16. More to Come

Gavin

He came to the right guy then. When a friend needs something, I make it happen. First, though, I give Rhys a little hell. Just to keep him on his toes.

I tap the gas and head up Divisadero, sunglasses on, rock music pumping through the car. "Why do you need a distraction? They're getting rid of your sorry ass?"

"You'd miss me. You pretend you wouldn't, but you would."

I scoff. Like I'd let on I'd miss him fiercely. Also, he fucking knows I'm joking. "Doubtful."

"You'd cry like a baby every day."

"I'd never shed a tear."

"You'd be a right blubbering mess."

"I'd celebrate every day. And I'd be more determined than ever to be part of the team that mows you down."

"Revenge, eh?"

"It's fucking motivating, isn't it?" Hell, it's kept me going for a damn long time.

Well, not revenge. More like…vindication. There's little quite as satisfying as proving the naysayers wrong. Not only did my aunt and uncle who raised me say I'd never be a pro hockey player, but my uncle said I'd never amount to much of anything. That it was a burden for him and Mom's sister to raise me after my parents were killed.

Oh, and the snake of a man said I couldn't cook to save my life. Proved him wrong on that count too.

As I drive, Rhys seems to give my rhetorical question some real thought. "Fair point, mate. Is that why we hate the Sea Dogs so much?"

"Because they've won more cups than us."

"And we weren't even with the Foxes when they won," he says as we cruise onto the Golden Gate Bridge.

"But revenge gets passed on. And its cousins, rivalry and passion," I say.

Rhys leans back in the passenger seat, like he's relaxing into it. "You're a helluva teammate, Worthy."

I smile, a pleased feeling spreading across my chest. That's the goal. That's all I've ever wanted to be. When you grow up raised by people you can't rely on, there's nothing better than being a guy your teammates can count on. It's a fucking calling, and no matter who I play for, where I play, I won't ever be the guy to let down a teammate.

"So are you, man," I say, then I tap the dashboard as a new tune swells across the speakers. A workout song. The kind you play to get pumped up. "And listen, we're going to play our asses off the rest of the season. Focus on the prize and be the last team standing. But what kind of distraction do you want in the meantime? New car? A poker night? A rousing round of Candy Land?" I ask as we pass the Marin Headlands, cruising by the big, beautiful hills that'll take us to Wine Country. Before he answers, I offer one more. "Or maybe you need to get laid."

He rolls his eyes but then goes quiet as we wind past Sausalito, the Richardson Bay glittering to the right.

I smirk. "I'm talking your language now. See? I think you just need to blow off some steam. Maybe when we're in Lucky Falls you can get laid again and break your un-laid streak."

"You and your streaks," Rhys says, seeming amused.

"You like your un-laid streak?"

"I don't believe in superstitions," he counters.

"But I do," I say, since they aren't truly superstitions. They're a mindset. An athlete needs habits to compete at the highest level. Practice is a habit, excellence is a habit, teamwork is a habit. If you get lazy, you get sloppy, then you start missing chances on the ice and in life.

Habit is the best friend of an athlete. Ever since his ex fucked with his heart last year, Rhys has been in the habit of resistance. But it's messing with his head. "You said you need a distraction. So, yeah, break that streak with a distraction."

"And you're my wingman?"

"If that's what you need in Lucky Falls, then yes," I say.

A little later, as we exit the highway and slow to a stop at a light, a message flashes across my phone screen.

Hollis: It appears we may have a roomie for the week

I tip my chin toward my phone in its holder. "Can you see what that's all about?"

"Course." Rhys picks up his phone. Scrunches his brow. "Hollis says, and I quote, we might be sharing a rental with Briar. More to come."

I picture the tenacious blonde who went to the ends of the earth for her pet.

I remember her offer to drive us all home.

I think about her thank you texts, her picture of her dog, and the way she looked when she ran across the parking lot that night.

Then, when my pulse pounds, my brain connects all the dots at once. I'm fucking attracted to her.

All of a sudden, I'm the tense one.