13. Hudson

HUDSON

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I dread going to camp, and it has every single thing to do with the hot-as-fuck blonde I had to leave behind.

We’ve texted back and forth all week, even FaceTimed once when she got home from the library, and fuck… I can’t wait to be home.

I scroll back through my messages and click on her name, bringing up our text thread. The ones with her snarky, flirty texts that got me hard with just a sentence. I swipe through the few photos that she sent of her doing the most ordinary shit… A selfie as she was studying, her at the rink wearing a shit-eating smile while she holds my practice stick.

Which, of course, she had to compare to my cock because that’s who she is. My dirty girl.

Fuck, this week has been too long, not being able to touch her.

All I can think about is her at home in my bed, the white linen sheet draped across her stomach, her perky tits still brushed red from my beard.

I’ll never forget that sight for as long as I fucking live.

“I’m not used to seeing you waiting for a text, Hudson. Tell me, how does it feel? I think it was you that said staring at it wasn’t going to make her text back?” Chaney smirks, scraping his stick along the ice and slinging a puck toward me.

My jaw tightens as I clench my teeth. “You know, rookie, you sure as fuck are getting real brave. Been a while since you got your ass kicked? I think you need to be knocked down a few pegs.”

He only laughs, making me that much more annoyed. “If your old ass could catch me, then sure. Gonna be that much harder with an extra sixty pounds of goalie pads.” He skates to the other side of the rink, where the new rookies are talking to Coach, before I can reach forward and smack him in the head with my stick.

I swear, these fuckers try me every day of my life, and then I’ll be the one who has to do laps or sit on the fucking bench when I beat the hell out of him because our coach already doesn’t care for me.

“I can’t handle either of you,” Reed grumbles when Chaney skates away. “Fuck, I don’t want to deal with either of you today.” He pauses, glancing down at my phone. “You know how bad this shit is going to blow up in your face, right?”

Glancing back over at Coach, I let out a ragged sigh. This week has been awkward as fuck. Every time I look at him, I think about what would happen if he found out what I was doing with his daughter. A constant reminder of how off-limits she is and how it’s likely that it will blow up in my face. “I’m regretting even telling any of you.”

“We’re your best friends, dickhead. Of course you’d tell us when you were potentially making the biggest fuckup of your career,” Asher says quietly.

He’s not wrong, but none of them know what it’s like to have Caroline.

“Listen, we’re just worried, brother. That’s all. We’re here, always. Just know we have your back,” Briggs says.

This week is about showing the coaching staff and Coach how we work together as a team. The new recruits, a guy from North Carolina and a guy from Washington, are being brought on. This is the time they really get to see how the rookies work with us vets. See who does better together on the ice and who doesn’t work together fluidly.

Plus, training camp is open to the public, which means an entire week with every eye on you. Which makes me even more on edge since I have a secret that could ruin my entire career.

“Man, I’m ready to be home. I miss Mads and the kids,” Briggs says, plopping down on the bench and reaching for his water bottle, squirting a stream all over himself to cool down. “I hate being away from them.”

Reed and Asher both grumble in agreement as they collapse next to him. All three of them have been progressively grumpier as the week wears on, all itching for camp to be over so they can rush home to their families.

I, for one, have never really had that feeling. Someone at home to miss or to want to hurry back to see. Sure, I miss my parents and Hailey, but it’s not like they’re waiting at my house for me when I walk through the door. And lately, I’ve found myself wanting it. Wanting to have someone at home waiting for me, and now, specifically, a petite, blonde, curvy bombshell that rocks my fucking world.

“Coach said we’re done, so I’m gonna head to the showers. Briggs, are we still having the get-together at your house?” I ask as I turn toward the locker room so I can shower the seventeen pounds of sweat off my body before I head home.

“Yeah, I’ll text the group tomorrow. I better not hear from you assholes at all tonight because the second I walk through that door, I am dragging my wife to our bedroom.”

“Gross. I’d rather not think of you and your wife partaking in any activities,” Asher says. “But same. I’m unavailable until tomorrow. Gotta spend some time with my girl.”

