Hat Trick

by Eden Finley

  “But you’re at an away game for two of them,” he mumbles.

  “Technically, it’s only overnight. We’ll still have two whole nights together.” It’s like the universe is working against me. I’m in Boston when he’s in New York. I come back, and then two nights later, Jet goes to Boston.

  “Three and a half weeks is nothing. We went three years without each other.”

  Jet nods. “True.”

  “Then Luce says you’ll have a couple of weeks off to unwind before they get you back in the studio. So, it’s not like this is goodbye or anything.”

  “And what happens after that?” Jet’s voice is small, and it makes me want to crawl back into bed with him and promise him I’ll never leave. “We have a few more weeks, and then what? You’ll be busy with hockey, and I’ll be in L.A.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I can join you on tour during the off-season.”

  “You’d spend your vacation time on the road again?”

  “If I got to be with you, I’d go to the fucking moon.”

  Jet looks all cute-like and confused. “Why would I be on the moon?”

  “Because in the future, you give up your music career to become an astronaut. Duh.”

  “Damn it, don’t make me laugh. It’ll make me miss you more.”

  I can’t hold back this time. Jumping back on the bed, I climb on top of him and kiss his cheek. “Three.” I kiss his other cheek. “And a half.” A soft kiss on his lips this time. “Weeks. Three and a half weeks is nothing.”

  Jet pulls my head down, crushing our mouths together.

  I’m thankful I had the foresight to pack what little I have last night after Jet fell asleep because that means I can enjoy this moment for a while longer.

  We kiss like it’ll be the last time, which is ridiculous because I literally just said three and a half weeks is nothing. It’ll be easy.

  But when the knock at the door comes and Luce says my car is outside the hotel waiting, all that’s left of me as I force myself away from Jet is the overwhelming feeling that I’m leaving my heart on the road with him and going home to a life that might not fit me anymore.

  That sense of wrongness lingers with me all the way to the airport, all the way through waiting for a flight that gets delayed twice, and it’s still with me when I land at Newark and Uber it straight to the practice rink, because now, I’m late, thanks to the delays.

  Here’s the thing though. The minute I step through those locker room doors, I’m hit with the memory of why I do this.

  The smell of the rink, the halls that I’ve walked for the last four years … the place that’s been like a second home for so long.

  Suddenly, leaving Jet this morning makes sense because this—hockey—is where I’ve belonged forever.

  I’ve had an amazing career, but the idea I was ready to let go this morning is now all but gone. I’m not done yet.

  I’m also not done with Jet though.

  How can our relationship survive if we can’t see each other for almost nine months of the year? Six months if the team doesn’t make the playoffs, but that’s not the point of me re-signing. The aim is the Cup. Always the Cup.

  Then a small voice that sounds a hell of a lot like Jet’s fills my head. “It’s just a cup. It’s not like it’s filled with dildos and party favors. It’s an empty cup.”

  Is it too greedy for me to want both? Jet and a Stanley Cup win?

  Because I’m late to the rink, I’m late onto the ice.

  Under normal circumstances, that would mean I’d be walking into mockery. When I’ve been on the road and in tabloids with a rock star? It’s a bloodbath.

  I expect it from my teammates. Hell, them breaking out into “Hat Trick Heartbreak” isn’t all that surprising. It’s funny but not surprising. What does get me is even the coaches get in on it.

  When they finish yelling the chorus at the top of their lungs, I not only miss Jet already but can’t help feeling like it’s a welcome home of sorts.

  “So y’all know, you can’t see it because of the gloves, but I’m giving each and every one of you the finger.”

  “Oh my God, did he just say ‘y’all’? The Canadian is talking like a Southerner and it’s so dang cute,” Morgan says.

  I aim my glove his way but turn to my offensive coach. “Is that welcome punishment enough for being the last one to practice?”

  Coach Wexler shakes his head. “Aww, that’s even cuter. Go. Suicides now. Let’s see how living the life of a rock star has weakened you.”

  Motherfucker. I look around at the rest of my team when I notice something. “Hey, Copeland’s not here, so I’m not the last.”

  “Dude, you really have been out of the loop,” Morgan says. “Copeland signed with Carolina. He’s gone.”

  Well, shit. “Who’s replacing him?”

  “If you’d been here for the prospects showcase, you would’ve seen the new kid from the farm team,” Morgan says. “Faster than all of us combined.”

  “High praise from you, Morgan,” Coach says. “We’ll see how fast the kid still is under pressure. Still waiting on those suicides, Soren.”

  “Welcome back,” I grumble.

  “And remember—” Coach says, but I cut him off.

  “Yeah, yeah, no vomiting on your ice.”

  Oh yeah, I’m home.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  JET

  I want to go home.

  Even my mind is whiny. Apparently, I’ve been an emo little bitch since Soren left. Benji’s words, not mine. And when I call him on being an insensitive asshole, Marty informs me, no, Benji is an accurate insensitive asshole.

  It’s not my fault I’m grumpy. I’ve gone back to hardly sleeping because I can’t get comfortable. I don’t know why I have issues sleeping, but it’s been like this ever since we signed with the label. Whether it’s pressure to do well, the unfamiliar surroundings and countless hotel rooms, or maybe it’s that I don’t have something or someone grounding me from the ever-buzzing energy coursing through my veins.

