Twisted Wrister: A Next-Door-Neighbor Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 7)

by G. K. Brady

  He shook his head so hard he could have sprained a neck muscle.

  “Is this part of your regular MO?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have pictures of other … conquests in your phone?”

  His eyes widened with horror. “Fuck no! What do you take me for? Wait. Scratch that. Look, I’ll erase it right now.” Two taps and he handed her back the phone. “Go ahead. Scroll through my pictures. Yours is gone, and there aren’t any others like it.”

  She scrolled quickly, vaguely registering pictures of teammates, hockey rinks, pucks in gloves, cityscapes, some cool cars, and a few of him and Amanda. Shoving the phone back at him, she said, “That was not cool. Or legal.”

  “You sticking up for Owen and injecting yourself between me and Amanda isn’t cool either,” he fired back. “Just shows where your true loyalties lie, and they’re not with me.”

  “What? Tell me you’re joking. How in the hell am I sticking up for Owen?” He shrugged, and she barreled ahead. “As for loyalties, Blake Barrett, take a look at yourself. I suppose you would have dragged Amanda to the town square by her hair and had her stoned?” He rolled his eyes dramatically and clicked his tongue, and she wanted to slap him. Instead, she gritted out, “Yelling at her isn’t cool either. No wonder she didn’t come to you! Has that even gotten through that thick skull of yours? The poor girl can’t go to her parents—any of them—and she can’t go to her brother. Who’s she supposed to talk to?”

  He blew out a long, tortured breath. “Maybe I’ll call you in a few days when you’ve calmed down.”

  It took a few moments of disbelief before his words registered and she detonated from the inside out. “Don’t bother, you jerk! My calming down isn’t going to do a thing to pretty up this shit-show, especially not now that we’ve exposed it for what it is.” Brave words, and she carried them off with attitude, but the conviction was pure theatrics. Deep down, her foundation walls were crumbling.

  “M, you’re overreacting.” He had the audacity to look icily calm, while inside she was a series of explosions.

  Logic hopped a train out of town as her temper threatened to flare into an inferno.

  “I mean it, Blake! We’re done here. If I see your number on my caller ID, I’m not answering!” She paused to pull in a calming breath, willing her pounding heart to slow down. “I guess you were right about your juvenile vocabulary because the word ‘apology’ apparently isn’t part of it.”

  He offered her another eye-roll. “Oh, come on. Cut the melodrama.”

  “You cocky son of a bitch! Are you serious right now? You don’t get it. At. All.” She pointed to the door. “Get out. Get the hell out.”

  He put up his hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going. And don’t worry about my number popping up on your caller ID ’cause I ain’t calling.” As he let himself out, he turned to say something over his shoulder. She slammed the door shut just as his big frame cleared her doorway, cutting off whatever garbage he had been about to spew.

  The adrenalin flooding her body had fueled her anger, and she twitched with energy that had no outlet. Cursing, she stomped around the living room, picked up a pillow and screamed into it, then hurled it across the room, sending candles flying from a table. The adrenalin finally ebbed after more pacing, cursing, and yelling, and she slumped into the red couch. Something inside her chest cracked, and like a failing dam, it gave way to a deluge of tears. They swept through her, and she curled up in a ball on the couch, pulling a pillow into her middle while she rode out the wave of pain.

  He hadn’t even tried. He’d just … walked out without fighting back.

  Told you not to give up your heart, Goody Two-Shoes whispered. The little devil fumed, spoiling for a pair of balls to kick with pointy-toed shoes. At least you found out what a jerk he is now. Oh, and bonus, no need to fret over birthday or Christmas gifts.

  No amount of cleverisms from her shoulder advisers was going to heal the rip inside her. She’d only been with him a few months, yet she was torn in two as if it had been decades. Where did she go from here?

  When she was sure she’d cried herself out, she marshaled herself into some kind of order and hit a familiar number.

  Her voice wobbled. “Fi? I need you.” A fresh round of tears she didn’t know she had in her reserves welled up inside her again.

