Chapter 29: Shutout: Chapter 29

Seraphina is in my room again, only this time, it isn’t a secret.

“I brought you some ice.” She pads over to the bed where I’m sitting in my boxer briefs and hands me a gel pack wrapped in a dishcloth. “I hope you didn’t hurt your hand when you hit him.”

“Thanks, Ser.” I arrange the ice pack on my knuckles with a wince, wrapping the cloth around my fist to hold it in place. While I’m well-versed in how to throw a punch properly, my lizard brain wasn’t concerned with that earlier. I was only thinking of inflicting maximum damage—not protecting my hands for hockey.

Climbing onto me, she tips up my chin, examining my face. I know from the bathroom mirror that there’s a small bruise blooming, but it’s minor compared to what I did to him.

“Oof. Does that hurt?” Soft fingertips trail along the mark, tracing it.

“Nah. You shoulda seen the other guy.” Even then, Rob got off easy. He deserves so much worse. What if they’d been somewhere else? What if they’d been alone? Just thinking about it makes me sick.

“I appreciate that you care, but you shouldn’t have done that because of me,” she adds. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble.”

“After that dirtbag did that? Couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried. Probably wasn’t the best way to tell your brother about us, though.”

“Tomorrow’s problem. I’m an adult, and Chase can get over it.”

Questions simmer inside of me, heating until they come to a boil and I can’t hold it in any longer. “What’s the deal with Rob, anyway? Can you give me a little backstory?”

She hesitates. “We hooked up a long time ago, but it was a one-time thing. I always thought he was my friend, but clearly I misread that and ignored a bunch of red flags.”

A long time ago? What does that even mean? Two years? Three? She’s only twenty now. I’m left with more questions than answers, but I also don’t want to pry into her past more than she’s comfortable with.

“This isn’t your fault, Ser.” Setting the ice pack aside, I cup her cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I get the impression she’s come down here to make me feel better, but I’m not the one who deserves the concern.

Her mouth twitches. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal. Rob was just drunk.”

That she’s downplaying what he did makes me exponentially angrier with him because it is a big deal.

“Drunk or not, no asshole has the right to touch you without your permission. Especially not a guy who’s supposed to be your ‘friend.’” The words come out more harshly than I intend. “I’m sorry. I can’t stand the idea of someone hurting you.”

Seraphina shrugs off my comment, shifting closer to me on my lap. Her palms land on my shoulders as her lips lower to mine. My entire body fires up in response, and my dick perks up, making for a confusing combination of emotions when added to the primal anger coursing through my veins. As much as I love having her here, I’m fucking furious. I’m going to stay furious for a good couple of days, if not longer.

And if I ever see Rob again, he’s going to wish I hadn’t.

As if sensing my anger, she tears away from our kiss. Her breasts brush my chest, then my abs, as she slides to the floor and her knees hit the carpet.

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore, okay?” Her chocolate eyes look up at me, almost pleading. More paradoxical feelings arise. It’s a face that’s impossible to say no to. It’s also the person I have the strongest urge to protect, and that’s why I’m so pissed.

“Okay, Tink.” I’m not going to argue with her over that asshole.

“Do you want your birthday present now?” Her hands coast up my thighs, past my hips, then tug at my waistband.

“What is it?” I tease, smoothing her hair.

She dips her head, kissing the dip of my cock through the black material of my boxer briefs. “Whatever you want.”

The good: Seraphina slept in my room last night without any sneaking out required.

The bad: Chase hasn’t said a single word to me all day.

Instead of carpooling with me and Dallas to the arena—which has been our routine for as long as I can remember—he left the house without telling either of us and drove alone. He beat us there, changed in silence, and stalked out of the dressing room, making a point to ignore both of us entirely.

This whole silent treatment thing is unnerving. I expected a heated confrontation, or maybe an ass kicking. Instead, he’s been quiet. Too quiet for someone who’s normally loud and outspoken.

It feels like the calm before the storm, and I have no idea when the sky is going to erupt or what the magnitude will be. The longer this drags on, the worse I suspect the fallout will be when it hits.

“You good, Donohue?” Reid nudges me with his padded elbow. Most of the team is already out on the ice, save for us and a handful of stragglers. I’m in no hurry to step onto the ice, even if it means Miller is going to chew me out for being late.

I grab my goalie helmet from my stall without looking at him. “Yeah.”

“Carter’s pissed, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.” Beneath my equipment, my chest heaves with a sigh. “Pretty sure he’s plotting my murder as we speak.”

Jokes aside, a physical altercation isn’t what I’m worried about. It’s that I fucked up our friendship. Fucked up my living situation in the process. And potentially fucked up the team dynamic along the way.

Even worse, I dragged Seraphina into it. I can live with Chase being angry with me but him icing Sera out would break her heart, and one thing I can’t live with is hurting her.

“He’ll get over it,” Reid says, grabbing his gloves. “He just needs some time.”

