Bishop

by Sawyer Bennett

  “How can you pay for rent when you can’t pay for an Uber?” Bishop cuts in, and I turn to see him now leaning against the counter, one arm folded across his stomach and the other holding his cup up to his mouth as if he’s getting ready to take a sip.

  Okay, that was…wow, in your face. I quickly intervene. “She has money. She said that she didn’t only to try to get me to come out and have fun with her last night. We’ve talked about it already this morning and Nanette’s made a very sincere apology for her behavior.”

  Bishop just cocks his eyebrow at me with so much skepticism that my face actually burns with embarrassment for Nanette, who is taking the brunt of his distaste.

  Turning to Nanette, I tell her, “We’ll talk later after Bishop leaves for the morning skate, okay?”

  She gives me a wan smile and nods. “Okay. Thanks. And I think I’m going to go lie back down for a while if that’s okay with you. Leave the kitchen. I’ll clean it up a bit later.”

  “Okay,” I tell her as I watch her retreating back. When I hear her bedroom door close, I turn to Bishop and give him a bit of a chiding look.

  “You’ve got quite the burr up your butt,” I tell him, and he snorts. Moving to the fridge, I pull out a carton of eggs and start cracking six of them. I figure that will feed him and me nicely.

  “So she apologized, huh?” he says, and by the tone of his voice I can tell without him even knowing what she said that he doesn’t buy a word of it.

  “Profusely, and for most of the things that were driving me nuts.”

  “What didn’t she apologize for?” he inquires.

  “She wasn’t sorry for coming on to you last night,” I mutter, and then feel my cheeks heat up once again, because technically I don’t have the right to be mad about that.

  I don’t technically have room to be jealous.

  Beating the eggs gives me a respite from saying anything further, so I put some muscle into it.

  That is until Bishop’s hand clamps down on my forearm and my whisking comes to a dead stop. He stares at me intently. “She will be sorry if she tries it again,” he says in a low voice filled with the promise of retribution. “And you have every right to be mad about it, Brooke. No matter what led us to this moment, right now I’m yours, and no one should touch what is yours.”

  The feeling that sweeps through me is indescribable. Something short of euphoria, but much more intense than joy, tempered with wonderment that perhaps those words are just too magical to believe. I’m left blinking at him stupidly.

  His face softens and his lips curl into a tiny smirk. He leans in, presses a kiss to my mouth, and releases me.

  I have no clue what just happened, but I start whisking the eggs again until they’re light and frothy. Grabbing a pan from a bottom cupboard, I set it on the stove to preheat and head back to the fridge for some butter.

  “Are you going to let her stay here like she asked?” Bishop asks me as he settles onto a stool on the other side of the kitchen island.

  I cut a few pats of butter and toss them into the pan. “I guess. I mean…she apologized for the things that matter. So what reason would I have for asking her to leave?”

  “Because she didn’t mean that apology,” Bishop says, and wow, he just really doesn’t like her. “Because she was just saying that to calm you down and ensure her ability to stay here longer. You’re going to regret it, Brooke.”

  “So I just ask her to pack up and leave?” I ask him. “Because I really don’t think I can do that. It’s just…too confrontational. I mean, if she hadn’t apologized, sure, but I have to give her the benefit of the doubt right now, don’t I?”

  “You’re a lot nicer than I am, Brooke,” Bishop replies softly. “That’s the difference. If in your heart you think the right thing to do is let her stay, I’ve got your back. And when she does something to fuck you over or becomes a big pain in your ass again, I’ll be the best boyfriend ever and won’t say I told you so.”

  I turn to look at him and see he’s grinning broadly at me, green eyes sparkling with amusement.

  “You’re way too sweet,” I say dryly, and turn back to the pan.

  “But seriously,” Bishop adds. “I’ve got your back. Do what you think is right, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Okay,” I tell him as I pick up the bowl with the eggs and pour them into the sizzling pan. “But let’s stop talking about it. You have a game tonight and you need to start getting in game mode. So no more talking about Nanette or anything else that will cause you to lose focus.”

  “You make me lose focus,” Bishop says, and my head whips around so hard my temples throb.

  He laughs at my startled expression. “Sorry, babe, but it’s true. And tonight, after the game, I want to really regain that focus right on that delicious body of yours.”

  More heat flushes through my face and other body parts this time. I can’t believe I’m trying to focus him on the game and he’s absolutely rattling me to the core. How he can go from having a serious discussion and being overprotective of me one minute, to talking about sex the next is beyond me. But the fact that he’s throwing me off and making me feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff is some of what makes me like him so much.

  Too much, I think.

  Chapter 22

  Bishop

  After pulling into the players’ parking lot outside the arena, I turn the car off and pull my phone out. My mom and I have been playing phone tag today, starting with me missing her call while I was taking a power nap this afternoon. I called her back as soon as I woke up, but got her voicemail. She’d called me back just a few minutes ago but I was on the phone with Brooke while driving to the arena. She had been telling me that Nanette was acting completely different and almost solicitous. She was still skeptical that this was only for show so she wouldn’t get kicked out, and I had to agree with her.

