Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

King

W e line up for the face-off, my heart pounding in my chest. There are only twenty seconds left in the game against the Carolina Cold Fury, and the score is tied 2–2. It's been a hard-fought battle, as expected. Stone is taking the face-off and we need to win this. On the line with him are Penn, Boone, Bain and me. Drake is ready in goal, but we're hoping he remains uninvolved.

As I position myself in the circle, I glance at the player next to me, my old teammate, Rick Kourakis from the Houston Jam, who was traded to the Cold Fury this year. We've always had a friendly rivalry, and I can't resist the opportunity to mess with him a little.

"Nice new colors and logo," I say, smirking. "Blue, black and white. You guys look so pretty!"

"Fuck off, King," he growls, giving me a sharp nudge.

I nudge back, jockeying for position. "What's with the tornado with the growling face and sharp fangs? Looks like something out of a bad comic book."

He shoots me a glare, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitch, trying not to laugh. "Jealous, King? At least we look fierce."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Fierce? More like a bad Halloween costume. Focus on the game, buddy."

The referee drops the puck, and Stone reacts with lightning speed, winning the face-off cleanly. He sends it back to Boone, who immediately passes it to Bain. The Cold Fury defense closes in, but Bain maneuvers skillfully, skating past them with ease.

I tap my stick sharply on the ice and he backhands a pass to me. I take a quick snap shot, aiming for the top corner, but Fournier knocks it away with his glove. The puck rebounds, bouncing toward Penn.

There's a reason he's the best in the league. Penn grabs the puck, dodging a Cold Fury defenseman. He glances up, sees an opening, and with a flick of his wrist, he sends a short chip shot over Fournier's shoulder. The puck sails into the net and the red light blazes, signaling our goal.

The arena erupts in a cacophony of cheers and my line swarms together, Drake racing out of goal to slam into us for a group hug.

The locker room buzzes with energy and the sweet smell of victory. I step out of the sleek teakwood shower, the warm water still fresh on my skin, and grab a towel from the nearby rack. The mosaic floor tiles shimmer with the Titans logo, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride. A gratitude to be on this championship-bound team. I can just feel that we're going to do it this year.

I walk over the thick, dark gray carpeting with its purple border and the massive Titans logo embroidered in the center. It's pristine, almost like the ice we just dominated. I head to my cubby, stained a deep charcoal gray and spacious enough to house all my gear. The chrome lettering at the top—backlit in a purple glow—spells out KINGSTON , and there's no doubt that I feel like I truly belong here.

"You killed it out there," Rafferty says, wrapping a towel around his waist as he strides over from the showers. His wet hair drips onto the floor, but the high-end carpet absorbs it without a trace.

His cubby sits next to mine, his own last name of AbrAMS done in chrome and subtle purple lighting designating it as his home away from home.

"That game-winner from Penn was ridiculous," I reply, pulling on a pair of fresh boxer briefs and reaching for my suit pants. Gotta love a sweet little chip shot over the goalie's shoulder with barely an inch all around to squeak through.

North, already half dressed, leans against his cubby that sits opposite mine, his suit jacket hanging neatly on a hook. "That guy has some sort of unicorn magic going on."

I nod, buttoning up my shirt. "Don't know how he does it but I'm glad he does."

Rafferty chuckles, grabbing his comb and running it through his hair. "They didn't know what hit them. You should've seen Fournier's face. Pure shock."

Max Fournier is the Cold Fury goalie and one of the best in the league. But that doesn't seem to matter against a once-in-a-lifetime player like Penn Navarro.

I sit on the built-in bench in my cubby and lace up my dress shoes. "We deserved this win. We played our hearts out."

North straightens his tie, his expression turning serious for a moment. "It's more than that. We played like a team. Everyone gave their best, from defense to offense. And Penn… he just sealed the deal."

We are on fucking fire.

"You guys feel it, right?" I put on my jacket, ignoring my tie.

Rafferty grins, eyes sparkling. "You mean that feeling like we're going to go all the way this season?"

I grab my phone and wallet from the shelf in my cubby, glancing around the locker room at all of my teammates as they dress, joy on their faces and swagger in their steps. Laughter, excitement, the shuffling of gear being stowed away—all sounds of victory. Not overly cocky, but yeah… they know it too.

"Yeah," I say as I turn back to Rafferty. "We're going all the way this year."

"Let's not jinx it," North grumbles, pocketing his phone.

"Not jinxing it," I clarify. "Just fucking stating truth."

"He's a brash one, our young King," Rafferty drawls, clapping his hand on my shoulder.

