8. Xander

CHAPTER 8

XANDER

I grind at the gym the rest of the morning, trying to work off my frustration. At the suspension, Coach, the recent string of losses.

But let’s be real here. Most of my pissed-offness stems from bobbling the Rachel situation.

I held a sexy-as-fuck woman in my arms this morning and then let her walk away.

Have I taken one too many hits to the brain out on the ice? Because for fuck’s sake, who does that? Who meets someone as beautiful and sweet as Rachel, kisses her—twice—and then agrees to the dumb plan of just being friends or some shit like that?

Me, that’s who.

I’m clearly a colossal dumbass.

I can’t stop thinking about her. All morning long, she’s there, weaving her way into my thoughts as I jog on the tread, crank out reps, cycle through my plyometric exercises.

She’s still there in the afternoon as I sit in the sauna, wishing she was sitting beside me sans towel. She’s there when I refuel with a smoothie, take a shower, flick on the television and watch hockey highlights.

I’ve had a semi-stiffy all day long and it’s starting to get uncomfortable.

Finally, I break down and text Jackson.

Xander: Do you have Rachel’s number?

Jackson: Yes

Of course he responds yes. He’s the head coach, so I figure he has all the personal info on the athletes and their families. I kinda hoped I wouldn’t have to come out and ask for it, but I guess he’s not picking up on the hint.

Fuck it.

Xander: Can I please have it?

I have no chill. Text bubbles appear, disappear, then reappear. I hope he just shoots me her digits. I’ll see her tomorrow, but that seems too far off, forever from now.

Jackson: I’m sending the number to you under official coaching capacity. Normally, I wouldn’t share

Jackson: Word of warning. She’s been through a lot. If you’re looking for a casual fling, a way to pass the time while you’re in town, she’s not it. Don’t go there

Damn. Jackson definitely doesn’t trust me. But I guess I can’t blame him. My reputation’s not the best at the moment.

Xander: I won’t screw her over, if that’s what you mean

Jackson: Don’t screw her, period. She’s not another puck bunny. She’s a single mom, with real responsibilities

I frown at the cell. I get it. Rachel’s got a kid, don’t fuck around with her. But does that mean she’s going to be celibate the rest of her days?

Not if I have anything to say about it.

More text bubbles and then Rachel’s contact info appears, filling up the screen. My lower body tenses as I save the info to my phone. Heart pounding, I tap out a text.

Xander: Hey, Rachel. This is Xander Kovac

I hit ‘send’ and wait impatiently, my palms sweaty. This is worse than hockey practice. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous texting a woman.

I’m Xander Fucking Kovac, star goalie. Why am I panicking?

Probably because she already turned you down once today.

My cell vibrates in my hand.

Rachel: How’d you get my number?

Xander: The hockey roster

No sense throwing Jackson under the bus.

Xander: How’s the SUV?

Rachel: Good. Is this your follow-up survey? Lol

Xander: Ha, yes it is. Please rate my service on a scale of 1-5, with 5 being extremely satisfied

Rachel: 10+

I can’t help but grin down at my cell. I feel better than I do after a block—I’ve been off the ice too long for sure.

Xander: Great. So happy to hear you received excellent service. As thanks for responding to this survey, I’d like to take you out for drinks. Or dinner. Whatever works for you

I probably sound desperate, but I can’t help it. I need to see her again, like I need to eat, sleep, breathe, and play hockey.

Rachel: Call me

Puck’s back to me. With a deep breath, I dial her number and wait, ignoring the roar of blood rushing through my ears.

“Hello?” Rachel picks up on the first ring, her voice soft and breathy.

“Hey. It’s Xander. Obviously.”

She giggles as I wonder how I lost my game so fast.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Rachel. I shouldn’t have let you walk away this morning. Not without pleading my case. I like you. I understand you have a life with responsibilities and things are complicated. But that’s okay. I like complicated.”

“You do?”

“Eh, okay, that’s kind of a half-truth. I’m a simple guy, but I can deal with complicated. I understand complicated, I’ve lived it.” I run a hand through my hair and pray she’ll at least consider my offer.

“Exactly. Why would you want to take that on?”

“For you.”

She sucks in a breath and I regret not video calling her. I want to see her, read the expression dancing across her face. I swipe my palm on the mesh fabric of my shorts and wait.

“Xander, are you sure? Because it’s not just me anymore. I’m a package deal. And Jett’s always going to be my number one priority.”

“I get it. And I know and understand. We can take things as slow as you want. Or as fast—I’m good with that too,” I joke and she laughs. “I just need to see you again.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth and my chest lightens for the first time since I watched Rachel pull out of the mechanic’s lot this morning.

“Yes. I’d love to go out with you.”

I beam at the phone, happiness rushing through me. “Fantastic. What’s your schedule like? When are you free?”

“Tomorrow night. Charles has Jett this weekend. He’s picking him up from practice.”

Oh joy. Can’t wait to see that jackass again.