  Soren did that for me.

  Interviewers are asking how the separation is going seeing as the NHL preseason has started, and that doesn’t help with the grumpiness.

  Add that to the fact now that Soren’s gone, Harley has taken it upon himself to be present for soundcheck and watches my set from the wings. For four cities now.

  He’s doing what I thought he’d do when he called me back on tour. He’s trying to tempt me with longing glances and warm smiles.

  Bless his heart.

  A few months ago, I would’ve caved the second he turned up to a soundcheck.

  Now? He’s shit outta luck. Harley’s move comes across as desperate, and I can see how little self-respect I had during all those months when I let him back into my life. We both knew it couldn’t happen, but we kept doing it anyway.

  If Soren has taught me anything, it’s that love shouldn’t be messy. Sex, yes, definitely messy. Love? It should be selfless and compromising. It shouldn’t leave you cold.

  Ooh, song idea.

  I go to search for my notebook, but there’s a knock on my door followed by Luce’s voice.

  “Soundcheck.”

  Damn. I grab my phone off the bedside table of yet another hotel in another city and go to open my notes to get my ideas down in there, only I’m surprised by a notification popping up.

  Soren and I have been texting back and forth since he left, but it’s his first preseason game tonight, so I haven’t been expecting to hear from him.

  My stomach flips when I see a “Break a leg” text.

  I quickly type out a reply: Guess I can’t wish you the same thing without being considered cruel. Good luck tonight. Get in fights and lose some teeth!

  His response is immediate: Please watch one of my games. You should know your man doesn’t fight on the ice. Just kicks ass and scores goals.

  I laugh as I open the door to meet up with Luce, while internally preening that Sor
en called himself my man.

  Luce steps back. “Whoa, it smiles.”

  “Whoa, you’re still an asshole.”

  Luce grins. “Please, I’m the nicest person on tour.”

  “Sadly true.”

  We start toward the elevators to meet the others and go to soundcheck.

  “What’s the hockey player saying?”

  “He’s got a game tonight. We were wishing each other luck.”

  “That’s sweet.” Luce’s words seem genuine, but when his lips turn into a flat line as if he’s forcing himself to say nothing more, I have to know what he’s thinking.

  “What’s with your face?”

  “My gorgeous, irresistible face? It’s just my face.”

  “You’re holding something back.”

  Luce averts his gaze.

  I stop in my tracks. “Go ahead and say it.”

  He keeps avoiding eye contact as he says, “I figured when Soren went back to hockey that you guys would break up. I’m surprised is all.”

  “What? Why?”

  “When are you even gonna get to see him? For a week or two after the tour while he’s coming and going for away games?”

  He’s not saying anything I haven’t thought, but Soren and I haven’t discussed it either. We’re talking about the next time we’ll see each other, not the time after that.

  I push my way forward again to the alcove where the elevator banks are. “We’re taking it as it comes. We’ll look forward to the next time we can see each other and put our heads down and focus in between.”

  “Okay, but are you allowed to hook up with guys in between or—”

  “Why, you and Marty wanna have some fun?” I quip.

  “No. I mean—”

  “You mean you’re asking about something that doesn’t affect you?” I push the elevator button harder than I need to.

  “Fair enough. I’m sorry for caring about you not getting heartbroken again like with Harley, but hey, your life.”

  “Exactly. It’s my life.”

  Only, I’m scared Luce has a point.

  A big one.

  Soren and I didn’t specifically say we’re exclusive. I just assumed it’s a given. And if he can’t keep it in his pants for three and a half weeks, then fuck him and his dick.

  Still, that doesn’t stop me from reading over Soren’s words again: You should know your man doesn’t fight on the ice.

  My fingers fly across the screen: If you’re my man, are you fucking anyone else now you’re home?

  Luce must be reading over my shoulder because he scoffs. “Subtle, Jay.”

  “Subtlety is for people who are too scared to be direct, and when have you ever known me to be anything but blunt?”

  “Point taken.”

  Soren doesn’t reply, but he could be on the ice now for a skate before the game.

  We head to the arena for soundcheck, which goes smoothly, but the whole time, I’m itching to check Soren’s response.

  Once we’re done and we go to Radioactive’s dressing room to wait it out until our stage time, I throw myself in a single armchair while Benji and Freya take the couch.

  I put my hand out to Luce, but he refuses to give me my phone.

  He and Marty stand, refusing to sit.

  “Why can’t I have my phone?” I whine.

  “Because you need to get your head in the game. You can’t afford another stage fuckup like in Ottawa. We’re still fielding bad reviews in the media because of that show.”

  “That one show. People need to get over it.”

  “No, you need to remember your fans made you. They deserve the best show you can give them. You’re already getting a reputation for being a snob by not turning up to the VIP meet and greets.”

  “They’re here for Eleven. What’s the point?”

  “They’re not all here for Eleven,” Benji says. “I always get asked where you are.”

  “Same,” Freya interjects.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll go to the meet and greets. Just give me my phone.”

