“What the fuck?”
Jenny stepped away, a bright flush staining her cheeks. “That’s, uh, Jason. Calling me back, I think.”
Tyler blinked, his mind reeling in the haze of confusion enveloping him as Jenny hurried from the room to answer her phone. The confusion evaporated, replaced by sheer terror as her words finally registered.
Jason.
His teammate.
Her brother.
Fuck!
Fuck, fuck, shit.
What the fuck had he been thinking? Jenny was his teammate’s sister—and he’d been ready to drag her to his room and fuck her. Would have done just that if he hadn’t heard that awful music coming from her phone.
He dragged one hand through his hair then ran it down his face, muffling the heavy sigh that spilled from him. What the fuck had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been, that was the problem. He’d lost his focus. No, that wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t lost anything—he had been focusing on the wrong thing.
Jason’s sister.
Fuck.
He tuned out the words and the laughter coming from the other room, telling himself not to listen. Not to think. He hurried into his bedroom, refusing to look at the large bed as he moved past it into the bathroom.
He needed to shower, change, head to the arena. Needed to forget about what had just happened.
Needed to remind himself that Jenny was off-limits, that he had very nearly crossed that invisible line. Needed to remind himself that she was Jason’s sister, that nothing could ever happen between them.
And most of all, he needed to convince himself that nothing would happen.
No matter how much he wanted it to.
Chapter Four
The puck careened past Tyler, nothing more than a blur as it tipped his catching glove and hit the back of the net with a soft whoosh. He clenched his jaw and skated out of the way as the puck was retrieved, trying to ignore the sound of booing echoing around the arena.
Trying to ignore the fact that this was the second soft goal he’d allowed in the last ten minutes.
Tyler tilted his mask back on his head and reached for the water bottle. He squeezed it, shooting several droplets in the air, then focused his gaze on their descent to the ice.
But his focus was off, had been off since he arrived at the arena two hours prior to the game. Now they were halfway through the second period, and Springfield was up by two. The only person to blame was himself. It didn’t matter that their D had broken down several times, not when those last two goals had been soft. Tyler should have seen them coming, should have stopped them.
Would have stopped them, if his fucking head had been in the game—but it wasn’t. It had been obvious even to Coach Richards, who had made a comment when Tyler was in the back hallway, bouncing balls off the wall to exercise his eyes.
Fuck. No more. He had to stop thinking about what had happened with Jenny earlier. It had been a mistake. A bad idea of epic proportions. An error in judgment on his part. Probably on her part, too, if the way she had acted during the drive to the arena meant anything. Casual, aloof, keeping her distance. Acting like she’d never met him before.
Yeah, nothing more than a mistake.
He shot a stream of water into his mouth, swished it around and spat it out, then took a long swallow before placing the bottle on the back of the net. He dropped his mask into place and bent his legs, getting into position before the puck dropped.
Travis Bankard won the face-off, shooting the puck back to Zach. Play moved into Springfield’s zone, back and forth, hard and aggressive as Travis closed in on the net. He took a shot but it went wide. Zach and Aaron Malone skated toward the puck but one of Springfield’s players reached it first and passed it out of the zone. And fuck, it was the perfect set-up for a two-on-one as they skated toward Tyler, picking up speed and edging away from the Bombers trying to catch them.
He got into position, his legs loose, his stick ready as he followed the play with his eyes. Focus, focus. Closer, faster, any second now…
The guy pulled back with his stick, ready to shoot. Tyler crouched low, in position, his body anticipating the shot and moving to the right. Fuck! He read the play wrong, scrambled to move back to the center of the net as the guy passed the puck instead of shooting. And here it came, too far to the left, he wasn’t going to be able to get back in position in time—
Aaron lunged out of nowhere, his body outstretched as he dove in front of the puck. The slab of vulcanized rubber hit him high on the right arm, the thud echoing back to Tyler. The puck went wide, bouncing off the ice.
Aaron pushed up to his knees, a grimace of pain crossing his face. He tried to stand, stumbled and went back down on one knee as he grabbed his arm. Tyler moved forward, waiting for the whistle to blow, waiting for the play to stop.
Only the whistle didn’t blow. Play kept going as another player from Springfield neared the net. Tyler’s gaze moved from Aaron to the two players converging on him. No. No fucking way, not this time.
He bent his knees, his body relaxed, his eyes focused on the puck and only the puck. He watched as it shot through the air, spinning, gaining speed as it hurled toward him. High, glove side. Wide, but not wide enough.
Tyler pushed off with his right skate and slid to the left, reaching up with his glove hand and snatching the puck from midair. He drew it in close to his chest, holding on to it until the damn fucking whistle finally blew.
He tossed the puck to the side and moved out of the crease, his eyes on Aaron as he struggled to get to his feet. Tyler was several feet away when the other man finally stood, Travis and Zach hovering on either side of him in case he needed help. Aaron nodded, silently conveying his thanks along with the fact that he was alright, then looked over his shoulder at Tyler.
“You can thank me later. Drinks at Mystic’s should cover it. Nice save, by the way.”
