by Emma Salah
“Mom.”
“I want to die.”
* * *
Zac gasped awake.
His eyes opened to darkness. He was in his bedroom, breathing hard. A nightmare, he realized. Zac shuddered. A fucking nightmare. He ran his trembling hands over his face, into his hair.
“I want to die.”
It was the same nightmare he used to have in college and it had started back up again about two nights ago. He was twelve years old again, watching his father hurt his mother. Zac never dreamed the moments when his father beat him, which had happened frequently. No, it seemed his consciousness wanted to torture him with the worst moment of his life.
He rubbed his eyes. Why now? he thought angrily. Why the fuck now? He hadn’t had a nightmare like this in years. It was supposed to be buried and stay buried, but if anything, it was getting more intense. He could barely sleep, afraid to close his eyes and see her lying there surrounded by blood and glass. He didn’t want to see—
A little snore interrupted his thoughts. His head snapped to the left to look at the woman sleeping beside him. Ree. He’d forgotten she was there. Fuck, he was so lucky Reagan was such a deep sleeper. Even now, she was still sleeping beside him, face buried in his pillow, oblivious to his struggles. Good. She would never know just how fucked up he truly was.
She was so goddamn beautiful. That long black, curly hair of hers that was pulled up in what she had called a pineapple bun. Perfect skin. That gorgeous mouth. Waking from a nightmare straight into her arms felt strange. Like the two shouldn’t exist but somehow this was his fucked-up reality and damn was he glad for it. In this moment, while she was asleep, he could admit that having her here calmed a part of him that would have otherwise been a festering wound for the rest of the day. But Reagan’s here with me and I’m not alone.
He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, her warmth seeping into him. Desperate for more of it, he pulled her towards him. She snuggled in deeper. A few minutes, he told himself as he closed his eyes. And then he would get up. But hours went by and he didn’t move.
Zac felt the moment when Reagan woke up in his arms. Her breathing changed and he could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his chest as she blinked. Her hands skimmed his lower back and she rubbed her thigh against his. His morning erection pressed in between them, resting on her soft stomach.
Having Reagan in his arms was nice. Too nice. Usually, the women he fucked didn’t sleep over, which was why he avoided having them over in the first place. It was just too messy. But with Reagan, everything was in the gray area. They were friends and friends came over to friend’s houses, except they were dating, which meant she shouldn’t be here, right? He groaned mentally. He was not awake enough to be having this conversation with himself.
Reagan unwound herself from him. He didn’t open his eyes or tense. He just let her slide out of bed. He heard the bathroom door open and close. He rolled in deeper to her side of the bed, facedown on the pillows. And waited.
A few minutes later, he heard it open again and heard her walk around his bedroom, probably collecting what was left of her clothes. The bed suddenly tipped. Her body curled over on top of him. He slowed his breathing even further, faking sleep. He had no idea what he wanted to say to her. If he was truly being honest, he was more likely to pull her back into bed and fuck her again rather than have a rational conversation, which is what had got him into this mess in the first place. Thinking with his cock rather than his head.
She leaned towards him. Her lips brushed his cheek.
“See you later, baby,” she whispered.
She left the room. The front door slammed a moment later.
Zac opened his eyes. With the sunlight seeping in through the curtain, he could see the Die Hard poster above his bed. There was no way he was going to be getting any sleep after that. He looked over at his watch, sitting on his bedside table. Oh fuck, sleep was definitely not in the cards. If he didn’t move now, he was going to be late for practice.
* * *
Practice had been brutal.
He played like shit, because for the first time, his head wasn’t in the game. Shake it off, he told himself as he pulled out his street clothes from his locker. But, fuck, he hadn’t played this bad since he was in high school and what was happening at home kept throwing him for a loop.
“You okay there, Quinn?” goalkeeper and resident smart-ass DD asked, as he opened the locker beside Zac. “You’re looking a little pale there. You starting to feel it in your old age?”
Zac flipped him off as he dropped his towel. He wasn’t getting old. He was only twenty-seven years old, but he couldn’t deny that he was going to feel every bruise tomorrow. Coach had worked them hard all day. Only allowing them a short break before he made them run plays again and again.
“Seriously, man, where was your head today?” DD shook his head, referring to the easy passes Zac had missed and the frequent body slamming he had endured for his inattention.
His head? Oh, yeah, his head had been with a certain black-haired, brown-eyed girl who had enjoyed teasing him all day with texts about the night before. He had almost swallowed his tongue when she had sent that first one.
I really enjoyed having your cock in my mouth. I’ve been thinking about it all day.
Or the text that had followed.
Can’t wait to show you the lingerie I have for you tonight. Green’s still one of your favorite colors, right?
The messages had shifted from graphically sexual to light teasing.
Zac had no idea how to deal with this side of Reagan. The geeky, hesitant Reagan? He knew what to do. The determined, tomboyish Reagan was not a problem at all. But this sexually confident, daring vixen? Fuck, he had no idea what to do with her. He’d rather focus on that than on the other reason why he had barely gotten any sleep last night.
“Nowhere,” he said in reply to DD’s question.
