“And you all sit like this is a junior high dance?” I asked, motioning to the men at the table around us, and the women perched on the barstools.
“Trust me, the women need a break from you idiots,” the bartender said with a quick smile, blowing a kiss to the guy across the table—Sawyer McCoy, the goalie.
“They won’t let us over there,” Cannon Price grumbled, eyeing his little blonde wife like he could fuck her from fifteen feet away if he tried hard enough. “They said it’s girls’ night. On a Tuesday.”
They all cursed under their breath.
Hockey players were weird.
“So you’ve all played together for years,” I guessed, taking in the close-knit group that had taken pity on me, seeing as I had yet to make any close friends on the Cougars.
“For the most part,” Sawyer answered as a guy with short, black hair and gray eyes took the seat at the edge of the booth. “Sterling here just came back to us.” Sawyer lifted his bottle of water in salute.
“It was a long three years, but man it’s good to be back.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Jansen Sterling. Goalie. Nice to meet you.”
“Hendrix Malone. I can’t skate.” I shook his hand.
He laughed. “We can solve that problem for you.” He settled into the booth like it was his second home. “I hear you’re one hell of a wide receiver.”
“With one hell of a pain tolerance if my twin is one of his friends,” Nathan added.
The rest of the booth laughed.
“Damn, I missed you guys,” Sterling said before taking a drink.
“I’m still pissed at Silas for letting you go,” Sawyer muttered, rolling his bottle between his hands.
“He didn’t have a choice!” Of course, Nathan defended his one-day brother-in-law. “It’s not like he could put us all on the protected list. Expansion drafts are…” he threw his hands up. “What they are.”
“Seriously, Bangor wasn’t that bad,” Sterling added with a shrug. “I learned a lot, and Silas paid a shit ton to get me back here. Don’t be pissed at him. He did everything he could and went way above and beyond.” He grinned. “Besides, you should see how fast my glove is now.”
The bells on the door sounded, and when I looked up, there were two new guys at the bar with a brunette between them.
The entire mood of the table shifted, lowered.
“Apparently, not fast enough,” Sterling muttered, his eyes locked on the woman’s back. “Fuck my life. I swear to God, if she’s actually dating him—dating either of them, I’m going to puke on the fucking table.”
“Please don’t,” Cannon said without so much as lifting an eyebrow.
“You could try talking to her,” Sawyer suggested. “Novel idea, I know, but sometimes it works.”
Sterling peeled the label from his bottle and glared toward the bar. “I can’t believe he fucking signed him.”
“Now who’s being too hard on Silas?” Cannon asked. “You weren’t exactly open about your relationship.”
“She’s fucking perfect,” Sterling snapped quietly. “Gorgeous, and smart, and really damned nice, which is nothing he deserves.”
The first guy turned at the bar, his gaze sweeping the room until he found Sterling, then narrowing. Interesting.
“I’m going to smash this bottle over his head if he comes over here,” Sterling mumbled.
“It’s plastic,” the quiet guy with a neck full of tattoos that was tame compared to Cannon’s said from the end of the table.
Briggs, I mentally reminded myself. Introductions had been fast tonight.
“Then I’ll hit him really fucking hard, okay?” Sterling sent a glare back to the bar that told me he’d do exactly that. There was some bad blood here.
“Look, I’ll bury a body. I’m down for it. But you’re the one who has to explain his disappearance at practice,” Briggs answered with a shrug.
There was something familiar about the girl—the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Man up and go get your woman. Unless you don’t actually want her to be your woman,” Briggs suggested before taking a swig of his beer. Guess he wasn’t on the water-only train.
The woman turned to face us, her smile freezing on her face as her eyes locked with mine.
No fucking way.
Now the hulking figure on her other side made sense.
“And say what? Get away from—”
“Her brother?” I interrupted without looking away from a pair of blue eyes that looked at me like I was a ghost.
“What?” Sterling shook his head. “No. My brother. Maxim Zolotov. The asshole she walked in with.”
“Your brother is Maxim Zolotov?” The name was right up there with Gretsky when it came to hockey.
“Half-brother,” he snapped, crushing the plastic bottle.
“Okay, well, her brother is standing on her other side.” Apparently, hockey teams had more drama than football teams because this shit was worthy of HBO.
“What?” Every head at our table turned to stare at the trio, who were in-turn staring back. Maxim had leveled a glare on Sterling, London stared at me with an open mouth, and Caz looked bored with it all.
“Assuming you are talking about London Foster,” I said slowly. “Which I guess you probably are since she’s coming this way.” I laughed at the absurdity of it all. Sterling was losing his shit over the one woman who could tell me how mine was doing.
Not yours anymore, asshole. I let the anger overtake every other emotion. It was safer, more manageable that way.
“You know London?” Sterling asked, his eyes popping wide.
“This is like being on the set of a soap opera,” I muttered.
“He sure does,” she said, coming to a stop on the other side of Sterling and tucking her hair behind her ears. “How are you, Hendrix?”
Sterling paled. “Oh, God, tell me you didn’t—”
“Didn’t what, Jansen Sterling?” she snapped, narrowing her eyes. “Didn’t sleep with him? I mean, that’s where your thoughts jumped to, right?”
