65. Hayden

CHAPTER 65

HAYDEN

The next night, I walk into the quiet bar near the hotel Kit's staying in, adrenaline already pounding through me. My gaze sweeps over the tables until I spot him.

He looks rough. Dark circles under his eyes and a sunken look to his face. The server drops a beer off and Kit drains half of it.

He isn't having a good season. His contract with Calgary is ending this year, and more than ever, he needs to keep his stats up, but they're down. Tonight's news won't help, I'm sure, but just remembering Darcy's devastated expression the night he called, or as she told me what he did on New Year's, sends a fresh wave of fury and protectiveness through me.

At my arrival, he straightens up. "Hey."

"Hey." I slip into the seat across from him, setting my phone on the table. He slides the menu to me and I shake my head. "I'm not staying long."

He frowns. "Thought we're getting a drink."

"Darcy and I are together now." No point in beating around the bush.

His jaw goes slack and he stares at me for a moment before he lets out a sharp laugh. "Sorry, I thought you said you and Darcy are together."

"That's what I said. Darcy and I are dating. I'm serious about her."

My throat knots. I want forever with her.

A.R. Haddington sent me the signed advance copy because I told her I loved Darcy, that I've loved her for years. In a private note to me, she wished me luck.

Kit lets out another humorless, bitter laugh. "Well, that's going to be a fucking disaster. What, you got tired of the puck bunnies?"

Adrenaline cuts into me, coursing through my blood, and my teeth clench.

"You slept with every chick in Vancouver, so now you're messing around with Darcy?" He shakes his head, swallowing. "Is this an ego thing? Fuck my girl just to show you can?"

Shame hardens in my gut, but I remind myself I'm not that guy. He's hurt and angry, but my head pounds with all the things he did, all the ways he made her feel like she wasn't enough, and I want to hit him.

I won't, though, because just like Darce, I'm putting him in the past.

"She's not your girl anymore." My teeth grit. "And it's not like that."

"Come on." His lip curls. "Yes, it is. You'll be done with her in a week, tops."

Pain throbs behind my sternum. "Have you even stopped to wonder if this is what Darcy wants? Don't you fucking see?" I shake my head. "She's doing so much better now that you're out of her life. She actually likes her life. She's an analyst for the Storm and she actually enjoys her job."

His face twists. "You can't be serious."

Rage thunders through me. He never believed in her. "She has the statistics background and experience for it, and she loves it. The team is lucky to have her. I am lucky to have her. You never felt that way, though, did you? You felt like you were doing her a favor."

Tension simmers in the air. He looks away, working his jaw.

"The difference between us," I tell him, "is that I'll do whatever it takes to make her happy."

He breaks off in a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head. "You fucking snake. You always had a thing for her. You were just waiting to swoop in. I'm surprised you didn't try this years ago."

The insult burns—I would never go after my friend's girlfriend—but he's hurt and angry and trying to get to me.

I love her. My realization from the other day rings stronger than ever, but it feels wrong telling him before Darcy.

"You had your chance, and you fucked up." My voice is low and firm. "You knew she didn't want to get engaged, and yet you popped the question in front of everyone." I lean forward, pulse picking up. "You pressured her into something she didn't want to do."

Kit's nostrils flare. "Oh yeah, her life would have been so hard." Sarcasm and bitterness drip from his tone. "Married to a professional hockey player who makes millions per year, living in a nice place, having the wedding of her dreams. Poor Darcy."

Anger rises, because even now, even after she's broken up with him several times and told him she doesn't want that life, he doesn't get it. He never will.

"I know how hard losing her must be, but it's time to move on."

A bitter smile twists onto his mouth. "I guess you think it's your turn now or something."

"No." I swallow. "It's Darcy's turn. You never saw her. You never bragged about her. You didn't know what you had. "

He laughs, shaking his head. "You think this is going to work. Unbelievable."

His tone scrapes at me, and my muscles tense as I try to remember the way she tucked me into bed with an ice pack on my shoulder, lifting it off me after twenty minutes as I fell deeper into sleep, caring for me.

She cares about me. I know she does. She just needs time, and she's shown me that I'm more than the guy everyone thinks I am.

Having said what I came here to say, I get to my feet. "See you at the game tomorrow."

He doesn't answer as I walk out the door.