“You better get your head out of your ass, we got a game coming up.”
Zac rolled his eyes. “It’s a charity game, so back off. And I could still skate rings around you, DD, you know why? My shit day is always going to be better than your best.”
Aidan miraculously appeared between them before DD could hit Zac with one of his infamous punches.
“Stop being such a dick, DD And don’t be an ass, Zac, or next time, in practice, I’ll let you get bodychecked by Rick the Prick.”
And he would. He so totally would. DD snorted and turned back to his locker.
“But DD’s got a point. Where the hell was your head today in practice?”
Zac groaned as Aidan leaned against the locker beside his. Aidan was like a German shepherd when he sunk his teeth into something; eager to get to the bottom of things and loyal beyond anything. He was semi-dressed in blue jeans that hung low and showed that he hadn’t bothered to put underwear on.
“It’s nothing. I’m just a little distracted,” he repeated.
Aidan’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”
“My money says it has to do with a girl,” Taylor, another teammate, contributed as he sauntered over, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. “Only a girl has the power to fuck with a guy’s mind.”
“Thank you for that, Dr. Phil,” Zac said, dryly.
DD pointed a finger at him. “Evasion tactics, which means we’re on the right track.”
“Does it have to do with that girl you took to Steven’s party—Whiskey or Scotch, right?” Aidan asked.
“Who?” Zac said blankly. Then it clicked. “You mean Brandy? Wrong alcohol, man. No one names their kid Whiskey or Scotch.”
“So, if it isn’t Brandy who has you all distracted, then? Who the fuck is it?”
All three men looked at him expectantly.
Zac slammed his locker shut.
“It’s no one impor
tant.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just some girl I’m casually dating. I’m going on a date with her tomorrow night.”
“Oh, Quinny has a date,” DD mocked. “Tell us what you’re wearing to this date, Quinny? Planning on wearing your expensive thong in case you get lucky?”
Taylor howled with laughter. Even Aidan’s lips twitched. Zac, on the other hand, was not amused.
“Fuck off, DD.”
“Yeah, fuck off.” Taylor snickered, as he started to put his clothes on. “You know Quinny here doesn’t wear a thong unless it matches his bra.”
He walked out, flipping them all off as he did, their howls of laughter following him.
Outside, he found Simon Caron, The Comets’ most recent transfer from Vancouver. He sat at the end of the hallway, back to the wall, head in the palm of his hands. Zac could see the defeat written all over his body. Even though he wasn’t in the mood for this, he couldn’t just leave the rookie to wallow after that clusterfuck of a practice.
“You okay there, rookie?” Zac asked, crouching down to his level.
Simon shook his head, mumbling something. It was hard to hear with his thick French accent but it sounded like “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Zac clasped the kid on the shoulder—and really when the fuck did he get so old? The rookie was only a couple of years younger than him, but that might as well be decades in ice hockey.
“You’re going to be okay,” he assured him.
“I played like shit,” Simon said.
“Yeah, you did.” Zac nodded. “So did I. But do you see me having a breakdown? Why? Because it’s over. I can’t fix that. You know what I can fix? The next practice. The next game. Stop focusing on what you can’t change and focus on what you can.”
Simon finally looked at him with his bloodshot eyes and clean-shaven baby face. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“Then, you won’t. Just show us what you got. This charity game is the best opportunity you’re going to get, rookie. If you fuck up—” Zac smiled “—it won’t be that big of a deal, you feel me?”
Simon laughed. “Yeah.”
“Cool. Why don’t you—”
“QUINN!”
They both looked up to see the assistant coach waving him over.
“Coach wants to speak to you.”
Fuck, that isn’t good.
“That isn’t good.” The rookie echoed his exact sentiment.
“Catch you later.” Zac gave him another squeeze on the shoulder, before ambling to his feet and down to the coach’s office, his bag slung over his shoulder.
A million thoughts ran through his head. Fuck, would Coach bench him for one terrible practice? No, that’s crazy. Maybe a transfer?
He knocked on the door and walked inside when a voice told him to enter.
“You wanted to speak to me, Coach?”
Coach Bryan used to be one of the best forwards in the league for twenty years, before a puck to the eye took him out of the game. It was rare, but it happened. His eye was mostly healed, but his perception was fucked. It didn’t stop him from seeing all.
“Take a seat, Quinn.”
Zac took the only chair opposite Coach Bryan’s desk in the small office cramped with playbooks, a TV and a sofa.
“If it’s about today’s practice, I’m sorry—” he began.
“It wasn’t.” Coach waved his words away. “But you did seem distracted. Anything you need to tell me?”
Zac shook his head quickly. “Nope. Everything’s good.”
Coach raised a single bushy eyebrow. “You sure? I know it’s just a charity game and I don’t expect you to give it one hundred, but all eyes will be on us as the reigning champions.”
“I know,” he said sharply and then took a deep breath. “I know, Coach. I let myself get distracted, but I promise I won’t let that happen again.”
“Good. I need you at the top of your form, Quinn, especially since the team will be looking to you as their captain.”
