Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

I drive Sloane home, and the whole ride home, she’s fidgeting.

Reaching across the console, I grab her hand and put it on my thigh. It doesn’t seem to help anything.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, what? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” she says.

“Not that I’m complaining about what happened in the bathroom, it just seemed to come out of nowhere. Are you having pre-heat symptoms?”

“That might be it,” she says, biting on her nail.

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you?”

Her green eyes glance over at me before quickly looking down at where our hands are interlaced.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” I tell her.

“Why do you hate Max Connery so much?”

I grunt and let go of her hand to hold the steering wheel with both hands. She then wraps her arms around herself, and I immediately feel guilt over the action.

“It was a long time ago, my rookie year. It’s not worth bringing up.”

“But it’s a big enough deal that you still don’t like him.”

“He’s a selfish asshole, and he hasn’t changed in the last handful of years. The team will be better off when he eventually gets traded. Why are you asking?”

She swallows and looks out the window. “I was just asking.”

“You should stay far away from him, Sloane. All he does is use people and think about himself. He’s not a friend worth having.”

“Right,” she whispers, looking out the window.

I feel like whatever I’m saying is fucking this all up, or whatever she isn’t telling me is weighing too heavily on her.

I grab her hand and kiss her knuckles before putting it on my lap.

“Sloane, I want to be in this with you. But you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s just stress, I think. Not knowing when my heat is coming and I think I’m worried about you and Ethan being able to handle it on your own. I don’t mean that I don’t trust you or that you won’t take care of me. I just don’t know what to expect. What if I need another Alpha?”

I grunt, hating the idea.

Ethan, I like; that was an easier adjustment than I had imagined. But Ethan is also a Beta, an attractive one who I wouldn’t mind also being involved with. But an Alpha? I’d long ago given up the idea of ever being involved with an Alpha.

Fuck, that’s a selfish thought, isn’t it? I only care if it’s someone I could see myself with.

“Is there someone else?” I ask as calmly as possible.

“No,” she whispers, and I feel like it’s a lie.

I hadn’t thought Sloane had lied to me ever since we’ve been together, so why is she starting now?

“If there’s another Alpha, I suppose we would do what you did with Ethan. Getting to know each other and going from there. I won’t lie and say it will be easy for me.”

“You get along with Ethan. I mean, more than get along with Ethan after tonight,” she says softly.

“If you could find an Alpha like him, it would be appreciated,” I joke with a smile.

She doesn’t return the smile and just nods her head.

“It’s too cold, so I’m dropping you off in front of your house.”

“Okay.”

I want to push more and figure out exactly what’s bothering her.

“We have a string of away games coming up soon. You’ll call me right away if you think you’re going into heat? I’ll drop everything,” I promise her as I park in front of her house.

She turns her head on the headrest to stare at me. She looks tired and sad, and I hate it.

What am I doing wrong?

“You’re a good man, Bram,” she says, and I lean over to kiss her.

She accepts my kiss, and it’s tender and sweet, nothing like the frantic encounter in the bathroom.

“Let me know when you get inside,” I tell her.

“I will.”

She kisses me one more time before getting out of the car and walking to her apartment. A few moments later, she texts me.

Sloane

I’m home. Good night, Bram.

Good night

I drive home with a sinking feeling in my stomach, and I’m not sure how to make it right.

Ball Arena is a shitty name and an even shittier stadium. The ice is slushy, and I feel like the whole place might collapse if someone blinks the wrong way.

We’re playing like shit, it’s the second away game in a row, and everyone is exhausted, and it shows.

It’s not even midway in the season. We can’t be falling apart now.

I have the left forward against the boards as I shove my shoulder against his back, using my stick to try and control the puck. His helmet keeps banging against the glass, and I smile to myself.

It’s like a rhythmic clinking of his head and the crowded banging against the glass.

There’s a simmering anger resting under the surface for me lately. I don’t know if it’s because things with Sloane feel like the other shoe is going to drop or if it’s something deeper.

All I know is I have enough frustration to get me through this string of games so I can get back and figure out whatever the fuck is going on with my Omega.

The Avalanche player is trying to get out of the corner I’ve put him in as one of his teammates attempts to help him, causing Martel to come to my defense.

“Give it up, you fuck,” he growls at the player at my back.

My thighs are burning as I keep digging, refusing to let up. We’re down by one, and there’s only four minutes left in the third.

We can’t afford to give them any advantages. We need to get more shots on goal, and there’s little time to be fucking around.

My skates are slipping on the slush as the fucker elbows me in the nose.

A whistle is called immediately as I put my gloved hand up to my bleeding face.

“Fucking klootzak,” I hiss under my breath.

“What does that one mean?” Martel says, skating to our bench as we wait for the double-minor penalty to be called.

“Scrotum,” I say as the medic holds the bridge of my nose.

Martel laughs and rests against the bench. “That’s cute.”