Sterling’s mouth opened and shut a few times, but nothing came out.
“Boys.” She rolled her eyes. “First, if I decided to sleep with Hollywood over here, that would be my business. Not yours. Second, no, I have not slept with Hendrix, though I can admit he’s been naked in my apartment more than a few times.” She smiled sweetly at Sterling.
I just about spit out my water.
If looks could have killed, Sterling would have buried my body right there, not Maxim’s. “Her roommate,” I answered his unspoken question and leaned into my seat. “How is sweet little Savannah?” My chest clenched, threatening to squeeze the life out of my lungs. I’d gone days without saying her name, and the sound of it sliced me open more efficiently than any machete could have.
Fuck, I missed her, and I hated myself for it. It wasn’t like she was running around missing me. According to her Instagram, she was doing perfectly fine.
“Miserable,” London snapped. “How the hell do you think she is with you down here in Charleston?”
“Seems to me she got everything she wanted.” I lifted my eyebrows.
“Wait a second, Caz is your brother?” Sterling’s gaze snapped from Caz Foster to London Foster. “How the hell did I not put that together?”
“Damn, Hollywood!” London exclaimed. “You’ve been in town all of three seconds and already outed me?”
“Didn’t realize you were keeping it a secret,” I cringed.
“Yes, Caspian is my brother, which again,” her gaze swung to Sterling, “is none of your business.”
“But it’s Maxim’s?” Sterling retorted, standing so she had to crane her neck up to see him. The guy pretty much dwarfed Savannah’s best friend.
“Seriously?” She lifted her chin. “The next time you want to act all pissy that I show up with Maxim, remind yourself that you could have asked first.”
&nbs
p; A muscle ticked in Sterling’s jaw. “Fine. I will.”
“Fine.” Her gaze snapped back to mine. “As for you, Hendrix. While you’re sitting here in a bar, looking like…” she gestured at my face. “…you, Savannah is a wreck.”
I scoffed. “You don’t have to cover for her anymore, London. We’re not in Raleigh.”
“I’m not!”
“Yeah, okay.” I gave her a thumbs up and wished the water in front of me was something a hell of a lot stronger. “She walked away without a look. A call. A text. So, go ahead and tell me again just how fucking torn up she is. She got every single thing she wanted, and I got traded.”
She winced. “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean she’s not hurting.”
“Right. Whatever you need to tell yourself. We both know how it really happened, don’t we?” I cocked my head to the side.
Her eyes narrowed. “You could at least act like you care. You’re not heartbroken, are you? You’re just pissed that she ended it first.”
“Act like I care?” I growled. “I loved her, London. Loved her, and she didn’t give a shit, so why the fuck should I? She threw me away like that pair of broken boots. I’m done caring.”
Her gaze dropped to the open collar of my button-down shirt, and she snorted. “You still care.”
“Like hell,” I challenged. The last thing I needed was London running back to Savannah and telling her how much of a pussy I was being about her dumping me on my ass. Fuck that.
“Is that why you’re still wearing that necklace?” She arched a delicate, dark brow. “Because you don’t care?” With that, she turned around and walked back to the bar, shaking her head the whole time. Within a minute or two, the trio left.
I gripped my bottle to keep my hands from reaching for the little golden chain. I’d packed my house, put it on the market, signed a new contract, and moved to Charleston, but I hadn’t brought myself to take off the last piece of evidence that Savannah had feelings for me at one point. Maybe they weren’t strong enough to choose me over her father, but they had to have been significant enough to give me the necklace.
But London was right. It was also evidence of my inability to let go.
“Damn, you guys have some drama up north,” Sterling said with raised brows.
“Says the guy who wants to nail his brother’s maybe-girlfriend who also happens to be his teammate’s sister.” Briggs laughed.
“In my defense, I didn’t know she was my teammate’s sister,” Sterling responded.
“Is that going to stop you?” I asked, wondering where the line was for everyone else when I’d crossed it months ago.
“Hell no.” Sterling stared at the door like London would walk back through at any minute. “The girl you’re torn up over—your coach’s daughter, right?”
“In my defense,” I took his words. “My ex-coach.”
“Right. Did that stop you?”
I sighed and ripped my hands over my hair. “It should have.”
18
Savannah
The highlights of today's games lit up my father's flatscreen, the smell of his chili filtering in through the kitchen. I almost didn't come today, but it was tradition for me to show up on the days that the Raptors had an off-week. I’d always watched the games that were aired with my dad.
And maybe it was because I was incredibly lonely that I'd set aside my rage to join him when he’d reached out and asked if I was coming. Maybe it was because I missed my best friend who was in Charleston. Maybe it was because I missed Hendrix as he now actively played for Charleston.
The same team that kept popping up on the highlight reel on NFL RedZone.
My arms were folded tightly across my chest, my heart weighing heavy in its center. Every time I thought I'd gathered the right words to open up a dialogue about the extreme pain I felt over what my father had done—regardless of the actions I'd taken to prevent it—I lost my nerve. Because what good would it do?
