“What a waste,” the captions read as my dad talks.
Pain rips through me. I hope Hazel isn’t watching this.
“I know he’s my son, but Rory Miller is a weapon on this team, and Ward’s using him to prop up other players,” my dad continues, and my molars grind. “Ward makes Miller captain but has him passing to other players like they’re at summer camp.”
“Don’t,” Streicher mutters beside me, staring at his own phone, probably texting Pippa.
“What?”
He tips his chin at the TV before meeting my eyes with his usual serious expression. “Don’t watch that shit. It doesn’t matter what they say. They’re not on the ice with us.”
“He’s right, though.” I rub the back of my neck. “I was traded to the team to score goals and win games.”
Streicher watches me for a long moment, frowning. “Why don’t you leave that up to Ward?”
“I just want to be a good captain,” I admit to my oldest friend. I blow a long breath out. “What would you do in my position?”
He shrugs his big shoulders. “I’d do whatever Ward thought was best. I trust him.”
“Me, too.” The urge to make Ward proud fights with my need for my dad’s approval. “I don’t understand him, though.”
Streicher makes a noise that sounds like a snort. “Me neither. I think he’s got a plan, though.”
My mind wanders back to tonight during the game, after my assist. Ward met my eyes and dipped his chin in approval at me.
“How’s stuff going with Hazel?” Streicher asks.
“Good.” Really good. I think about us racing to the sign on the beach, her shoving me, and me laughing. Falling asleep beside her. Her sending me the hottest pictures I’ve ever seen in my life.
Too good, actually. Better than I ever imagined it could be. It’s not just the photos we send back and forth, and it’s not just that I jerk off daily thinking about her and only her. It’s that I think about her constantly, and I can’t wait to get home to her.
A realization looms at the edge of my consciousness. My feelings for Hazel grow every day, and I’ve never felt like this. This could all be over in a heartbeat, though. Just because I’m trying not to be like Rick Miller doesn’t mean it’s working.
“Still pretending?” Streicher asks, glancing at my phone.
I’ve got a photo of Hazel from this morning pulled up. She’s wearing a toque, and her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold. My chest feels tight and warm.
The realization I’m avoiding starts pounding on the door, demanding attention. I don’t know what this is to Hazel. We still have a deadline on this thing between us.
“I don’t know.” I clear my throat as my chest pulls tight.
Streicher makes a noise of acknowledgment like he isn’t fucking surprised, and I have the urge to grab him by the shirt and shake him.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” I ask, keeping my voice low so the guys don’t overhear.
Streicher gives me a disinterested look. “Warn you about what?”
My mind goes to Hazel crying on the street after her family dinner and the unbearable pain of seeing her hurt and disappointed like that. The urge to fix things, the need to make everything better. I shake my head, at a loss for words. “That it was going to be like this.” I exhale a heavy, frustrated breath, meeting his eyes. “It’s different with her, you know?”
He watches me for a long moment. “Good.” He sets his phone down. “You mention this to Hazel yet?”
“Nope.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know.” If she doesn’t feel the same way, it’ll ruin everything we have. “It’s fake to her.”
We stare at the TV for a beat. “At least give her the option of rejecting you instead of doing it yourself.”
There’s a long, low whistle, and I look up to see McKinnon standing over us, watching the TV.
“Too bad,” he says as they show my goal stats this season compared to previous years. “Maybe if you spent more time training and less time crying and jerking off to pictures of Hazel, your stock wouldn’t be crashing.”
If Hazel said the thing about me crying and jerking off, I’d laugh, but because it’s her fuckface ex, I just stare at him, territorial anger simmering inside me.
“Need something, McKinnon?”
Streicher gives McKinnon a cold, intimidating stare, but McKinnon ignores it, dropping into the seat across from us.
“Nope.” He smirks, eyes red and bleary. “I can see the appeal of it, though.” He slurs like he’s drunk. Thank fuck Ward took pity on me and gave me my own room for this leg of the trip.
“What are you talking about?” Streicher’s tone is flat and unimpressed.
Connor just smirks right at me. “Miller will find out soon enough.” He catches the attention of a passing server. “Get me another beer, would you?”
My fist clenches with irritation before I give the server an apologetic look. “Thank you,” I tell her before shaking my head at him. “Use your fucking manners, McKinnon. Don’t make the team look bad.”
He scoffs, leaning back in his chair and staring at the server’s ass as she walks away. “She’s fine. She likes me. If you give them too much attention, they get clingy.” He burps into his fist. “But if you leave them wanting more, they work harder for your attention.” His gaze swings to me, eyes full of hate. “It worked for Hazel.”
Even as protective rage roars through me, I keep my expression relaxed and amused. “She’s moved on, and you should, too. It’s getting sad.”
Fucking asshole.
McKinnon winces and makes an exaggerated pained noise. “My groin sure is sore after the game,” he says, grinning at me. “I’ll need Hazel to work on it all week.”
The simmering rage in my veins boils over, and I clench my teeth so hard my molars hurt. “Watch it, McKinnon.”
His drunk smile pulls higher, and my blood pounds. Thank fuck Hazel isn’t around to hear this.
I lean in so only he and Streicher can hear me. “If you make her uncomfortable, I will fucking end you.”
My teeth grit. I’ve never hated someone the way I hate this guy.
McKinnon widens his eyes, pretending to be scared. “Wow. Someone’s got it bad.” He laughs to himself, and the sound makes me sick. “You always did have a thing for my girl, didn’t you?”
His arrow hits me right in the chest, and anger rolls through me like a storm.
“She’s not your girl,” I say in a low, deadly voice, on my feet with my fists clenching and my shoulders tight. “Hazel is mine.”
“Like I said.” His eyes glitter with ugly condescension. “You’ll see.”
On the edge of control, I drag in a deep breath and look around, making eye contact with Ward across the bar with the other coaches. The goalie coach is talking, but Ward watches us with interest.
I’m the captain, and if Hazel were here, she’d encourage me to be the guy Ward thinks I can be.