Chapter 2: Stand and Defend: Chapter 2

If this asshole doesn’t stop texting me, I’m gonna skip the trip altogether. It’s bad enough he’s getting married on a game day, but thankfully, the game starts four hours after the ceremony. I’ll be able to make it work, but it’s still a lot of added stress. Might have to live stream my best man speech from the locker room.

I missed the engagement party due to an away game, but I was warned the wedding-party weekend was mandatory—according to Bryan, Jordana is quite the bridezilla. Doesn’t matter, I’m only staying for one night. I have to return to the Twin Cities tomorrow for practice, so I’ll be outta here before breakfast.

The pleasant AI voice breaks through the car’s speakers. “New text from Bryan.”

“Read text,” I command.

“Where the fuck are you?”

Normally, I’d take the Ducati, but it’s in the shop. If I were on the bike, I’d probably be able to make up time since I’m a speed demon. I’m running behind, but practice went late and I had game footage to review.

“Reply to text . . . Twenty minutes out.”

Bryan’s always had a thing about being on time. He puts up with a lot of my shit though, considering my calendar is nuts and we don’t get to see each other nearly as often as we used to. We’ve gone our separate ways since high school. I was drafted early on, and he went to an ivy league school on the East Coast. We have our different lives, him with Jordana and me with a revolving door of beautiful pussy. We’ve always been understanding of each other’s lifestyles and busy schedules. Especially now that I’m the new team captain.

Still can’t believe they gave me Sully’s spot. I’d never admit it, but it’s fucking terrifying. It’s a lot of pressure to keep the boys in line and make sure we all are getting along and doing what we’re supposed to. Sully was quiet but strong—and one hell of a fucking leader. His best friend, Barrett Conway, is retiring at the end of the season and staying on as an alternate cap. I appreciate that he gives advice without being a dick about it.

It’s given me some perspective; I can see why I pissed off all my previous captains. Stirring up shit on the ice is my specialty. But now that I’m the one wearing a C on my sweater, I’m the one who speaks with the stripes, so I can’t get into fights, or I’ll lose all credibility and respect from the officials . . . which results in penalties, fines, and coaches up my ass.

I’m done starting fights. From now on, I only finish them. Gotta say, I kinda miss the chaos, but having the added responsibility gives me more control over my contracts, boosts my sponsorships, and my favorite of all: women love fucking the captain.

It’s dark when I pull up to the hunting lodge. I haven’t been here since I was a teenager, but even in the low light, it’s clear the Davenports have been keeping the place in mint condition, or at least the landscapers have, as per usual of their properties. Back in the day, Bryan and I used to ride quad-runners here and get into all kinds of mayhem. A couple of privileged rich kids escaping the rules and letting loose in the country. Unsupervised, nobody could tell us what to do or how to act. No itchy neckties and stiff shoes. Some of the most fun I had in my childhood happened here.

Although Bryan and I have grown apart over the years, our friendship is resilient, even though we don’t talk much. Now he’s getting married—fucking wild. He’s head over heels for Jordana; she’s hot as fuck, but it sounds like she has him on a short leash. I’ve reached out a few times, and he’s always going on about having to “check with the boss.” I can’t relate. Asking permission has never been a good color on me. Rebellion brings out the hazel in my eyes.

I enter through the huge oak door. Inside, Bryan strides toward me. “Finally!” He claps my back. “Good to see you, man.”

“You too. Sorry I’m late, Friday rush hour.”

“No worries. Come on, I gotta introduce you to everybody.”

Shrugging off my leather jacket, I abandon my bag at the door.

Beyond the luxurious foyer of the vacation home, we enter the great room that’s been transformed into a formal event space. High-top tables, an open bar, caterers, and a few ice sculptures replace the aged leather furniture that normally can be found here. A pianist in a tuxedo plays in the corner. Bryan and I took piano as kids, and memories of us playing Metallica on that Steinway make me chuckle. His mom hated that shit.

“Place looks great,” I say.

His fiancée appears at his side, and he wraps his arm around her lower back. “There you are,” he says.

Jordana looks . . . tempting, it’s a struggle to maintain eye contact. She’s like a curvier Blake Lively. Everyone expects me to look, this time though, she’s my best friends fucking fiancée—I’ll keep my eyes up. Her dress is white, short, and somehow, the long sleeves and high neckline make it even sexier. Her light-blonde waves are styled in this half-up, half-down fashion that show off how naturally beautiful she is. The kind you see in Miss America pageants—I’d know, I’ve fucked a few states in my time.

“Jordana. Congratulations again,” I say.

“Same to you. I hear you were offered the position of captain this season. You must be thrilled.” Her answers are clipped, and she’s grinning, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I get the sense she’d rather be anywhere else. Or perhaps she simply dislikes me.

“Thank you. Hopefully I’ll be able to rise to the challenge. I have some big shoes to fill.”

Another tight smile. “I’m sure you’ll do well. You had a very accomplished season last year. How many points did you score? Eighty-one?” For whatever reason, it bothers me that I’m having difficulty reading her.