Hendrix clearly hated me. I’d done that job well. And he'd most likely already moved on. The way he looked at me in the hallway had haunted me since I’d watched him leave the arena.
"Weston tells me you're doing a bang-up job with the upcoming contracts," Dad said from his opposite position on the couch. Things had never been so tension-filled with us. Never been so awkward or painful. But I turned my gaze on him, my lips parting in astonishment.
"Are you really talking about my job right now?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. It wasn't that what he said wasn't true. I was kicking the shit out of those contracts. Burying myself in my newfound position was about as close as I could get to feeling anything other than emptiness lately. But was Dad really acting like everything was normal between us?
"I just wanted you to know that I'm proud of you," he said, a little of that pain slipping in his voice. But it didn't have an effect on me, not like it normally would. Something was broken between us, and I didn't know if we could ever mend it. Me being here was my hope that we would find common ground again.
“Dad, I…” Where to start? How to begin?
I shook my head, unable to grasp the right words, and forced my eyes to the screen. The RedZone showed highlights again—
Hendrix Malone.
Of course, he’d be on the screen.
They showed replay after replay of the catch he’d just made—
I gasped and jumped out of my seat. I fumbled across the couch for the remote and hit pause.
Dad grumbled and shook his head. "You really dodged a bullet there," he said. "Look at that kid, no remorse. No worries. Not a care in the world."
The words barely registered in my mind because I was too focused as I stepped up to the flatscreen. Too focused on that slight glint of gold I'd seen. I almost thought I'd imagined it. But the pause said it all.
My heart was in my throat, thundering and pounding and making it hard to breathe, making it hard to think.
"Savannah?" My father asked as I continued to stare at the screen, my eyes welling with tears.
The necklace.
That's what glinted on the screen right now. When Hendrix had jumped to pluck the ball from the air, his pads shifted so that the necklace flew up and hit his chin. The barely perceptible chain, the star charm my mother had given to me before she died. The one I’d given to Hendrix in my own silent show of how much I loved him.
I was still there with him.
I was on that field with him.
And the idea that he hadn’t taken it off, hadn’t thrown it in some dumpster in Charleston, made me think that maybe the hate in his eyes had been just as much for show as my breakup had been for him.
I spun around, glaring at my father while pointing to the necklace. "Dodged a bullet?" I snapped. "Do you see that?"
My father stood up, crossing the room to look at what my finger pointed at on the flatscreen. It only took a second for his eyes to register, his lips to part.
"That's my favorite necklace," I said. "The necklace I've cherished for more than half my life."
"And you gave it to him?" my father asked, exasperated.
I tossed the remote at him, and he fumbled to catch it against his chest. His eyes flew wide as he watched me stomp through the living room.
"Savannah, wait," he called after me as I headed toward the door. Adrenaline burst through my veins as I reached for my cell phone. "Please," he said.
It was the desperation in his tone that made me pause. Made me take a breath and turn around to face him.
"Baby," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shamefully looked at the floor. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think it could possibly be real between you two. I've seen the kid operate. And all I want to do is protect you."
"You have protected me," I said, tears welling in my eyes. "My entire life. Dad, you're the reason I am who I am today. But you have to cut me some slack. You have to give me some credit. You need to lift those ridiculous rules you have on your team.
You need to trust me to make decisions for myself, not some stupid rule you put on your players like they’re a pack of ravenous wolves." The words flew out of me, the toxins in my soul spilling out with each sentence. “I’ve been part of that team for just as long as you have. You can’t seriously be so surprised I’d fall in love with one of them.”
My father nodded, understanding finally flashing in his tear-soaked eyes. "I'm so sorry, baby," he said. "I didn't mean to mess up your life. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just had so much tunnel vision, I didn't understand. I didn't know."
"It's okay," I said, though I wasn't totally okay. But he was my dad, and I wasn't about to hate him forever. Especially not for his misguided attempts at protecting me. "I get it, kind of. But what has happened between us," I said, shaking my head. "It's going to take me a hot minute to get back to where we were, Dad."
He nodded, complete understanding in his eyes fighting the sadness. "I understand that. I'll earn your trust back. I promise. "
I blew out a breath and nodded toward him as I opened the door. I glanced at him one last time over my shoulder, letting him see the love and hate and anger and disappointment in my eyes before I shut the door behind me. I fished out my cell phone as I walked to my car.
I dialed Weston's number, my hands shaking as I held the phone to my ear.
"Weston," he said by way of answer, his traditional way of picking up a call much to his assistant’s chagrin.
I sucked in a deep breath, not taking a blink to second-guess myself. "I need a favor."
19
Hendrix
This wasn’t my boathouse—not the one I missed, anyway—but it was my boat, and I guessed leasing the little structure on the banks of the Ashley River made it mine, but it wasn’t the same.
I’d been in Charleston for three weeks. Three games. Three wins. Long enough to see a kid in downtown Charleston wearing a Malone jersey for the Cougars. Long enough to order a set for Mom and my sister’s family. Long enough to unpack the boxes, but not the emotional baggage I’d brought with me.
Hendrix: A Raleigh Raptor Novel Page 16