I narrow my eyes at him, and he smiles as the penalty is called. The crowd boos, as we have the rest of the game to play with a man down against Colorado.

The line shift changes, focusing heavily on the offense, and I know I likely won’t be called in for the remainder of the period. Our hope is either to score during the power play or force overtime.

I hold the gauze against my nose, willing the bleeding to stop as I watch the rest of the game with bated breath.

The Foxes have the advantage and are gathered on the offensive side, taking shots and keeping control of the puck.

Until they’re not.

One of the Avalanche gets a break away, skating faster than the rest of our team, even as they use their sticks to try and stop him. But he’s too fast. It’s one on one with Connery.

The motherfucker scores albeit a good shot, despite the Foxes’ power play.

I curse, forgetting about the gauze as the blood pours out of my nose. I hiss and hold it back against my face.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Martel grumbles next to me, and I grunt in agreement. “We’re fucking blowing it right now.”

“It’s the fucking goalie.”

“I tried to get Anders out of retirement, and I thought Charlotte was going to stab me in my sleep. So we’re stuck with him. And honestly, he’s just as good as Owen. What’s your deal with him anyway?”

“We played together our rookie year. What they say in the tabloids has all been true. I don’t want someone with that character on our team.”

“Yeah, because you’re so charming,” he retorts, and I glare at him, which must not be threatening with a bloody nose. “Learn to deal with him. Save all your hate for the games, please.”

I narrow my eyes at him, wondering how a fellow hater can be so level headed.

He shrugs. “We’re not going to win if you two don’t get along.”

“Whatever,” I groan back as the whistle blows and the Avalanche celebrate their win.

Coach Applegate has his arms crossed, his face stoic, and I know he’s pissed as the team skates off the ice and we head to the visitors’ locker room.

I just want to go to my room and call Sloane. Instead, I sit my ass on this bench as her father chews us all out.

“What the fuck was that? A goal on a double-minor in our favor? We’re the reigning Stanley Cup champions. This is not how we should be playing nearly halfway into the season. We have our game in Edmonton in two days. We fly out tomorrow. I swear to fucking God, if we don’t step it up, there will be some major changes. This is not the same team that won the championship last year. I know we lost Connery and Bandnin as players, but that’s no excuse. Watch tonight’s game over and over, and see where you fucked up. Go to sleep,” he says waving off his hand.

Yeah, definitely not worried about telling that man that I’m fucking his daughter and plan on bonding her anytime soon.

I scrub my face.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Max Connery says, and I glare over at him.

“It’s not your fault, man. There’s no reason he should have had that break away when we were a player up. It was a fuckup,” our captain, Eli Beckford, says.

Deep down, I know it was a good shot, that it’s not Connery’s fault. But my stupid ego and grudge just won’t give it up. Maybe it’s because Sloane brought him up or because my nose aches. But I lose it.

“Really? We just get our asses chewed out, come off another loss, and you’re just patting him on the back and telling him it’s all good?” I say, and Eli sighs.

“Yeah, Nilsen. That’s what I’m doing.”

“We’ve been playing like shit lately, and our goalie not stepping it up is only making things worse.”

Max steps up, his goalie gear still on except his helmet.

I can’t believe I found him attractive once.

“You want me to fuck up your nose again?” Max says, shoving at my chest, which I quickly shove back.

“Yeah, I just might. Let’s fucking go.”

He rears back and punches me in the face, which I quickly reciprocate.

Now my nose and lip aches, and I’m about to hit him again when Martel grabs me and Beckford grabs Connery.

“Stop it,” Martel says, gripping me tightly.

“I’m good. Let go of me.”

He tightens his arms around me before letting go, and Beckford does the same with Connery.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re still deep in the season. You don’t have a contract with the team, and you won’t,” I sneer.

“Go to the fucking hotel. Now,” Beckford demands.

I shuck off my gear as quickly as possible and shove all my shit in my bag before getting dressed.

As soon as I’m back at the hotel, I video call Sloane, needing to calm myself down.

Once her pretty face is on my screen, it’s like I can think straight again. What the fuck is happening to me? I know I can be petty and spiteful, but things with Connery are out of hand, and I don’t know why.

Sloane gasps. “I didn’t realize he hit your lip too,” she says, concerned, and I shake my head.

“I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“I feel better. I’m more worried about you. Did my dad chew you guys out after the game?” she asks with a wince.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great.”

There’s a long pause as she pans the screen over to Ethan. I’m actually glad he stays local and can be there when I’m not.

“Rough game. Hopefully, more luck in Edmonton.”

“Yeah, I sure as fuck hope so,” I say, lying back in the bed, exhaustion deep in my bones.

“Bram, baby, are you okay?” Sloane says, and I nod.

“Yeah, I just miss you two.”

“We miss you too,” she says softly.

Everything still feels a little stilted between us, and I just want answers.

“When I get home, we’ll spend some time together.”

“I’d really like that,” Sloane says.

“Me too. Good night.”

“Good night.”