Zac’s mind went blank. Captain? Him? That didn’t make any sense. He knew that with Boucher’s retirement last year, they were in need of a captain, but it had never, never crossed his mind that they were thinking about him. A swirl of panic made his chest tighten.
“With all due respect, Coach, why me?”
Coach Bryan sat back in his oversized chair, hands interlocked over his slightly pudgy stomach. His hair might be gray and there might be lines on his face, but his brain was as sharp as his eyes.
“You’re a great team leader, Quinn, I don’t need to tell you that. For god’s sake, you were MVP and you had the most assists. People look to you for hel—”
“Aidan should do it. He’s better than me.” Zac’s fingers tapped a beat on the arm of his chair. He wanted to comb his fingers through his hair, but he resisted.
Coach tilted his head. “At what? No denying he’s a fine defenseman, but you’re the glue that holds the team together. This isn’t a request, Quinn. I’ll give you until next week to get your head on straight and then I’m telling the team.”
Throat closing up, Zac nodded.
Coach smiled without humor. “Do you know how many people would kill to be in your shoes right now?”
“I’m grateful. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful. I...just don’t think I’m the right person for this job.” And I don’t want to let you down when you finally realize that.
“You’re exactly the right person.”
Zac was shutting Coach’s office door, stomach churning, when his phone buzzed. It wasn’t Reagan like he suspected. It was his mother. Fuck. Not again. Why didn’t she take the hint? He didn’t want to talk to her. He hit the decline button so hard he thought he might’ve cracked his screen.
He made it to the parking lot and saw Aidan waiting for him next to his car. Zac swore to himself. I definitely don’t need this. Immediately, he felt guilty. What kind of person was annoyed to see his best friend?
“What did Coach want?” Aidan straightened, arms crossed.
Zac opened his trunk and threw in his bag. “He asked me to be captain.”
Aidan’s whole face lit up and he grabbed Zac in a bear hug.
“That’s great!”
He pulled back and took in the expression on Zac’s face.
“You’re not happy about this?”
“You don’t think I’m the wrong person for this?”
“Who would be better than you?”
“Ah, you.” Zac pointed to him.
“Why would you say that?” Aidan shook his head.
“Because! You’re calm, you’re smart, you’d do a much better job than me.”
“That’s horse shit,” Aidan growled. “Look, Zac, Coach chose you for a reason. Everyone looks up to you in this team. You’re the reason we won last year. Yeah, we all worked hard, but you worked the hardest. We all see that.”
Zac looked away as he leaned his shoulder against his passenger door. He heard Aidan, but it didn’t change anything for him. It was like everything was going wrong at the same time. Too much change at the same time and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this week and next would change everything. He didn’t want to lose Aidan, Reagan or the Thomas family.
“What else is going on?” Aidan pinned him with his intense brown eyes.
“Mom keeps calling.” The words spilled out.
Zac hadn’t planned on saying them, but he didn’t want to keep them in any longer. Aidan said nothing for a moment.
“What?” Zac finally snapped, running a hand through his hair. “I can feel you thinking.”
Aidan shrugged. “You should talk to her. More for you than for her. It’s eating at you.”
“I don’t want to talk to her,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can speak to her at Thanksgiving.”
> “Zac—” Aidan started, his voice dripping with pity.
“No! No. Can we just drop it?”
Zac pushed past and opened the front door of his car. He was about to slide in when Aidan stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“We can drop this, but I have one more thing to say.” Aidan stared at him. “I’m here whenever you want to talk about it. Whether you decide you want to talk to her or not. We’re all here for you.”
Zac let out a breath. “Thanks, man.”
Aidan held out his fist. Grinning, they bumped knuckles.
“You wanna grab a beer tomorrow night?”
“Can’t. Sorry. I’m...going on a date.” He hesitated with the answer, but decided the semi-truth was better than a flat-out lie. Not that telling Aidan he was going on a date would be a problem. He dated enough during the year that it was pretty normal. Now, if he showed too much interest in the girl that would be a problem and Aidan the tenacious guy would make an appearance.
Aidan’s eyebrows rose at that. “No shit? Is this the same girl you were talking about before? Really? Weren’t you the one who invented the three-day rule for after a date? No contact until those three days were up?”
“That was Dean. And Dean’s an ass.”
“He might be an ass, but he gets more pussy than all of us combined and still manages to do so without having girls wanting to maim him,” Aidan pointed out.
“Probably because he doesn’t refer to women as ‘pussy.’”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I hope your date goes well,” Aidan said as he took several steps back, hands stuffed in his pockets.
Zac didn’t think Aidan would be saying that if he knew who he was about to go out with. But he managed to drum up a smile.
“Thanks, man.”
“But you still coming over for game night, right?”
“Fuck yes, I wouldn’t miss it.”
All the Thomas siblings and a few of their other friends all came over whenever they had the time for a huge game night that involved fun games and lots of alcohol. They held three games during the year, going up in level from mild to lightly seasoned to spicy. It was the best thing ever. Tonight, Callum was hosting Mild Game Night at his house in the city, the one he kept just for when he was staying over to see family and for emergencies even though he didn’t live in Scarlet anymore.