Atlas materializes, fully dressed and gear bag in hand. "Where are we going tonight? And most importantly, who's DD since I was last time?"

"That would be me," I reply, patting my pocket for the keys to my Macan. "And I just assumed we'd head over to Mario's."

As if on cue, a shrill whistle cuts through the locker room and I turn to see Hendrix standing on a bench. The chatter dies and everyone looks over to him. "I wanted to invite everyone to come out to Jerry's tonight to celebrate. It's Bear's birthday and we're going to hoist a few with him. First round's on me."

A cheer goes up and I turn to Atlas. "Looks like we're going to Jerry's."

Jerry's Lounge is the bar owned by Hendrix's girlfriend, Stevie. It's named after her grandfather who opened the place in the nineties. While it's not as convenient as Mario's, I have to admit, I like hanging out there more. It's got a good neighborhood vibe, although it's mostly filled with bikers. Still, the Titans who hang out there are treated more like normal Joes than famous athletes, and that's more my speed.

North thumbs over his shoulder and I look to see Foster walking out of the locker room. "I guess he's not coming."

I shake my head. I'd asked him earlier if he was going out with us but he declined. "I think it's still too soon after all that shit went down with Sandra. I think he wants to stick close to home."

"Who could blame him with a hottie like Mazzy there waiting for him?" Rafferty guffaws.

"Always thinking with your dick," North says with a shake of his head.

"Like all of you don't think Mazzy is super hot."

Not one of us deny it, because yeah… she's gorgeous. But she's also smart, funny and genuine. A triple threat. There was a time before I knew Foster was into her that I'd even considered asking her out. Probably half the team had thought to do the same.

Van walks by us wearing a dopey grin. He's had that look ever since Simone gave birth to their daughter, Beatrice. He offers fist bumps. "Great game."

Van is Max Fournier's brother-in-law and I've always wondered what it feels like for him to play against family. Is it hard or is there some satisfaction in beating his wife's brother? I don't ask though. Instead, I poke a little at him. "Any new photos?"

North snickers and Rafferty elbows him. It's been the joke all day today because Van has relentlessly bombarded the team chat thread with pictures of little Bea every fifteen minutes.

"Yeah, man," Van says, whipping out his phone. We all gather round to see the latest photos, clearly taken by Simone and sent to him while the game was underway. We can poke fun all we want, but admittedly, she's the cutest baby and more important, she's the first one born to this rebuilt team. That makes her a little bit all of ours and extra special.

"How's Simone doing?" I ask.

Van's smile softens, his voice filled with such tenderness, it almost makes my chest ache. "She's doing great. So proud of my girl."

"Bea's adorable," Atlas says, leaning over Van's shoulder to look at his phone. "Congrats again, man. You're a lucky guy."

"Thanks." Van radiates pride and an almost palpable happiness. "It's been amazing. This little girl has me wrapped around her pinky finger already."

After we run through the gamut of photos on Van's phone, we all pick up our bags and head out of the locker room with him. When we reach the door, I look back one more time to the cubbies and the handful of players still here. Penn is buttoning up his dress shirt, his gear bag still empty on the floor.

"You guys go ahead. I'll catch up," I say as I turn away from them.

When I approach Penn, he has that wary look on his face that I've come to recognize when someone dares try to have a normal conversation with the dude.

I ignore it and ask, "Want to come to Jerry's with us? I've got room in my car."

"Appreciate it, but I'll pass," he replies, gaze dropping to the buttons on his chest.

"Come on, Penn. Come hang out with us tonight. You should celebrate with a few beers."

"Not a partier," he mutters, tucking his shirt into his pants.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm the designated driver. You can drink water with me."

"Not much into socializing." His eyes cut to mine for a moment as if to punctuate that statement and he turns to grab his belt.

"Yeah, we've noticed. Maybe you should give it a try."

Penn faces me again, a slight tinge of irritation in his voice. "Look… I appreciate what you're trying to do. It's not lost on me the importance of camaraderie. But I don't do that shit. It's not something I like or need. And before you argue that it will make us better and stronger as a line or as a team, save it. We're doing great as is."

I can't argue with that. Penn is dominating the points, our team has the highest plus/minus rating in the league and Drake is on fire with the best goals against average. On top of that, we've made the power play our bitch by capitalizing on nearly every man advantage we get and my favorite stat, as a defenseman, is that we have the best penalty kill percentage in the league.

Christ, I wish I could figure the guy out. Maybe he's just a social introvert but that doesn't vibe with the fact that he'll talk to you all day long as long as it's about hockey and nothing personal. He's not shy with reporters or the cameras. And he's great with his fans. It seems to only be his teammates he has a problem hanging out with and it doesn't make sense to me. I've been in the league over three years now and your teammates are your brothers.