  Luce folds his arms across his wide chest.

  Marty grunts next to him and fishes my phone out of Luce’s pocket. “He’s trying to keep you from freaking out. Soren hasn’t replied.”

  “I’d rather he not reply than to respond with ‘Oh, shit, I wasn’t supposed to fuck the flight attendant on the way home?’”

  “He wouldn’t say that,” Freya says.

  “Even if he did do it,” Benji adds.

  Luce is close enough to slap him across the back of the head for me.

  Freya rubs my arm. “Ignore him. Soren left here smitten with you, and it’s been two weeks. Unless he’s a complete jerk, he wouldn’t have had sex with someone else yet.”

  “Yet …”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “He’ll reply,” Marty says.

  He doesn’t.

  And no matter how many times I glance at Luce during the concert, while I sing and dance my lungs out, giving two hundred fucking percent to keep Luce happy, he always shakes his head.

  Still no reply.

  Maybe his phone died, I try to tell myself. That’d make sense. That would mean he can’t contact me until he gets home from the game.

  His game was at seven, and it was a home game against Boston, so … two hours for the game, twenty minutes to shower and get dressed after is being generous, and then going from the rink to his place, though I don’t actually know how far he lives from the arena …

  God, I feel like I’m in one of those high school math problems. If a hockey player is fucking someone but covering it up, how long does it take him to travel X miles and plug in his damn phone?

  When he hasn’t replied by the time the meet and greet comes along, even though he’d definitely be home by now, I’m not only confused, I’m fucking pissed. Not being able to go back to my hotel room makes me even angrier. I have to stand here and take photos with fans while Harley watches from the other side of the room.

  “Twenty more minutes,” I complain to Luce when my ass is grabbed by yet another fan for a photo.

  “Would it kill you to smile?”

  “I am smiling.”

  “No, you’re gritting your teeth. Stop it.”

  Another fan approaches so I open my mouth wide like a clown and give Luce a thumbs-up.

  He tries to keep a stoic and stern face because, let’s face it, dealing with me is like dealing with a toddler. If you laugh at my antics, I will never respect you again.

  His lips quirk, and I know I have him.

  Then his face falls completely when he catches sight of someone else approaching.

  The fan screams her head off, and I don’t even have to turn to know who’s there.

  “Mind if I join you for this photo?”

  Fucking. Harley. Valentine.

  I grit my teeth harder and smile for a photo with them, making sure the fan stays between us.

  Harley’s arm brushes against mine behind the fan’s back, and I’m surprised at how much I want it off me. Not because I wish I could have more like I would’ve a few months ago, but because I’ve reached a place where I know he doesn’t deserve me. Any part of me.

  He doesn’t get to keep messing with my head and my heart, confusing me and making me want what he can’t give me.

  I even want to be mad at him for it, but I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. It’s practically routine with us at this point, which just makes this whole situation sad.

  And I’ve moved past it.

  This time apart where we haven’t fallen into old patterns has made me step back and see the bigger picture. There’s nothing other than regret with a side of heartache toward him now. The kind you can’t and don’t even want to try to recover from. There are no ill feelings. There’s … nothing.

  The fan is moved along by security, and I turn to Harley.

  People are taking photos of our interaction, so I keep my expression friendly.

/>   “Shouldn’t you be on your side of the room?”

  He waves to the crowd and does the whole Hey, it’s you! to someone who clearly thinks they should be recognized. Security keeps the next in line back while Harley and I talk, but we’re totally on display. “I came over to make sure you’re okay. You’re at a meet and greet.”

  “I’d be a lot better if you were on your side of the room like you promised.”

  “What, friends can’t show concern for other friends?”

  “On what planet are we friends?”

  “Easy there.” His fake smile never falters. “Getting a bit loud.”

  Someone yells from the line of VIPs waiting for their photos. “Can you two stand closer together? That duet was awesome. You should work together.”

  Harley steps closer and throws his arm around my shoulder.

  We’re the same height and similar build, and I remember I used to like that. Now? I miss Soren’s bigger body. He’s not as big as Miller or Ollie, or even Talon, but he’s bigger than me in all the ways that count, and when he touches me or wraps me in his arms, I can’t help melting into him.

  And I already miss it.

  More than I ever missed this with Harley.

  “Working together sounds like a great idea,” Harley mutters under his breath. “And it’s actually what I’ve been trying to talk to you about.”

  “Is that why you’ve been watching my sets again?”

  We continue to smile for the cameras, talking through gritted teeth.

  “Well, that, and I’m wondering what’s happening with the hockey player now he’s gone.”

  “He’s at training camp. He’s not gone. We’re still together and happy.” I think …

  “Okay fine. Just thought I’d ask. What I actually want is for you to think about your career. Ryder says he’s gonna do it. Eleven’s breaking up, and I need Radioactive on my solo album. I can be professional if you can.”

  Flashes continue to go off in our eyes.

  “You can’t afford me,” I say.

  Harley laughs. “We have boy band money. We could probably buy the whole label if we wanted to. Which would mean I’d own you.”

  “Not collabbing with you either way, so don’t even try. We need to get back to the fans. You’re holding everything up.”