And with that, I’m out. I’ve heard enough about these three fuckers’ sex lives. Trust me, I’ve had enough of listening to them talk about getting their wives pregnant and how at least one of them at any given time wants another kid. Either that, or it’s some gross kid shit that makes my stomach turn.

I love my nieces and nephews, but there’s only so much I can take.

I take a quick shower and check my bag, ensuring I have everything before tossing a bye to the guys over my shoulder as I walk out of the practice facility. There are a few fans still hanging around the exit, so I sign a few jerseys, take a few selfies, and then I’m home free.

Once I get in my car, I pull my phone from my jogger pocket, checking my notifications before pulling the thread with Caroline up.

Hudson: Can’t fucking wait to see you, Bubblegum.

Hudson: I may or may not be thinking about all the panties I’m going to be ripping off once I see you.

Caroline: Maybe I just won’t wear any so you can’t ruin any more. I’m a broke college girl, Romeo. I can’t afford your panty fetish.

I smirk, texting back.

Hudson: Don’t make me wait any longer, I need you in my bed. My pool feels very empty without you…

Caroline: That’s because you’re stupid rich, and it’s stupidly large.

Chuckling, I toss my phone onto the console and turn my car on, then pull out onto the highway.

My house is only a few minutes outside of the city, and the drive is quick when traffic is low, so I’m pulling into my giant driveway less than thirty minutes later.

I might not have anyone waiting at home for me, but I have a king-size bed with fresh sheets that’re just calling my fucking name. Once I park, I grab my hockey bag from the back seat and head inside.

Heavy silence greets me as I walk through the door and toss my bag onto the floor in the mudroom. Maybe I should get a dog? Hailey could take care of it for me when I’m on the road, and then I won’t have to come home to an empty house anymore.

My phone rings in my pocket, pulling me from thoughts, which is probably a good thing because I probably don’t need a damn dog. Doesn’t mean I don’t want one though, now that I’ve gotten the thought in my head.

Wren’s name flashes on the screen when I finally get it out of my pocket. Swiping, I answer, “What’s up, kid?”

“Hey. Uh, are you home from training camp yet?”

I open the fridge, pulling a Powerade from the stocked shelf. “Just walked through the door. Why, what’s up with you?”

“Wanna get a skate in? I… I just wanna get out of my house for a while. It’s okay if you’re busy. I know you’re probably exhausted as fu—”

“I’m in. You need a ride?” I say, cutting him off. Obviously, he’s calling because he needs me. It’s not like this is a regular occurrence, and I can hear the quiver in his voice.

For a second, he pauses, then says, “I could probably take the bus? It’ll take me a bit because I need to check the schedule.”

As fucking if I’m letting this kid take a public bus alone.

“Nah, get your stuff ready and give me a few to take care of something, and I’ll be on my way. Sound good?”

“For sure. Thanks… Thanks for this, Coach.”

My heart does something funny when he says those words of gratitude, and I clear my throat. “Yeah, kid, it’s nothing. I’m always here.”

* * *

“Your head isn’tin it today. Doesn’t matter how many times I shoot this puck, you’re not there, Wren,” I say. “What’s going on? Let’s go sit, get some water, chill for a minute.”

He doesn’t respond to my question but nods and flings off his gloves, leaving them on the ice in front of the net. When we get to the bench, he pulls his helmet off, then squirts his water into his mouth, his gaze somewhere far off in the distance.

Obviously, something is up. He’s not his usual animated self.

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, taking a seat next to him, leaning my stick against the boards as I wait for him to respond.

I want him to feel like he can talk to me, but I don’t want to push too far and make him run. I knew when I heard his voice on the phone that something was off, and the way he’s acting and playing today on the ice solidifies that.

“Just an off day,” he mumbles, eyes cast downward.