“Okay. I’ll swing by and pick you up after practice then.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

“See you.”

We disconnect and I fist pump into the air in my empty living room.

Hell, yeah—Kovac’s still got it.

The next day crawls by, tension building all day as I anticipate finally seeing Rachel again. Alone, this time.

Jackson brings Jett with him to practice, so there’s no pre-practice Rachel sighting. Not ideal, but I calm myself with the thought of spending an entire uninterrupted evening with her.

The kids do great out on the ice, running drills and taking instruction like little pros. Probably better than pros, who am I kidding? The hour flies and before I know it, practice is over and everyone’s skating off the ice to their parents. Gear’s collected, shoes tied, and people file out of the rink.

Only a few stragglers remain and Jett’s one of them. He sits on the wooden bench, narrow shoulders slumping forward. He’s wringing his hands and swinging his feet and looks to be very near tears. I sidle over and sink down onto the bench next to him.

“Hey, bud. You did good out there tonight.”

Jett tips his head up, shoots me a small smile. “Thanks, Coach.”

“What’s the matter?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me. Why so bummed out?”

Jett lets out a full-body sigh, his chest rising and falling with the effort. “My dad’s always late picking me up. He probably forgot me again.”

My heart wrenches in my chest at his sad tone and downcast gaze. This isn’t the same happy, bubbly kid from the last practice and I hate that for him.

“I’m sure he didn’t forget you. And if he did, it’s okay. I can always give you a ride home.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

I pat his knee. “It’s no problem. I’ll wait with you until he gets here, anyway. How was school?”

Jett relaxes a bit and tells me about his day as the time ticks by. Jackson waves the last kid off and turns his attention to Jett and me.

“Hey, dude. Is your mom picking you up?”

“No. My dad.” Jett’s lip quivers and we’re back to square one again. I debate calling Rachel, but I don’t want to put her in a bad position with her ex.

“Hmm. Maybe he got the times mixed up. Let me grab my phone out of my bag and give him a call.”

Jett nods, tears shimmering in his eyes. Jackson jogs away to make the call and in walks Charles the jackass.

“Daddy!” Jett pops off the bench, nearly tripping over his own feet to get to his father.

“Hey.” Charles is in no rush, seemingly oblivious to the fact that practice has been over for at least twenty minutes and his kid’s the last one here. “You have your stuff?”

No hug, no high-five, no ‘how was your day?’ Jett’s smile wavers and melts off his face as he spins back around to grab his bag.

“Here you go, bud.” I hand the duffel over and ruffle Jett’s hair. “Great practice today.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Jett shoots me a gappy smile and my gut twists. I wish it was me taking him home instead of his dickhead dad, but that’s not my place.

Instead, I square up to Charles. “Practice ends at six-thirty. For future reference.”

“Relax, puck boy. I’m a few minutes late.”

Hot anger bubbles inside me. This guy’s totally oblivious to his son’s feelings, to other people’s obligations, and apparently, also to time.

“You’re twenty minutes late, actually. I don’t care all that much, but your son was worried.”

“Don’t tell me how my son feels.” Charles wraps his fingers around Jett’s arm, pulling his small body around behind his back.

“Thought someone should let you know how your actions impact others.”

“Ironic coming from a suspended hockey boy.”

I balk, trying to hide my shock. Last night, this guy never heard of me. Now he knows my fucking life story?

Charles leans into my personal space, his face inches from mine. “Yeah, I googled you. You’re in deep trouble with the league. The bad boy of hockey, they call you. How about you stay the hell away from my family? Go back to the city, where you belong.”

Puffing out my chest, I straighten my shoulders and stand at my full height. I tower over this punk, anger simmering below the surface of my skin.

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice. But I’m not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself,” he sneers, the corner of his thin lips curling. “I wouldn’t have taken you as a guy who’d settle for sloppy seconds, though.”

My hands automatically ball and my jaw tenses. I’m beyond pissed right now, my fist itching to connect with this asshole’s face.

“Hey, Charles.” Jackson jogs back into the rink, circling around to my side. He rests his hand on my forearm, a silent warning. “I just left you a voicemail. Thought maybe lines got crossed about pick-up.”

“No. I hit some traffic. Come on, Jett. Let’s go.” He grabs Jett’s hand and drags him out of the rink, not bothering to say goodbye, let alone apologize for his tardiness.

I stand and seethe, Jackson’s hand the only thing keeping me from pummeling the dickhead. Well, that and the fact that Jett’s right there and I don’t want to traumatize him any further.

“Be cool, Kovac. He’s not worth it,” Jackson mutters.

I nod, my neck stiff with tension. “I know. But he’s a real asshole.”

“I warned you. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I really love Rachel, but you also have to deal with him. And it might not be worth it, dude. You still have a professional hockey career to think about. Do you really want to get involved in that mess?”

I frown, head and my heart warring. The smart decision would be to walk away, not get involved.

But I’ve never been known for smart decisions.

“Yes. If it means a shot with Rachel, then yes.”

“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”