But not Penn.

I refuse to give up though. "Any interest in just going out for a single beer with me? We can grab some wings. We can talk about the game."

It's a bold offer and if he accepts, the guys will be pissed since I promised to be their DD tonight, but I'll pay for their Uber.

For the briefest moment, I think I see something shuttering in Penn's eyes. Is that yearning I see? I can't be sure, but whatever it is dies a swift death and his eyes go flat. "Thanks, but I'm tired and just want to get home."

"All right," I say, and hold my fist out for him to bump. He doesn't hesitate to give it to me. "It's a standing invite if you ever want to take me up on it."

"Good game," is all he replies before giving me his back to rummage around in his cubby. I've been effectively dismissed.

"King… you coming?" Rafferty calls from the door.

"I'm coming."

"You better be since you're our DD!" he replies, jerking his head for me to step it up.

With a sigh, I turn away from Penn and my futile attempts to get him to be an actual part of this team.

?

I push open the heavy glass door of Jerry's Lounge and step inside, instantly greeted by a handful of bikers sitting at the bar. Back thumps and fist bumps accompany our entrance as North, Rafferty, Atlas and I push through the throng.

To my right, the long, polished wooden bar stretches nearly the entire length of the wall. A row of gleaming beer taps lines the bar, each one unique, showcasing different craft beers, local brews and classic favorites. Behind the bar, shelves made of the same dark wood are stocked with an impressive array of liquor bottles. Neon beer signs dot the wall and the bartenders move skillfully, mixing drinks and chatting with regulars. Their practiced movements add to the lounge's lively yet relaxed energy.

Scattered throughout the main area are sturdy wooden tables and high-backed chairs, and a jukebox in the corner currently plays a rock song I don't recognize but surely was popular in decades past. I learned on prior visits that the music runs classic in this bar and reflects more of Bear's tastes than anything.

We make our way back to a grouping of high tops near the three pool tables, their green felt surfaces inviting a game. A few of the guys are already playing, the smacking of pool balls heard above the music and the low-level hum of conversation. Beyond the pool tables, there are electronic dart boards mounted on the wall but those stand empty for the time being. I'm sure as the beer flows and the competitive nature of my teammates loosens, there will be games played for money.

I note most of the team is here, I'm guessing because it's a Friday night but also because we only have a team meeting tomorrow. While professional athletes aren't above getting drunk when the occasion calls for it, we always have to balance the timing of partying with games and practice. I expect a few headaches tomorrow as we review game video.

After wishing Bear a happy birthday and giving Stevie a hug, Atlas, North, Rafferty and I snag a high top near the first pool table. A blond waitress by the name of Chrissy takes our orders and as soon as she's gone, I'm incessantly teased by my mates.

"Dude… are you going to ask her out?" Rafferty asks with a waggle of his brows.

I roll my eyes, tired of their ribbing when it comes to women. For some reason, they consider me a "pretty boy" and have pointed out on numerous occasions that women seem to drool over me. I don't see it though and even if I did, I'm not into random hookups. Never have been.

Instead, I change the subject. "I tried to get Penn to come out with us."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Atlas says grimly.

"What's his deal?" North grouses. "Does he think he's too good for us?"

"I don't think that's it," I muse, drumming my fingers on the table as I watch Stone and Drake playing a game of pool on the table before us.

Admittedly, I have no good hunches.

"Eight ball, bank shot, corner pocket," Drake says, tapping his hand on the exact pocket he just called.

"There's no way," Stone says confidently, leaning against his pool stick. "Twenty bucks says you miss."

Drake looks up, a smirk on his face. "Forty."

"I've got forty says he misses," Atlas says, pulling out his wallet.

"I'll cover that," Drake says with a wink.

"Anyone else want in on this action?" Stone asks, taking out his money.

"I'm good," North says, holding up a hand.

Rafferty and I both shake our heads.

We all watch as Drake bends over the table and carefully lines up his shot, his focus laser-like, much the way he is in net as our goalie. Slowly, he draws his stick back just a few inches and gives the cue ball the most delicate tap imaginable. Yet somehow, it has a punch to it and it makes a thwack against the eight ball. It swiftly rolls to the bumper, angles away and rolls all the way down the green to sink cleanly into the pocket.

"Holy shit," Rafferty exclaims.

"Damn," Stone grumbles, fishing the money out of his wallet. "You've gotten good."

"Yeah, turns out… Brienne has a pool table and I've been practicing just for this occasion."