I grin. “Eighty-two.”

“Didn’t know you were such a hockey enthusiast, babe,” Bryan comments, furrowing his brow and waving over my wedding counterpart from across the room.

“I’ve always been a Lakes fan,” she defends before quickly following up with “But I’m just regurgitating what the sportscasters say.”

Bryan rolls his eyes and mutters, “Lovely word choice, Jordana.”

A pretty brunette stalks closer. “Veronica, have you met Camden yet? Veronica is Jordana’s best friend and maid of honor. Veronica, this is my best man, Camden Teller.” He leans in and whispers, “Don’t fuck her.”

I recognize her from social media. The three of them are often going to brunches and other Davenport social hours.

“I don’t believe so!” She holds out her perfectly manicured hand for me to shake and doesn’t let go until I pull back. Veronica leers at me over her champagne flute, telling me she’s down if I am.

I’d rather fuck the same girl twice than stir up drama with the bride’s best friend. Hard pass. In my experience, bridesmaids are fucking nuts. We’d fuck, she’d want to do it again, and I’d have to turn her down. I don’t do repeats unless they bring a friend. One ticket per customer, no mulligans. Blame it on my strong moral values.

“Hey, babe, grab us a couple of beers, would ya?” Bryan says, pulling away.

Jordana grabs Veronica’s arm, then they walk toward the open bar on the far east wall. With Veronica trailing behind Jordana, Bryan has his eyes fixed on the maid of honor’s ass.

“Whoa. Down, boy,” I comment.

He doesn’t pry his eyes up, even while he answers. “She knows I look. Jordana doesn’t care where I get my appetite as long as I eat my meals at home.”

I cross my arms. “And do you?”

He winks. “What do you think?”

That wink brings more questions than answers. It’s none of my business.

I consider whether I could ever settle down with one person . . . I can’t picture it. In Bryan’s case, his fiancée is drop-dead gorgeous and, other than the resting bitch face, she seems like a decent person, if you’ve got a Stepford wife kink.

His dad interrupts and thrusts his hand in front of me. “Congrats, Captain.”

Grasping his palm, I look him in the eye. “Thank you, sir.”

Even though I’ve been around this family a thousand times, Mr. Davenport has always remained a stranger. He’s quiet and has a temperamental disposition. I’ve never seen him smile. Bryan used to be terrified of him, and I’d put money down he still is. His dad always ran the house with an iron fist.

After acknowledging me, he moves on to the other guests at the party, which appear to be mostly investors, based on how people are dressed and the bits of conversation I’ve picked up on. The Davenports are one of the wealthiest families in the area, not as rich as Jordana’s family but still fully loaded. They work hard to keep it that way. Image is everything to them. The family business has its fingers in nearly every industry, including politics.

Veronica returns with two beer bottles, and Bryan’s jaw tics. “Where is Jordana?”

He’s kinda weird tonight. I take a drink. Damn, Citra makes great beer.

“She went upstairs for a minute, said she’d be right back. It’s fine,” Veronica answers.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, turning away.

I hold my arms out. “Come on, I just got here. She said she’d be right back.” I don’t want to get stuck talking with Veronica one-on-one.

He ignores me and strides toward the stairs, taking a long swig from the bottle and setting it on a high-top table as he passes.

The brunette angles herself in front of me, and when I glance behind, Bryan has disappeared. He’s probably going up there to fuck. Not surprising with how good his girl looks tonight—I sure as hell noticed. When he had his eyes on the maid of honor, I had mine on his fiancée. I’d never make a move, but if he’s not going to appreciate the way her ass looks in that dress, I will.

“So how long have you been playing hockey?” Veronica asks.

“Going into my ninth season.”

Her eyes grow large. “Wow, how old were you when you started?”

“Eighteen.” I’m already bored with this conversation. I’ve had it a thousand times. “So, do you and Jordana go as far back as Bryan and me?”

I avoid asking people questions about their careers. It’s something that’s always irritated me. As if your job is indicative of the type of person you are. I’m sure sometimes that’s true, but “And what do you do?” always gave me the same vibes as “Which one of us makes more money?”

“No, only since college. We were in a sorority together and did a lot of mixers with Bryan’s frat.”

“Oh, so the three of you have been friends for a while.”

“You could say that. What about you? You guys grew up together, right?”

“Mm-hm,” I say, nodding and taking a drink. “Our parents used to dabble in the same business ventures. We grew up attending the same galas and banquets. Bryan and I used to sneak off and get into trouble.”

“I can appreciate a troublemaker.”

I tip my beer to her. “Me too.” But not tonight. “Hey, my bag is still sitting at the front door. I’m gonna bring it up to one of the bedrooms. I’ll be back in a bit.” I cringe, realizing how that sounded like an invite. It’s like I can’t turn it off.

“I can help you find an empty one,” she offers. If I wasn’t seeing her again, I might fuck her in the bathroom. Instead, I’ll probably hook up with a cute catering waitress before the end of the night, that’s always a sure thing.