I nod. “We all have them. Been playing hockey since I was younger than you, and I still have off days. Especially when shit is fucking with my head. I always play my worst when my mental game isn’t on par with my hands. It’s like the two can’t keep up when they aren’t in sync.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, still avoiding my gaze. “I just hate when my bad days affect how I play. I mean… I just have a lot going on, and if there is one steady thing in my life, it’s hockey. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what happens at school or at home. If I have a fight with my stepdad or flunk a test. Hockey is always there. Sometimes it feels like hockey is all I really have.”

“I get it. That’s part of honing your craft, Wren. Learning to leave it at the door the second that you step on the ice. It also helps not to keep all of that shit in your head bottled up. Get it out. Find an outlet to express the way you’re feeling,” I say, nudging his shoulder with mine, his eyes finally meeting mine.

“My stepdad… he’s been drinking more. And sometimes he forgets things.”

My stomach dips at his confession. Fuck, he’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have to carry this on his shoulders.

“What kind of things?” I ask.

He swallows, averting his gaze like he’s worried about telling the truth, “Just things. Sometimes he forgets to pay the electric bill, and they turn off the electricity for a few days. Sometimes he forgets to buy groceries.” He pauses, shuffling on each foot, still not meeting my eyes, and I can feel my rage increasing by the second. “It’s just hard sometimes, Coach. I miss my mom so much, and it feels like sometimes I don’t have anyone.”

Sighing, I drag my hand down my face. Goddamnit, part of me wants to beat the shit out of that asshole for being a piece of shit to Wren, and the other part wants to take him away from this situation, but I’m not really sure what my place is here. This is entirely new territory for me. Right now, he looks like he could flee at the drop of the hat, and that’s the last thing I want.

“Wren, listen to me. I don’t give a fuck what time of night it is, what day it is… I don’t give a shit if I’m in the middle of the Stanley Cup game. If you need me, I’m here. Night or day. You hear me? The second you feel like it’s not safe for you, if you don’t want to call the police, you call me, Wren.”

He nods. “Thank you… I just needed to get it off my chest. That’s why I’m here late sometimes ‘cause he forgets to pick me up, and I have to take the bus.” Silence envelops us both as we stare out at the rink. I’m struggling with the right decision. There’s a fierce part of me that needs to protect this kid. But something tells me the more I push, the more he’ll back away. I can see it in his eyes. A human’s natural response—fight or flight. “I wish that I could turn the clock back, even for just a few minutes, to when my mom was here, and she could just hug me and tell me everything is okay.”

“Wren… I—”

He turns to face me, and I throw my arm around him, tugging him to my chest. I hold on fucking tight, and I don’t move when I feel him tense. All he needs is a damn hug, and my heart is breaking listening to him tell me this stuff, knowing I can’t take him away. If I tell Laura, what could she do?

Clearing his throat, he steps back, the emotion still hanging on his words. “I don’t want you to treat me any differently. I’m still going to bust my ass out there and earn my spot. Look, can you just pretend that I never said anything? Coach, promise me… promise me you won’t say anything. I’d rather my stepdad forget a few times than end up in a group home in the foster care system.”

“I’m only making that promise if you make one of your own, Wren. You have to fucking promise me that if you ever feel unsafe, you will call me. Immediately. No hesitation.”

He nods. “I don’t want to end up in foster care. Do you know how many teenagers get thrown into foster care and sit there? No one wants a teenager. No one will want me, and sometimes we have to choose the lesser evil.”

Reaching out, I put my arm on his shoulder. “I’m never letting that happen, Wren. I promise you that. Okay? That’s my promise. You call me no matter what. With the season starting, I’m going to be traveling a lot, but even if I’m on the road, I don’t care. You call me.”

“I will. Saved your number under Old Man.” A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he teases me, earning him a shove to his shoulder. “I probably need to get home,” he says quietly, looking down at the beat-up watch on his wrist and eying the time. It’s late now, the sun beginning to set outside the rink.

“C’mon, I’ll take you. Let’s call it a night. We’ll get some ice time later this week.”

When he skates off to the locker room in front of me, I pull my phone out of my sweats and text Caroline.

After that… All I want to do is see her.