“Have you met Carter? He’s not exactly the forgive and forget type.”

“At the end of the day, he wants his sister to be happy. If you’re good to her, he’ll have no choice other than to be okay with it eventually.”

Will he, though? Not sure he’ll ever be on board with our nebulous “having fun” arrangement.

“I suppose that depends how you define ‘eventually.’ In a couple years, sure. Maybe. Any time soon, probably not.”

I start for the door and Reid deftly steps in front of me, blocking my path. While I’m broader than he is with my equipment on, he’s got a slight height advantage, and he’s clearly not going to budge until he deems this conversation finished.

“Would you take it back?” he asks.

I shuffle back a step. “What?”

“If you could go back in time, would you change anything with you and Sera? Telling Carter doesn’t count. I’m talking about you guys.”

Everything flashes before my eyes in a single breath. The first time I laid eyes on her dressed as Tinker Bell at XS. Move-in day. Our near kiss in the kitchen. Picking her up from Rob’s the night she called me. The time she lost her keys. The way her nose scrunches up when she laughs. Movie nights. Twenty-one questions. Falling asleep with her in my arms. Coconut shampoo. And so much pink.

“No. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

“Exactly, so drop the fucking pity party. If he wants to stew, let him. His feelings are his issue. Problem ownership, my friend.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a lot of therapy.”

He grunts. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The first half of practice goes smoothly. The second half, not so much. Coach Miller breaks us into groups to run drills, and he sticks me and Chase together at the net for shot practice. As we skate over to our end, Chase refuses to even acknowledge me.

My eyes track the puck as he approaches, and I mentally calculate his next move. Knowing Chase, he’s either going to toe drag and snap it five-hole or fake me out and pull it across backhand. To my surprise, he does neither and levels me with a screamer of a slapshot instead. It narrowly misses my neck, one of the most vulnerable spots for a goalie.

I’m used to pucks barreling towards me traveling over ninety miles per hour, and the close call is still unsettling.

His second shot hits above my knee, where there’s a gap in my padding.

“Fuck!” I double over with a hiss, trying to breathe through the blinding pain. Getting hit is never particularly pleasurable, but some places hurt more than others—and this is one of them.

Resetting my position, I wait as Chase snags another puck and approaches the net again. He’s one of our best shooters, which is why I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt regarding his questionable aim. Maybe he’s off his game after everything that happened last night.

After his third shot nearly takes off my head, I know it wasn’t an accident.

“You know you’re supposed to shoot at the net, right?” I yell, gesturing with my stick.

He flies up to the crease and stops abruptly, digging in his skates to spray me with shaved ice. If someone from another team snowed me during a game, he’d be the one kicking their ass.

Gripping his Bauer in both hands, he gives me a look that says he wishes it was my neck he was strangling instead. “And you’re not supposed to fuck your friend’s sister, but that didn’t stop you.”

Here we go. He’s had all morning to explode, and now he’s doing it at practice.

“Come on, man. That has nothing to do with you.”

“On what fucking planet does Seraphina have nothing to do with me?”

Dallas skates up behind Chase and pivots, wedging himself between us. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, he carefully pushes us apart. “Cut it out, you guys. Miller is watching. Do you want to get the whole team bag skated?”

“Frankly, Ward, I don’t give a shit.” Chase says through clenched teeth.

“That’s nice, but the rest of us do. We need to leave some gas in the tank for our game tomorrow.” Dallas spreads his arms wider, increasing the distance between me and Chase to his full wingspan. “Obviously, you two have a lot to talk about, and we can deal with that once we’re off the ice. The only thing you should be worried about until then is working on your snipe, and the only thing Ty should be focused on is blocking it.”

Chase glowers at me. “Fine.”

He stops actively trying to decapitate me, but the rest of his shots are still excessively forceful considering it’s only a practice. By the end, I know I’m going to have several bruises on my shoulders and knees to show for it.

With some significant effort on Dallas’s part, Chase reluctantly agrees to meet us for a drink after we hit the showers. He reiterates that he’s not promising anything and he’s only staying for one beer. Guess it gives me a small window of opportunity to smooth things over.

My nerves jangle as Dallas and I pull into the parking lot of Overtime. It’s a small miracle I’m not banned from here after hitting Rob, but one of the bartenders caught the tail end of our altercation and realized who was at fault.

We grab a table and wait, making small talk while avoiding the topics of Chase, Seraphina, and anything related. Chase rolls in more than fifteen minutes late, probably to make a point because he’s still sulking. Knowing him, he sat in the parking lot to intentionally kill time.

He takes his sweet ass time crossing the bar to us. Then he reluctantly flops into the seat across from me like being here is some massive inconvenience. Love the guy, but sometimes he can be a man child.

Once the server brings our drink orders, Dallas takes his beer and pushes to stand. He lingers at the head of the small table, leveling us both with a reproachful look. “Now that we’re all here do I need to stick around and play mediator, or are you two capable of talking it out like adults?”