“Nah, I’m good.” I hold up my hand. “Thanks, though.”

As I climb the stairs, the gentle piano keys fade and are replaced by Bryan’s muffled voice. He’s annoyed with something, and I chuckle. Bet he got busted for checking out Veronica’s ass. I don’t know Jordana, but I doubt any woman would be cool with her fiancé ogling her best friend. He’ll have to keep it in check when we go to Vegas in a couple weeks.

The first four bedrooms are occupied with coats and bags from other wedding-party members staying the night. The closer I get, the more I hear. The dim hallway reveals a light shining under the crack of a closed door, and I enter the room next to it, relieved to see an empty king size bed with no suitcases. My ears prick when I hear my name. I gingerly place my duffel on the floor and press my ear to the shared wall.

Jordana sounds like she’s trying to pacify him.

“All I said was he had a good season.”

“It wasn’t what you said, it was the way you said it.”

Wait, what? Is he accusing her of flirting with me? I’m very attuned to when a woman is coming onto me, and that’s not at all what I was getting from her. The way she said it couldn’t have been more stiff.

“I was being friendly, Bryan. Can we please go back downstairs and enjoy the party? Remember, this is for us.”

“You may think you’re being friendly, but that’s not the way it sounds to everyone else. You sound like a whore. I would never, ever talk to another woman the way you talk to my friends. You send out signals to every man you speak to. This is what I was talking about earlier, you don’t know how to speak to people! I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, as I heard his words in my biological father’s voice. It’s so similar to the way he spoke to my mom when I was young.

“You can’t trust me? Fine, what about the black bobby pins on the floor of the BMW? I’m blonde! What about how late you’ve been working? The hotel receipts?”

“Jesus, the fuckin’ bobby pins again? You’re losing your fucking mind. You really are. You have black bobby pins. You can go home right now and check the bathroom drawer, you’ll find a whole pile of them! This argument is ridiculous. Stop deflecting. You aren’t going to escape the consequences for acting like a fucking cocktease right in front of me. Are you trying to humiliate me? There are important people down there! This isn’t a game, Jordana. You’re engaged now. Engaged to me.”

What the actual fuck?

I lose the rest of the conversation when I exit the room to pound on their closed door.

“In a minute,” Bryan barks.

I turn the handle and push the door open.

“I said we’d be out in a minute!”

My eyes drop to his grip on her arm. He turns his head to look at me, and his eyebrows relax. He releases her, and I can’t tell how hard he was grasping her because of her long sleeves, but the fact he let go so quickly tells me it was probably firm enough to turn her skin white. I know Bryan, he would never hurt a woman. We’ve talked about this shit before, he knows about my childhood. He makes an annual donation to my charity for victims of domestic violence, for Christ’s sake. There must be something I’m missing.

“Everything okay in here?” I mostly keep my eyes on Jordana to examine her body language. It’s an unconscious habit after all my DV training at the center. She rolls her eyes, looking more annoyed than fearful.

“Mind your business, Teller. We’ll be out in a second,” he says firmly.

She moves toward me, and I step aside, giving her space to slip out of the room. As she passes, the smell of her perfume wafts in the air. I don’t know what she’s wearing, but it’s nice. No matter what kind of disagreement they were having, I don’t like what I heard. My mom stayed in her marriage far too long—it wasn’t until he raised a hand to her that she packed up my sisters and me and left.

The way Bryan leers at her gives me those same sinister vibes. I’ve never seen or heard him like this. It’s unlike him.

“How much have you had to drink, man?”

He clears his throat and points his finger at me.

“Don’t give me that shit. You’re taking this out of context.” Like a switch is flipped in his brain, the taut expression is erased from his features. He chuckles. “We had an argument earlier, and she likes to push my buttons. You know how it is.”

I don’t—and this interaction doesn’t sit well with me. Even though my childhood is long in the past, the unease in this room fills me with anxiety. It left an impact on me and my older sisters—they remember more than I do, but the memories I have are enough. It’s why I’ve dedicated so much of my time and money to creating resources for people like my mom. It’s hard for me to picture Bryan being one of those guys. We grew up together. I know him, we were practically brothers. Hell, he was my best friend and the guy I talked to when I was scared of my biological father.

“Well, go easy on her, you don’t want a runaway bride before the wedding even begins.”

I turn to leave but hear him mumble, “She’s not going anywhere.”

“What was that?” I spin around and narrow my eyes at him.

“Jesus, not like that! I meant we’re perfect together, why would she leave? I give her everything she wants. Cars, designer clothes, purses, shoes—I gave her a top spot with H&H. She’s just one of those girls who’s never going to be happy. It’s never enough! I do everything for her, and she doesn’t appreciate any of it.”

This is all new information, but it’s not like Jordana can’t buy her own things. Her family is richer than the Davenports and Tellers combined. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? I mean, are you happy?”

He thinks on it and exhales through his nose.

“I will be.”