Drake is engaged to the Titans' owner, Brienne Norcross, and they've been living together in her mansion with his three little boys for some time now.

"And where is our esteemed owner tonight?" Atlas asks just as Chrissy returns with beers.

"London," Drake says, taking a moment to order him and Stone a beer before she leaves. I sneak a glance at the pretty blond and fuck… she is staring right at me with hopeful eyes.

I drop my gaze and grab my water, turning back to Drake. "Why's she in London?"

"Can't say," Drake deadpans.

"Can't say because you don't know or can't say because you can't say?" I press.

"Can't say. It's a secret."

"Really?" Stone drawls with interest, leaning his elbow on our table.

Drake grins at him. "Really."

"Not even a hint?"

"Not even a hint," he confirms. "But if it goes the way I think it will, sports tongues are going to be wagging."

That was cryptic and intriguing as hell. What kind of sports would Brienne Norcross be interested in based out of London? Or is it a hockey player? But that doesn't make sense because that's Callum's job.

Chrissy returns with the beers for Stone and Drake and we all hoist our bottles—mine being plastic and filled with water—to toast the win against the Cold Fury. We play partners in pool, me and Drake against Stone and North, all with a bunch of smack talk and ribbing. Drake really is quite good and we kick Stone's and North's asses soundly but there's no money exchanged on that game.

Stevie ends up wheeling out a huge cake for her dad with two candles denoting his age of fifty-seven. The entire bar sings a rousing version of "Happy Birthday" and then slices are passed around.

"I'm heading out," Drake says as he drains the last of his beer.

"It's still early," Stone grumbles. "And I got a free night without the old ball and chain. You can't bail now."

"It's cute that you call Harlow that," Drake drawls, patting the top of Stone's head. "Especially since you've bitched and moaned all night she was out with her friends."

"Whatever," Stone says dismissively, but we all know he's full of shit. The guy can barely go fifteen minutes without mentioning his fiancée in some sappy way. "But come on… one more beer."

"Can't," Drake says, patting his pocket for his keys, which he pulls out to twirl on his finger. "Colby and Tanner have a hockey game tomorrow morning."

"No kidding," I say, draining my second bottle of water. "What about Jake?"

"His league has their games on Tuesday nights."

"How old are your boys again?" North asks.

"Colby and Tanner are five and Jake is seven."

"And they play in different leagues?" I ask.

Drake puffs up with pride. "Ordinarily they'd be on the same team at that age, but Jake is really talented and moved up to the next level."

"Let me guess," Atlas asks dryly. "He's a goalie."

"But of course," Drake says with a laugh. "If any of you guys want to come out and watch, it's at the IcePlex… eight a.m. sharp."

"I'm going to be far too hungover," Rafferty proclaims and slaps me on the back. "With a DD, I'm indulging."

We all laugh because Rafferty would indulge even if I wasn't DD. Not to say he'd drink and drive, as he's far too smart for that, but the man does like to party and will Uber it home in a heartbeat.

"I might come," I say, checking my watch. It's getting late and there's no sign of slowing down, but tomorrow's an easy day with the team meeting in the afternoon.

"Cool," Drake says, offering his fist. "You guys stay safe. I'm out of here."

We watch him maneuver through the crowd, stopping to hug Stevie and shake Bear's hand. Rafferty and North rack another game while Atlas flirts with two girls on the pool table next to us.

Stone rests his forearms on the high top. "You played stellar tonight. You've been a great addition to our first line."

"Thanks, man. It's still surreal to be playing with giants like you, Drake and Penn."

Stone scoffs. "Don't lump me into the category with Drake and Penn. They're elite."

"Whatever, dude. Your numbers stack you up in the top of the league. But yeah… our line is vibing this year. Seems natural."

"Yeah, sometimes it's just that way. You click and can almost read each other's minds."

I glance around the bar, then back to Stone. "I wish Penn would hang out with us some. Is it just me or is it weird that he hasn't attended a single social event? I mean… when I was with Houston, we all hung out together. I thought it was part of being a team."

Stone lifts a shoulder. "I think it's helpful if you can have that type of relationship with a line mate but not sure it's absolutely necessary. And besides… you can't argue against the fact that Penn's playing his best hockey so far and it's elevated all of us."

"I know," I grouse, twisting my bottle cap on and off. "I guess… maybe I feel bad for him. Like he's missing out on something. I mean… this is great, hanging out and shooting the shit, right?"

"Fucking fantastic," Stone agrees, picking up his bottle for a sip. "But not everyone's built the same. Whatever world Penn lives in, this is working for him right now."

"Should I stop inviting him?" I ask, because the last thing I want to do is piss him off to the extent our chemistry on the ice takes a ding.