“Adults,” Chase and I mumble in unison.

“Good. Then I’ll be over there watching the game, enjoying my nice cold beer, and making sure you fools don’t kill each other.” He points to a nearby table facing the bank of widescreen TVs. “If I have to get up to intervene, someone’s getting bitch slapped.”

“Way to take my side, Ward,” Chase snaps.

Dallas gives him a pitying look. “You know I love you, Carter. But if you’re too stubborn to see what’s really going on here, that’s on you.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He gestures with his beer in hand. Dallas’s back is already turned, and he’s halfway to his seat.

I’m not sure what he meant, either.

Chase and I look at each other from across the table while he shoots daggers at me with his eyes. Guilt wanders into my mind, because he’s one of my closest friends and I didn’t intend for things to turn out like this. I’m not sure what my intention was.

A heavy silence fills the air between us.

“What’s going on between you and Sera? Explain.” Chase raises his dark eyebrows expectantly.

“Sera and I—”

“What the hell were you thinking?” He places his forearms on the table and his glare takes on a venomous quality. “You know my sister has been in a vulnerable place with the move and our mother being sick.”

I wrap my hand around the cold bottle of beer, channeling my patience. “Let me start at the—”

“Like fuck, man. I thought I could trust you.”

My teeth clench together so hard they’re at the risk of grinding into dust. I’m not clear on what I’m supposed to do when he clearly has no interest in hearing me out. No surprise there. Arguing with Chase is about as worthwhile as arguing with a wall, and I knew that going in.

“Are you going to let me talk, or would you rather interrogate me?” I ask. “Or maybe you’d prefer to sit here and bitch at me until you run out of breath? Just trying to determine how to proceed on my end.”

His nostrils flare. “Let me guess, this little arrangement was your bright idea?”

That question puts me in an impossible position. Not like I can tell him it was Sera who suggested it after we had sex in the announcer’s box.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I tell him honestly. “I’m trying to walk the line between being respectful to her and truthful with you.” Emphasis on the former. Seraphina’s privacy and her feelings matter more to me than anything.

“Respectful,” he says mockingly. “Right.”

“Yes. Anything she and I are doing or not doing is fully mutual. Whether or not you believe it, I care about her. A lot. She’s one of my friends.”

“A friend you happen to be fucking, because you don’t believe in dating.”

“That isn’t…” I suppose technically that isn’t false. But it sounds bad when he puts it that way.

“In other words, you’re using her.”

Everything in my body recoils.

“Not the fucking case, Carter.” My response verges on a snarl. His assumptions regarding my motives are wearing on my last nerve. I think the world of Seraphina and she knows it, which is ultimately all that matters.

He huffs. “How is it not? You’re sleeping together and you supposedly care about her, but you won’t commit? The math doesn’t add up. Nothing could keep me from being with Bailey. And don’t give me that whiny ‘it’s different because I’m a goalie’ bullshit.”

I’ll give Chase credit, he’s great at pushing people’s buttons. World fucking class. While I’m technically in the wrong here and I’m trying to defuse the situation, he isn’t making it easy for me to stay calm.

“It is different. The pressure you and I face isn’t the same. It just isn’t. I’m fighting for one of thirty-two spots in the entire league.”

“So what? You’re going to let that rule your life off the ice, too? Boo-fucking-hoo, it’s ‘too stressful’ so let’s compound that by making hockey the center of my universe and refusing to get close to anyone.”

Harsh, but not surprising. If there’s anyone who sucks more than I do at empathy and tact, it’s the guy sitting across the table.

“That’s some nice logic there, bro.” Chase snorts, pointing at me with the neck of his half-full beer. “That way you’ll have nothing left during the shitty times with your sport. Real smart.”

A dull throb forms in my temples. “Has it occurred to you that Sera might not want to be with me?”

“What?”

“Like I said. She’s an adult. This isn’t some evil scheme I masterminded all on my own.”

His jaw slackens. “Holy shit.”

“Huh?” I glance around the pub, searching for the cause of his sudden change in demeanor, but he’s looking at me. Staring at me, actually, and he isn’t blinking.

“You sad sonofabitch,” he murmurs.

“I’m not following,” I admit.

Chase was frustrating when he was tearing into me, but this is almost more unsettling.

“The karma bus hit you good, didn’t it?”

“Er… no?”

I watch warily as he reaches across the table. Instead of hitting me—which I’m halfway expecting—he pats my hand, almost like I’m a small child. It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever experienced.

“You know what?” Chase crosses his arms and leans back in his seat with a smirk. “Nah. You and I are good.”

Chuckling, he waves to get Dallas’s attention and motions for him to come join us. I’m still trying to figure out how we went from Chase wanting to tear my head off to him being amused with the situation.

“All sorted?” Dallas sinks into the seat next to me, his gaze darting back and forth between us.

“Yeah.” Chase picks up a menu and flips it open. “Let’s get some food.”

I have no idea what the fuck just happened.