  Chapter 33

  Crickets

  Blake prowled his condo, his head and heart reeling. A bonfire raged inside of him, blinding him to what lay around its edges. Yeah, M had thrown him out, but he’d been on his way out the door anyway. Eventually, they’d both cool down, apologize—she certainly owed him an apology—and they’d be back to where they had been before. Right?

  Why did the little voice in his head feeding him this line of bullshit sound so reedy-thin? He tried to hide behind his bravado and convince himself these were truths revolving in his head, but the veneer was cracking faster than pond ice in the springtime. Deep down in his gut, a knot of dread was blooming.

  And then there were the other warring emotions: One minute, he wanted to lash out at her for icing him; the next, he wanted to beg her to forgive him. Badly. No, I get a pass. She loves me! a voice loudly shouted down logic.

  “She never told you she loves you, dumbass. You’re the one who nearly let it slip. What if she was just using you for … well, just using you?” he muttered aloud. This thought made his anger surge.

  Herculean as it was, he pushed thoughts of M aside. He had other problems to solve, and they revolved around his sister. Amanda needed an apology from him, but he wasn’t ready to do that until he’d confronted their mother and Ferguson. Too late for confrontation tonight, so he’d have to wait until morning. Which meant he got zero sleep, and though something tugged at him to go next door and make things right, every time he thought of Amanda running to M and not him, his wounded pride reared up and blocked him from following through. Never mind that Amanda had called him and he’d yelled at her. M had soothed her after he’d roughed her up more than she’d been at the start of the call.

  But right now his head hurt too much to unravel it all.

  The next morning, he locked his door on his way to practice and the flight to Nashville that would follow. He stole a few glances at M’s still door and finally out-and-out stared at it as if her sunny smile would appear in the doorway. His phone buzzed with an angry text from Quinn, who was waiting for him downstairs. They were carpooling. Hurry up, dumbass. Haven’t got all day.

  “Right,” he grumbled to himself and trudged with leaden feet away from M’s door.

  His mood didn’t improve during practice or on the plane ride, and his teammates seemed to sense it, giving him a wide berth. Though he spent an impressive amount of time glaring at Ferguson, the guy never looked his way.

  In the hotel lobby, Ferguson brushed past him, and Blake finally snapped. He yanked Ferguson’s shoulder back, spinning him. Ferguson rolled his eyes as if he’d been expecting it.

  “You and I need to talk,” Blake said.

  “About what?”

  “My sister.”

  Ferguson’s eyes went wide. “What about your sister?”

  “You’re fucking her,” Blake accused through gritted teeth.

  Ferguson sighed. “No, I’m not.” He swiveled his head. “Maybe we should go someplace private and talk.”

  What?

  “Look, Bear, there’re some things I should have told you before, but we haven’t exactly been getting along.” One eyebrow dipped accusingly.

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  They headed for the deserted mezzanine, and Fergs caught a waitress’s eye. As they settled in at a small cocktail table, she followed and took their order, smiling broadly when Fergs slipped her a Benjamin and asked her to check in with them often. “We might be here a while.” He grinned, and she amped up her smile to megawatt brightness before walking away with what seemed like an exaggerated sway.

  Blake sho
ok his head in disgust.

  “What now?” Ferguson snapped. “You think every time I’m nice to a woman, I’m trying to get into her panties?”

  “Because you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “A little hard to tell with your track record lately,” Blake said dryly.

  To his surprise, Ferguson simply nodded. “Yeah. I can see that.”

  The waitress reappeared with Ferguson’s beer and Blake’s Coke and deposited a large bowl of bar nuts. Ferguson helped himself to a handful of nuts. Blake had no appetite, and once the waitress was out of sight, he leveled his gaze at Ferguson. “What’s going on between you and my sister?”

  Ferguson shook his head. “Nothing different than what’s always gone on between me and your sister.”

  “She said you’re in love with her.”