"Hell no," Stone says with a laugh. "Stay on his ass. You're not the only one trying. I've invited him to come over to have dinner with me and Harlow and he declined, but I'll ask again." His expression sobers as he leans forward and lowers his voice. "But here's the thing… I think I can speak to what it's like to have your own demons. Sometimes you have to leave them alone just to get by, and other times you have to push. We don't know what makes Penn the way he is but this is still a new team. We've only been together a year and a half, and you, Penn, Rafferty, North and Atlas have only been here a few months. Everyone is acclimating and settling into their new lives. My advice is to let this ride for a bit and hopefully he'll feel more comfortable letting his guard down."

He's right and I know it, but one of my toxic traits is the need to fix situations. At least, that's what my sister calls it.

"You guys want another round?"

I turn to find Chrissy there, pretty blue eyes locked onto me. I glance to Stone who says, "Sure… I'll take another one."

"I'll have another bottle of water," I add.

"Sure thing," she chirps and then takes a step closer to me. From the corner of my eye, I see Stone turn away as if to give us privacy. She places her hand on my arm. "I hope this isn't too forward, but I was hoping maybe I could give you my number and we could go out or something. Like… maybe even tonight after I get off work. We could go to my place."

It appears the guys were right about Chrissy having an obvious interest in me but unfortunately, I don't feel the same. I hate letting anyone down and I certainly don't like hurting anyone's feelings, but it's awkward as hell to find the right words. I'm not suave with women the way Rafferty is, and I'm not as outgoing and charming as Atlas. I definitely don't have North's cool confidence.

Frankly, I don't have the experience, having only had one girlfriend my entire life and that relationship lasted from the time I was fifteen until just two years ago. I don't know how to play the field, nor do I really want to. I actually loved being in a relationship and until that type of person piques my interest—like a Mazzy, for example—I'm not looking. It's hard to find someone genuine and unfortunately, that's what I want. Not to get picked up in a bar for a one-night stand.

"Um…," I falter, looking to Stone who is still turned away, then back to Chrissy. "I appreciate the offer and all, but um… I've got to get up early to go to a friend's hockey game for his kid and—"

"It doesn't have to be tonight," she interrupts me. "It can be anytime, really."

Christ, this is difficult. I could lie and tell her I'm gay or have a girlfriend or I'm terminally celibate, none of which are true. But I'm a big believer in chemical attraction and I'm not feeling it here, despite the fact she's beautiful. It's something you just can't put your finger on, I guess.

Ultimately, I decide to go with the truth because I'm a believer in karma and I don't want it to bite me in the ass later. "Listen… Chrissy…" Her eyes light up with a faith that I'm getting ready to make her dreams come true. "I'm sorry, but it's just not something I'm interested in. I'm flattered, of course, as you're very beautiful, but…"

She's crestfallen, her mouth sagging into a frown and her brows drawing in. "Oh, okay… sure… I understand."

"I really am sorry," I repeat.

"It's fine." She gives an overly bright smile. "Never hurts to ask, right?"

"Right." I smile back at her. "It never hurts to ask."

She mumbles something about getting our drinks and hurries off. Stone immediately turns around, eyes shining with amusement.

"You heard all of that?" I query.

"Every word," he replies with a laugh. "And dude… it's commendable the way you let her down. Sweet, even. You're a good guy."

"I try to be." It's the way my parents raised me. It's the way my sister Jenny looks up to me. I treat women the way I would want Jenny to be treated and I've been in this league enough to see other guys who take their fame as a license to be dicks. That's not going to be me.

Rafferty walks up to the table to take a drink of his beer. He clearly saw that as well. "You're hopeless." He laughs with a light punch to my arm. "She's been practically throwing herself at you since we started coming in here."

"So I've been told," I reply in a dry tone.

"Leave him alone." Stone defends my actions. "It's part of his charm."

"His charm is going to give him blue balls." Rafferty chortles.

"And your charm is going to give you an STI," I shoot back, causing Stone to snort.

"Hey," Rafferty says, looking completely offended. "I practice safe sex."

"Yeah, I know." Grinning, I squeeze his shoulder. "And as much as you have it, I'm going to buy stock in condoms."

"Don't hate on me because I'm getting it regularly," he scoffs.

"I could never hate you, Raff." I laugh. "Even if you had syphilis."

"Gee, thanks," he mutters and pushes my hand off him. "But you don't mind if I take a crack at Chrissy, do you?"

"Be my guest." I wave my hand in her general direction. "Just keep it wrapped."

"Always," he quips with a twinkle in his eye.