The next evening, we're winning by three goals, because Kit's more focused on letting out his frustration on me than defending the Calgary net.

He slashes his stick against my shin, but Walker shoves him out of the way. That slash should have been a penalty, but the whistle doesn't sound. A minute later, he's back. Volkov blocks him, knocking him down, and the crowd cheers.

Player targeting happens sometimes when a team wants to take the other team's star out. This isn't about me scoring goals, though.

This is personal.

"What the fuck are you doing?" one of Calgary's players asks Kit. At their bench, the coach shakes his head, frowning.

"Say the word," Volkov mutters, glaring at Kit, features tight with tension.

Volkov's the Storm's enforcer—an unofficial term given to the guy who restores balance on the team and protects players the other team is going after .

This isn't his battle to fight, though. It's mine.

"Are we going to put this fucking clown in his place or what?" Miller asks, skating over.

My gaze lifts to the box where I know Darcy and the other analysts are watching the game.

Fighting's common in hockey. It's a way to restore balance in the game when a team plays dirty or refs aren't calling penalties. My muscles tense with fury. The energy crackles; I want to end this.

It would upset her, though.

I look back to Kit, who's lost her because of his own stupidity.

I have everything, and he has nothing. I pity him. He's hurt and angry and confused, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

"Ignore him. The ref will call a penalty eventually."

We face off again, and a minute later, as I'm scrambling for the puck, I'm slammed face-first into the boards.

Fire sears my lip. Rage vibrates through my chest, growing and gathering. I take a deep breath as I get to my feet, blood dripping from my face onto the ice. Noise erupts around me—the fans pounding their fists on the glass in outrage, my teammates shouting protests, the whistle blowing.

The arena's going wild as I meet Kit's gaze. He's surrounded by Vancouver players, refs, and linesmen, but his attention is focused on me.

His eyes flash; this isn't the guy I grew up with, my best friend from university. This is someone else.

"You're a fucking embarrassment," I spit out.

"You think she's not going to do the same thing to you?" His lip curls in an ugly sneer. "Why would she end up with you?"

With a linesman between them, Volkov tries to shove Kit. "Shut up. "

Tension simmers on the ice as the refs review the play on their screens. Players circle each other. Finally, the ref skates to center ice and the arena falls quiet as he clicks his mic on.

"Five-minute major for boarding."

The arena cheers, and Kit sends me another dirty look over his shoulder as he's escorted to the penalty box.

I try to summon empathy for the guy, but I'm not going to pretend I'm the same person I was a couple of months ago.

Darcy's mine. He needs to get over that.

The game resumes, and we run a play Darcy and the other analysts recommended to Ward. Miller passes to me, I shoot the puck, and it hits the back of the net. Noise erupts in the arena, the goal horn bellows, and lights flash as Miller, Volkov, Walker, and our other forward surround me to celebrate.

"I love proving her right," I yell to Volkov over the noise, grinning ear to ear.

My gaze meets Kit's in the penalty box and his nostrils flare. I stand taller, straightening my shoulders, and level him with a challenging look.

I won , my eyes say. You lost and you're done .

In a shot, he's out of the box, charging at me. I hear the fans gasp. He still has forty seconds on the penalty clock.

"Are you fucking serious?" Walker crows, laughing. "This guy's got a death wish. Owens, what did you do?"

Game isn't even in play, and the ref starts blowing the whistle, but Kit's undeterred, skating hard at me. The rest of the Calgary team watches in apprehension.

Volkov mutters something to Walker—I catch Darcy's ex in there—and as Kit approaches and rears his fist back, the two Storm defensemen block him, shoving him down to the ice. The fans holler again, whistles blow right and left, and even the Calgary players are hauling Kit back.

"Game misconduct penalty," the ref shouts into the mic, and the crowd cheers. The mic is turned off, and he's yelling something at Kit. The other Calgary players are pulling him off the ice as he fights them, trying to get at me, and the fans roar. The Calgary defenseman gives Kit a hard shove from the bench to the hall.

" Driedger, you suck! " the fans chant as he disappears to the dressing room.

"I hope this Darcy chick is worth it," Walker says, shaking his head.

She's more than worth it—she's my entire world.

Tonight? I'm going to show her.

I can't hold off anymore.