  Ferguson’s eyes bugged out. “What? If she believes that, then it’s in her own mind.”

  Blake straightened. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Ferguson blew out a breath. “I know she’s your sister, so I never said anything before, but she’s made it clear she has a thing for me. Probably only because she’s known me for a while and looks up to her big brother’s friend or some shit like that. Puppy love kinda stuff. As for being in love with her, no. I love her like a little sister, but I’ve never said that to her because I didn’t want her taking it the wrong way.” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Somehow she did that all by herself.” He sipped his brew.

  Blake’s frown creased his forehead. “So you didn’t sleep with her?”

  “No. Doesn’t mean I couldn’t if I wanted to, though.” He threw up his hands in defense as if warding off a blow Blake hadn’t yet considered. “Just speaking the truth here.”

  Blake glowered at him in response.

  “What I’m trying to say is,” Ferguson continued, “while I knew I could take advantage, I didn’t. It wouldn’t have been right.”

  “Did you see her at Thanksgiving?”

  He nodded. “I did. She said she needed to get away from your mom, and knowing what your mom can be like, I felt sorry for her. Once I realized it was more than just getting away from your mom, I cut it short.”

  “So where was she when she wasn’t home?”

  “I don’t know. Once she figured out I wasn’t interested, she … she started crying and shit. I made sure she got home, then I gave her the brush-off. Felt like a giant fucking turd for doing it—she’s your sister—but I figured it was better to let her think of me as a dick than to keep crushing on me.”

  “At least you know you’re a dick. After watching you in that club with that girl, and after the stunt you pulled at the charity brunch, I didn’t want you in the same town as me, let alone Amanda.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Ferguson muttered.

  “Why the fuck did you bring Sherry? Why did you tell her I was interested in her? That wasn’t only a really fucked-up way to jack with me and M, but did you think about what you were doing to Sherry?”

  Ferguson pushed out another puffed-cheek breath. “Yeah, I’ve had some time to think about that, and all I can say is I’ve been a little out of my mind lately. Between the demotion and watching your ass skyrocket ahead of me … plus, you seemed to be finding something special with M while my thing with Tracy was going off the rails.”

  Blake gave an involuntarily headshake. “What thing with Tracy? I thought that was over.”

  One corner of Ferguson’s mouth hitched with an ironic smile. “Yeah, well, that would have been the easy answer. The truth is she was done before I was.”

  “She dumped you?” Blake didn’t bother hiding his disbelief.

  Ferguson winced. “Why the fuck does it sound so much worse when you say it? Yeah, fucker, she dumped me. Said I was fun for a while but that she was looking for someone more mature for long-term.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “And here I was, dumb fuck that I am, actually thinking long-term. Can you fucking believe that?”

  “What? That you’re not mature? Yeah, I totally believe that.” You and me both.

  Ferguson twirled his pint glass between his hands. “It’s no excuse, but I think I sort of lost it there for a while, and you saw the worst of it. Sherry, the chick in the club, some other stuff I’m not proud of that only made me feel worse.”

  “Then why’d you do it?”

  Ferguson shrugged, looking utterly miserable.

  “And why were you acting like you wanted M when you wouldn’t even ask her out?”

  “I did want to go out with her at first, and I was intimidated. I don’t have to tell you, but she’s not like the girls we usually meet. I like a challenge, but she might’ve been more than I wanted to handle. I was working my way up to asking her out, and then I met Tracy, and we clicked. I just didn’t want to admit how much I liked her. I kept thinking it was a fling, but I got in a little deeper every time I was with her. Then she broke it off and started seeing other guys. I’ve been trying to get her out of my system, but it’s not working. Fuck, women can mess with your head!” He raised his glass. “But you wouldn’t know about that. You and Michaela seem to be on solid ground.” He winced again. “Sorry if I screwed anything up for you, man.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Blake sighed. I did that all by myself.

  A few days later, after two games of piss-poor play, Blake decided M was messing with his head and he needed to put aside his pride and call her. The call went straight to voicemail. He texted instead, but hours went by without an answer.