Tyler grunted, unable to stop the quick smile. Yeah, Aaron had saved his ass on that shot, and he’d have one hell of a bruise to show for it. Tyler would gladly buy the man a few drinks later.
He just wished to hell it was someplace other than Mystic’s, since Jason tended to go there after the games as well. And if Jason went, that would mean Jenny would be there, too.
Tyler skated back to the net, his gaze scanning the crowd behind the players’ bench. It wasn’t a sold-out crowd, not by a long shot—it never was, even when the Bombers were playing well. This season definitely wasn’t one of their better ones, and tonight wasn’t looking good, either. With the number of empty seats, it should be easy enough to spot Jenny.
But she wasn’t there.
Tyler frowned, his gaze scanning the seats and the steps leading up to the concourse. Maybe she left to get something to eat or drink. Or maybe to use the facilities.
And maybe he should stop worrying about it and get his fucking head fully in the game.
He adjusted his helmet and got back into position seconds before the face-off. Time to get focused, time to do his job.
Chapter Five
An atmosphere of excitement and celebration surrounded the crowd at Mystic’s, no doubt helped by the Bombers’ win that evening. Tyler held his mug of beer high, cheering along with everyone else in the corner at yet another toast. This one was for Harland, who had finally—by some miracle—broken his scoring drought late in the third period. It didn’t matter that Harland wasn’t here, that he was probably home having his own celebration with his long-time girlfriend. This late into the night, they were toasting everything.
Tyler drained his beer then slammed the mug onto the table. He glanced around, trying to decide if he wanted one more, or if he wanted to go home. They had game skate in the morning, followed by another game tomorrow night.
If he was smart, he’d head home. Hell, they should all probably head home. If just one guy showed up tomorrow morning looking the least bit hungover, Coach Torresi would ride them mercilessly.
But nobod
y else looked like they were ready to call it a night. Why should he?
So yeah, he’d have one more and then think about leaving.
He reached for the pitcher of beer and refilled his mug, earning a dirty look from Travis when he drained the pitcher.
“Thanks for sharing, Bowie. Now you can go grab us another pitcher.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tyler motioned to Travis’ full mug with a slight nod. “You’re still nursing yours.”
Travis frowned, the swollen purple flesh around his eye making the look more intimidating. Too bad everyone knew Travis was more bark than bite. He muttered something then raised the mug to his lips and drained it in several long swallows, ignoring the beer that spilled onto his dress shirt. Laughter erupted around them when Travis slammed the mug onto the table, winced, then clapped one bruised hand over his split lower lip.
“That’ll teach you for trying to show off.” Aaron chuckled and shook his head. “Kids. I swear.”
“Yeah, okay—Pops.” Travis grinned, winced again, then looked at Tyler. “Now you can grab another pitcher for us.”
“Nobody needs to do anything. I got this one.” Zach pushed his chair back and stood, his gaze scanning the bar. A devilish grin split his face as his eyes found whatever he was looking for. He raised his arms above his head and started waving them back and forth. “Hey, Red! I need you, babe.”
Tyler grimaced at Zach’s bellow. Hell, everyone around them grimaced.
Ben Leach leaned over and smacked Zach in the gut. “Hey, man, cool it. Are you trying to get us kicked out?”
Zach grinned then took his seat. “Nah, we won’t get kicked out.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, Mummy’s right. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t end up pouring the next pitcher over his head.” More laughter at Travis’ words, no doubt from the recent memory of when Haley, their waitress, had done just that to Jason.
But Jason wasn’t here, hadn’t even bothered to tell anyone he wasn’t coming—which meant Jenny wasn’t here, either.
Tyler swallowed back his disappointment and took a long swallow of his beer. So Jenny wasn’t here. Big deal. It was probably better if she wasn’t—less temptation that way. Less chance of anyone seeing something they shouldn’t see.
His gaze slid to Haley, studying her as she made her way to their corner. Long red hair, thick with wild curls. Piercing hazel eyes that sparked as she moved closer. Long legs, covered in ripped denim, ate up the distance. Despite the noise surrounding them, he could hear the clomp of her boots against the hardwood floor. And there was no missing the fire in her narrowed eyes as she approached their table.
Tyler slid his chair away from Zach’s, just in case. “Mummy, you’d better watch yourself. She looks pissed.”
“Nah, she’s not pissed. That’s just the spark of attraction between us.”
“It’s the spark of something, alright. Not sure I’d call it attraction, though.”
Zach slid him a look, one filled with a mixture of unspoken emotion—and warning—that made Tyler sit back in surprise. No. Fucking. Way. Zach was really interested in Haley? Holy shit, he hadn’t seen that one coming.
Or maybe he had just never realized it, not with the way those two constantly bickered whenever they were near each other. Although that did explain the sudden absence of Zach’s harem, the girls that always seemed to show up wherever he went.
Tyler’s gaze slid to Haley again as she neared their table, studying her, trying to read beneath her fiery surface. Was she as interested in Zach as he was in her?
Impatience flared in her eyes as she met his gaze. A slight frown crossed her face and Tyler looked away, his face heating when he realized she had caught him staring. Christ, hadn’t he screwed up enough today? First with that hot-and-heavy petting session with Jenny, then during the first two periods of tonight’s game. The last thing he needed was to get mixed up in whatever the hell was going through Zach’s squirrel brain.