  Now I’m hoping I get my mom before I head into the arena to start prepping for the game. She answers almost immediately.

  It has become our tradition over the ten years I’ve been in the league that we talk or text before every game so she can wish me luck. “You at the arena?” she asks.

  “Just pulled into the lot.”

  “How do you feel? Get enough rest today? Tonight’s a big game.” A hockey mom through and through, and she knows our opponents well.

  We’re playing the Vancouver Flash tonight and they are incredibly talented. They lost a hard-fought battle for the Cup against the Carolina Cold Fury last year, and their team is pretty much intact and healthy.

  “I’m good,” I tell her. “I’ll probably start seeing a bit more ice time tonight.”

  My mother understands what I’m saying. While I’ve been playing first line, I haven’t been playing the amount of total time I’d normally see in a game. It’s still preseason and Coach is giving the ice time to the guys he’s still not quite sure about where or if they’ll fit in. We’ve only got three more preseason games, so the final cuts are coming.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see you next week, honey. I feel like it’s been years.”

  “Or more like six weeks,” I tease her. I’d gone home to London for a while before making the full move to Phoenix.

  “You’ll always be my baby, baby,” she teases right back. “And hey, I was looking at the schedule next week. You’ll have Thursday and Friday relatively free outside of whatever practices you have, so I was thinking we should go explore the area and see what Phoenix has to offer you. I know damn well you’ve probably not managed to check out anything but the best bars in town.”

  “That wounds me, Mom,” I say with a voice filled with mock pain. But then I lower my tone a bit so she knows I’m not joking anymore. “But there’s something I actually need to talk to you about.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s not as important as you gett
ing your head in game mode. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Actually, it can’t,” I tell her. “Because it’s on my mind and it’s bothering me a bit, and I need to unload it. Trust me on this.”

  “Okay,” she says softly, and I can hear the concern in her voice that something is majorly wrong.

  “It’s about a girl,” I tell her quickly, so she can have some peace of mind until I can get the whole story out.

  “A girl?” she repeats, as if she’s never heard of the concept before.

  Lucky she can’t see me roll my eyes. “Yes, a girl. You do know I like girls, right?”

  “You’ve never talked to me about them before,” she retorts. “Honestly, I thought you were gay, Bishop, and I just figured you’d come out when you were ready to.”

  That stuns me. Absolutely speechless. “Are you kidding me?”

  She busts out laughing hysterically and I can imagine her, blond ponytail swishing as she’s bent over at the waist holding her stomach. “Of course I’m kidding you.”

  Another eye roll from me she can’t see. “Funny, Mom. You’re hilarious.”

  Her laugh winds down to chuckles and I can hear her suck in air. When she releases it, she says in a much more somber tone, “But you don’t ever talk to me about girls, so I know you’ve never been serious about them. So I guess I have to ask, what’s her name?”

  “Brooke,” I answer, not able to help the smile that comes to my face when I say her name. “And it’s sort of a doozy of a story that I’m going to condense for you.”

  “Go for it,” she says.

  So I do. I lay it out for her. The one-night stand—yes, I talk to my mom about a lot of stuff and don’t hold back. I tell her about seeing her the next day, being happy and amazed to have found her, almost as if it was fate. And then her father catching us. I managed to make it through how Brooke lied to her father to protect me and I went right along with it. My mom only called me a dumbass once, but also thought it was sweet Brooke did that and I got on board to help her. I explained how we seemed to be pulling off the deception to everyone but Brooke’s father. And how we didn’t feel like we could manage such a quick breakup since he thought we were talking marriage, so we decided to extend the charade a bit longer. I even admit to her that we’re going through with a fake engagement to keep the stress off her dad for a while, since he seems so focused on it, although this part was a struggle, since it’s still completely ludicrous we’re doing this.

  “And I’m assuming somewhere in that story you’re going to tell me you fell for her,” my mom cuts in, urging me to get to the point. “Because I can hear that in your voice, Bishop, and if you’re not falling for her, then this whole thing is beyond stupid.”

  “I like her.” That’s all I’m willing to say out loud to my mother. “I just wanted you to know there’s a woman I’d like you to meet when you come, and our history is really complicated and involves deception, and you need to know that. I’m still going to be perpetrating a pretty big lie.”

  “How you met and the length of time you dated is the lie,” she corrects me. “The way you feel now isn’t.”

  “Something like that,” I say vaguely. I can’t get into it too deeply on the phone with my mom right now. I’m still trying to figure out these feelings myself, and besides that, I have a game to start prepping for. “I’ve got to go, Mom. Talk soon, okay?”

  “Okay, honey. I understand,” she says softly. “I love you. Kick some ass tonight, but we should talk about this more.”

  “Love you too, and we will.”

  All I’m thinking about is Brooke when I walk into the arena. It’s two and a half hours before the game is set to start and I’ve given up wondering and worrying about why she occupies so much of my thoughts. I wasn’t exactly being truthful to Brooke yesterday when I said she made me lose focus. It’s more like I choose to give most of my focus to her, so some other things might suffer a bit.

