna go?” He was taunting me, and I really should have let him take the first swing, but it had been a long night, and I was tired of the bullshit. With less than forty seconds left to play, getting a game misconduct for instigating wouldn’t matter.

So I dropped the gloves and let him have it.

It was late before I got home.

Coach reamed us a new one for nearly an hour, refusing to let us talk to the press and promising us a grueling practice in the morning. By the time I met up with Mom in the family lounge, I was tired and discouraged about fucking everything. I worked hard to be the very best I could be, but it seemed like nothing I did made a difference on this team. Despite how much I loved my life here, the writing was on the wall when it came to my future in hockey: it might be time to think about a trade.

I sank down on the bed and picked up my phone, happy to see a text from Bailey.

BAILEY: I’ll be up late if you need to talk. Don’t worry about waking me—I’ll leave the ringer on in case you call.

We still barely knew each other but she already felt like someone I could count on. And I desperately needed that right now. My family was great, but they all had their own lives. I needed someone who might focus on nothing but me for once. It had been a while since I’d had a girlfriend, but I hadn’t forgotten what it was like to have someone who was always there for you.

“Hi.” Her voice was soft and sleepy.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I dozed off watching reruns of E.R., but I said you could call and I meant it.”

“Late night TV can put anyone to sleep.”

“For sure.”

“So… did you see the game?”

“I did. You had a rough night.”

“It was brutal. And the ass chewing we got from Coach afterward didn’t help.”

“He was mad?”

“You have no idea.” I sighed. “I’m so fucking tired of losing. I know it’s not completely my fault, but sometimes it feels like it. There’s so much talent on the team but when we’re out there together we’re like a bunch of high school kids who’ve never played before.”

“I don’t know a lot about hockey, but you guys seem defeated out there. No fire, no passion. The other team was all over the place. Chasing pucks and hitting people, or whatever you call it. I’m sorry if I’m saying it all wrong.”

“I know what you mean, and you’re right. We’ve lost the passion for the game, and I don’t know how this gets fixed.”

“Isn’t this usually when coaches and upper management start getting fired?”

“You’d think so, but with the court case up in the air, I think it’s all on hold. Hell, at this point, I don’t even know if a new coach would help. It seems like we need to start from scratch because the locker room feels so damn toxic.”

“You mean… all of you getting traded to other teams?”

“Potentially, yeah.”

“Is that what you want?”

“God, no. I love my life here. My house, the weather, the beach, always something to do… trades are a reality of being a pro athlete. It can happen at any time. I just didn’t want to be the one to ask for it.”

“Is that what you’re thinking about doing?”

I sighed. “I can’t think that far ahead. I’ve got a headache, my jaw hurts from the one or two blows that punk got in, and Coach said practice tomorrow is going to be brutal.”

“Oh, well, never mind then. I was going to offer a stress-relieving option, but you should probably get some rest.”

My interest was piqued. “I probably should, but I still want to hear the option.”

“I was going to suggest my hot tub, a neck massage, and a bottle of wine.”

“Sold.”

She was quiet for a beat. “Really? You want to come over…now?”

“If the offer was genuine, absolutely.”

“Just to be clear, this isn’t a booty call. We’re a little new for that, Jensen. That might be the norm for you, but it’s not for me.”

“I’d very much like to touch you, Bailey, but I can wait until you’re comfortable. There’s no rush. Sex is easy. It’s the other stuff that’s hard. So to speak.”

We both chuckled.

“I’ll text you my address,” she said after a brief hesitation.

“What part of town do you live in?” I asked, sitting up. “I have to admit, as enticing as the offer sounds, I don’t know if I’m up for a drive to Rancho Cucamonga or something.”

She chuckled. “I’m ten minutes from Papaya’s.”

“Really? I’m in the hills off Laurel Canyon, on Grinder Lane.”

“Oh, my God. You’re less than a mile from me. I’m on Fairway.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I pulled on sweats and sneakers, left a note for my mother in case she woke up and noticed I was gone, and then headed out.

How ironic was it that Bailey had been living a mile away from me all this time?

Even more ironic was pulling up to her house and noticing how similar to mine it was. I wasn’t sure about the inside, of course, but from the street it was eerily similar, as if we had the same taste.

For some reason, that made me feel good.

I already sensed that I would be comfortable with her, and this somehow solidified that feeling.

Was it odd that I was already so content with a relationship that had barely begun?

Except that wasn’t true.

We’d been online friends for over a year, and though we’d never exchanged specific details of our lives, I’d known she liked Mexican food and salted caramel anything. I’d known she wasn’t really into sports beyond a little baseball, and that she hadn’t gone to college even though she’d wanted to. Her favorite color was green, she loved going to the movies even though she didn’t do it very often, and she loved to bake but enjoyed cooking less.

“Hi.” She stood in the doorway as I approached, wearing a knee-length, white, filmy robe that showed off long legs and a bathing suit-clad torso. Her hair was up in a messy bun and her face appeared to be devoid of makeup, but standing there on her dimly lit front porch, she was a vision of loveliness.

“Hi.” I reached out to put a gentle hand on her cheek before leaning down to brush my lips across hers. Her eyes fluttered closed and despite how chaste it was, a feeling of longing washed over me.

“Come in.” She turned and motioned for me to walk in ahead of her.

She didn’t want me to walk behind her and watch her limp.

I knew that instinctively, so I did as she asked.

“Did you bring a bathing suit?” she asked, noticing my distinctly empty hands.

I froze.

“I…shit. I was in such a hurry to get here.” I looked at her sheepishly.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, buddy. But there will be no peckers going wild in my hot tub.”

“No, ma’am,” I responded solemnly. “I can keep my boxers on.”

“We can throw them in the dryer before you leave,” she said.

“I’m okay with going home commando under my sweats.”

“All right.” She led me through a modest but elegant living room, with a gas fireplace, built-in bookshelves, and Tiffany-style lamps. There was a gorgeous Persian rug over the hardwood floors and an inviting looking sectional that faced a massive TV over the fireplace.

“This is cozy,” I said, looking around.

“That was the goal. When I had to give up my house in Manhattan Beach, I wanted something that would make me feel relaxed, since I wouldn’t have the ocean anymore.”

“Why did you move?” I asked, following her outside to a patio with a pool and hot tub.

“My house was two stories, and I can’t do stairs.” She lifted two bottles of wine. “I have merlot or chardonnay.”

“I’ll drink whatever you’re drinking.”

“Merlot it is.”

She turned, going back into the kitchen, ostensibly to put the chardonnay away, and this was the first time I saw the extent of her limp. My heart ached for how much pain she had to have been in after the accident.

“Does it hurt?” I asked as she came back outside. “The limp?”

“Some days more than others.”

I reached for her, sliding my fingers around hers. “I want you to know it doesn’t bother me.”

She lifted her gaze to mine, something inscrutable flitting behind her gorgeous eyes.

“The only thing I ask is that you’re always honest with me,” she said. “I’m a grown woman with plenty of experience with men. If you’re just looking for sex, you can find that anywhere. I’m not in the right head space for a casual fuck, so please don’t make me some kind of conquest.”