But if his teammate had any aspirations of getting with Haley, he was in for a rude awakening. That much was obvious at just a glance.
The woman pinned Zach with a narrow-eyed frown as she rested an empty serving tray against her hip. “What do you want?”
“Geez, Red, your guest service leaves me breathless.”
“Knock it off, I’m not in the mood. And stop calling me Red.”
“But it fits you, babe. Fiery hair, fiery personality. We’re going to set those sheets on fire when we finally—”
“Did you want something or not?”
Zach blew out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. “You mean besides being blasted by your charm? Yeah, a few more pitchers. Please.”
Tyler slid his chair even further away from Zach, just in case Haley decided to take a swing at him with that serving tray. He bumped into Aaron and immediately turned, mumbling an apology when he saw the older man grab his arm.
“Sorry. Still bothering you?”
“It’s nothing. Just a bruise. I’ve had worse.” Aaron dropped his hand and focused on the mug in front of him, but not before Tyler saw the flash in his eyes. Remorse, regret. Because of the banged-up arm, or for some other reason? Aaron was in his mid-thirties now and he’d been around a long time, bouncing from team to team. From the pros to the minors and back again until finally landing with the Bombers two years ago. And each of those years showed on his face, in the rugged planes and tired eyes, in the scars and bumps and bruises that he was always sporting.
What must it feel like, to know that you were good…but never quite good enough?
And fuck, where the hell had that thought come from? Tyler tried to push it away, tried not to look too closely at the underlying fear beneath it.
Because that’s what it was: fear. Fear of never being quite good enough to make it all the way. He loved hockey, loved playing goalie. Hell, he even loved playing for the Bombers. But that wasn’t where he wanted to spend the rest of his career. No, he wanted more.
He wanted to be playing down in Baltimore with the Banners, wanted to make it all the way to the pros.
Hell, isn’t that what they all wanted?
He glanced around the table, his gaze drifting over his teammates. Yeah, that’s what they all wanted. Hoped for. Dreamed of. But how many of them would actually make it? Would some of them end up like Aaron, bouncing around and yo-yoing back and forth? Or would some of them end up like Harland, who’d actually made it all the way then blew it?
Tyler frowned, trying to stop the maudlin thoughts. Fuck, he didn’t want this tonight. Didn’t need it. He’d been doing his best to ignore the news they’d received last week, had been trying to pretend it didn’t bother him.
The Banners’ goalie, Alec Kolchak, was retiring because of a knee injury he received last season. Brad Goodrich would be their primary goaltender now.
And Corbin Gauthier would be their permanent backup.
Tyler’s hand tightened around the mug, the thick glass cold and wet under his palm. Fuck. Why was he thinking this now? Why was the jealousy just as fresh as it had been when he’d first heard the news?
Who the fuck was he kidding? He’d been fighting the jealousy ever since Corbin had been called up by the Banners last year. Nobody had expected it to be permanent. And Tyler had hoped…
Yeah, well. It didn’t matter what the fuck he had hoped. It was a done deal, as far as he understood it. Which meant he was stuck here in York, playing for the Bombers—unless he got traded. Unless someone else got hurt. Unless hell froze over.
The odds were against him. Hell, the odds were against all of them.
“You’re thinking too much.”
Tyler turned his head, noticed Aaron watching him with an intensity that was surprising. Did the older man know what he was thinking? Maybe. Maybe not.
Tyler shrugged and tried to smile, knowing it probably looked like a grimace instead. “Not thinking. Just zoning.”
“Bullshit.�
� Aaron shifted on the chair so he was facing Tyler. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a great goaltender.”
“Not good enough.”
“Again, bullshit. It was just the luck of the draw. It could have just as easily been you they called up. You’ll have your chance.”
“Yeah?” Tyler winced at the bitterness in his voice and brought the mug to his mouth for a long swallow. Hell, even the beer tasted bitter now. He put the mug back down and pushed it away. “Time’s running out. You know that.”
“There’s always time. It’s what you do with it that matters.”
“What?” Tyler turned a frown on the older man. “What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t lose your life to a game.”
“It’s more than a game—”
“Yeah, it is. For a while. But what happens when the game is over and life keeps moving?” Sadness and regret flashed in Aaron’s eyes and he looked away. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through it before pulling out several bills. Aaron tossed them on the table then pushed his chair back, his gaze once more focused on Tyler.
“Find the balance, Bowie. If you don’t, you’ll be looking back at a lifetime of what-ifs and regrets.”
Tyler’s brows pulled low over his eyes as Aaron’s words swirled through his mind.
What-ifs and regrets?
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Was he making a general comment, or was he talking about something in particular?
He turned to ask but it was too late, Aaron was already waving his goodbyes as he headed toward the door. Tyler kept watching for several long minutes after the man disappeared, still wondering what he meant.
And wondering what the hell any of that had to do with him.
Chapter Six
“We’re going to have a talk when I get back. I hope you know that.”
Playing For Keeps: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 3) Page 4