  She said she wouldn’t answer. Maybe she hasn’t cooled down yet. Maybe she meant it. Maybe she doesn’t want me back. Maybe she’s just trying to prove a point.

  He called his sister instead. After the few requisite niceties were stiffly exchanged, he blurted, “I owe you an apology. I should have been willing to listen when you called with that explosive news.”

  “Yeah, you should have, you dick. But I forgive you.”

  He let out a relieved gust. “So have you talked to Mom about what you discovered? Or your parents?”

  “No. I’m just not ready to go there yet.”

  “I’ll help you with Mom at Christmas, Manda. And with your parents if you want, though that might be kinda weird since they don’t know me.”

  “That’s really sweet. Michaela said you’d probably come around and that I shouldn’t stay mad.”

  Huh. “So, uh, have you talked to her lately?”

  “Not since the day after you were such a jerk.”

  Ouch. But he deserved it. He’d been running the conversation through his head over and over, like a chicken rotating on a spit. He’d said some horrible things, but he’d assumed they could recover from their first real fight. Had he been so far off the mark when it came to knowing her, knowing the limits of their relationship? Because that’s what they’d had: a relationship. Not some kind of fuck-buddies arrangement or a one- or two-night stand that ran its course in a week, much as he’d tried convincing himself of it in the beginning. Kinda like Fergs.

  When Blake had first scrutinized his actions the night of his blowup with M, it hadn’t struck him how badly he’d fucked up, how out of line he’d been, and he cringed every time he recalled telling her she drank too much … among other things. He hadn’t had a drop to drink, so he couldn’t even blame his assholery on being intoxicated. No, that was all him being him.

  Amanda pulled him back to the here and now. “She had some important meeting coming up at work, so I’ve left her alone. She doesn’t need my problems too.”

  Oh shit. The meeting with Steadman. I totally forgot. His self-admonishment ramped up. How could he be such a selfish fuck? “Well,” he said lamely, “if you talk to her, tell her … uh, tell her good luck.” After he hung up, for the first time since their fight, a hollowness grew inside of him.

  For the rest of the road trip, he called and texted M every day, but he got nothing. Then he sent flowers. Still nothing. So he sent two more bouquets, but th
ey got no response either. The silence thundered in his head, and the uneasy emptiness gaped inside of him. At times, he thought it might devour him from the inside out. He’d been so full of righteous indignation and wounded pride—and stupidity. Now that the toxic mix had drained out of him, he was left with … less than nothing.

  His birthday came and went without registering a blip on his radar. Life sucked.

  And his play suffered for it because he couldn’t fucking focus. Irony of ironies, Coach had toyed with the lines for today’s matinee game—the last of the road trip—shifting Nelson back to center the first line, Ferguson on the second line, and Blake down at fourth-line center. If he was lucky, he’d see five minutes of ice time.

  He resolved to pound on M’s door when he got home tonight until she opened it.

  Except when he strode down the hall from the elevator, his eye caught on three wilted bouquets outside her door. He turned and went straight downstairs to the security guard’s desk.

  “Have you seen Miss Wagner?”

  “Not for at least a week. She said something about visiting family for the holidays, and that she’d be back after New Year’s.”

  “There are three dead bouquets of flowers outside her door.” Sent by me.

  “I’m sorry, sir. We have a new kid that started, and he probably ran them up there without knowing she was gone for a stretch. I’ll make sure the mess is picked up right away.”

  “No need. I’ll handle it myself. Thanks for your help.”

  She was with her parents, he told himself, so at least she was okay. She was simply done with him.

  Chapter 34

  The Bleak Season

  Blake stared out the window on Christmas Eve, taking in the bleak Oregon day shrouded in shades of gray. Raindrops peppered the window and slid down the glass, leaving a trail that obscured the yard beyond. A cup of steaming coffee appeared in front of him on the kitchen table, where he’d propped his elbows.