  I don’t think, however, that includes my ability to play world-class hockey, because here’s where it really gets interesting. It’s like Brooke gives me more motivation to do even better than the incredibly high expectations I already put on myself. So if my focus is on her, and in turn knowing she’s going to be in the stands watching me tonight is making me a better player, I’m going to fucking roll with it for now.

  The players’ parking was only about half full. Some players get here earlier than me, some a little later. Within half an hour, though, everyone will be here engaging in their own personal pregame rituals.

  Mine is always the same.

  I head to the locker room and change out of my suit into workout gear—shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers. It’s management’s policy that all players dress in suits on game day. Doesn’t matter that we only may be in those suits for less than an hour—we are to look professional when we walk in and out of the arena.

  I take a quick look at my equipment, which has been worked on by equipment staff. I make sure my skates are sharp and my sticks are freshly taped. I like at least three spares for the trainers to bring to the bench before the game starts.

  After that, I actually grab a cup of coffee from the player’s lounge where I’ll spend ten to fifteen minutes just relaxing by watching TV or chatting with some of the other players.

  Then it’s off to the trainers’ room to work on nagging injuries. This is a frequent occurrence—sore hamstrings, groins, hip flexors, or all of the above. As a professional athlete, I have pain a good chunk of the time. Today it’s actually my lower back, and one of the trainers treats me with some hot packs followed by electrical stimulation.

  I’m in the training room for about thirty minutes, and when I’m released, I head over to the workout facility to continue my warm-up. I prefer the bikes, and they are set up against the glass walls overlooking the Phoenix skyline. Sunset’s not for about an hour and a half yet, and the late afternoon sun has the mountains behind the city blazing with color.

  There’s only one bike in use and I recognize Tacker’s hulking frame as he pedals slowly while staring out the glass. As I approach, I’m surprised to see he doesn’t have any earbuds in, but in retrospect, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him listen to music when he’s working out. That is definitely strange. I know no player who isn’t connected to his music in some way. Most people who work out listen to music, and let’s face it, we work out a lot. Many of us have certain music-listening rituals in fact.

  I take the bike right next to Tacker, who looks over at me when I come into his peripheral vision.

  “What’s up, man?” I say as I adjust the seat.

  “Not much,” he says as he pedals, back straightening slightly. He rests his palms on his thighs and chugs along. “You all good?”

  “Feeling real good,” I tell him, much of that due to my general exuberance over Brooke in my life. But my body’s in great shape and feeling awesome as well. I don’t tell him this, though, because Tacker is the absolute last person on this team I’d ever discuss my love life with.

  Not with what he’s been through.

  “No earbuds,” I say, and he looks at me in confusion. I point to his ears. “You don’t listen to music?”

  “Nah,” he says with an accompanying shake of his head. “Doesn’t do anything for me.”

  Fuck, that just makes me incredibly sad. I know exactly why it does nothing for him, because I don’t think there’s much that moves this man. I notice it when we eat as a team. He’s like a robot, cutting his food, chewing it methodically, facial expression never changing even if he tastes the most delectable thing in the world. He swallows, starts the process over again.

  In fact, I’d have to say that if Tacker Hall didn’t have hockey, I’m not sure he’d be alive. I think it might be the only thing that keeps this shell of a man living.

  “What’s up?” I hear as s
omeone claps me hard on the back. I turn left and see Erik jumping onto a bike.

  He looks past me to nod to Tacker, who I assume does the same back. Then his gaze comes back to me. “Dude…did you get that crazy girl home last night?”

  “Fuck, she’s a mess,” I tell him, and then give him the rundown of everything that happened.

  “Yeah, I figured she was bad news. You know how you can just tell with some women. I’m glad she picked Dax over me that first night.”

  I don’t tell him just how lucky he was, given that Dax told me she was awful in bed. Dax wouldn’t really tell anyone else, as he’s not like that, and it’s not my confidence to share.

  “But Bishop…man…let me tell you about this girl I was with last night,” Erik says, jumping to a new subject.

  He starts rambling on and I listen while I continue my bike ride.

  After about fifteen minutes, Erik, Tacker, and I all head back to the locker room. Our strength and conditioning coach leads the team through a dynamic stretch, and then we play two-touch for about ten minutes to complete our locker room warm-up. Seems a bit weird to warm up with a soccer ball in the hallway before a hockey game, but it’s our thing and it works well. It gets our legs completely fired up and our lungs opened. It’s also a good way to get our goalies warmed up, as we take shots at them that aren’t quite as hard or fast as a puck.

  Now things are getting real. We get dressed and recheck our equipment. In a few minutes, we’ll hit the ice for our warm-ups, and I’ll try hard not to locate Brooke in the stands.

  When we come off the ice, the players will take the top part of our equipment off to cool down a bit. I usually snag another cup of coffee and down a protein bar. At the ten-minute mark before the game starts, Coach Perron will come in and talk strategy with us.

  We’ll do a last-minute equipment check.

  I’ll retape a stick to keep my hands busy.

  We’ll get fully dressed again, and then we’ll head down the tunnel that will lead us out onto the ice.