Page 6 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

Storm: Her feet…You’re such a fucking liar.

Marilyn: Already in bed, dude

Storm: Woot woot. Marilyn is getting some!!!

The banter between them continues for a few minutes, and I just sit and watch. At no point do Handsy or Kodie appear. I guess they’re already too distracted to even bother messaging back.

A weird feeling pulls at my stomach.

If I were a smarter man, I might acknowledge it as jealousy. But I’m not fucking smart, and I’m more than happy lying to myself.

I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that.

But right now, while I’m sitting here alone, and all my boys are entertained by their ladies, I can’t deny that having one of my own here to distract me would be kinda nice.

Eventually, the chat goes silent, and I throw my cell to the couch cushion beside me and pick my controller back up. Fuck my friends; there are plenty of people online who are willing to lose to me.

Not fitting into my old life fucking sucks. Spending my days having PT sessions with Cromwell, and the rest of my time in the gym. Darcy, our athletic trainer, seems to have drawn the short straw and is helping me through my rehab, instead of being out there on the ice with the guys. But it’s even worse on a game day.

The guys have already been in for morning skate, and we’ve had our team meeting. They’ve all now disappeared to continue with their pregame rituals to get ready for tonight—another home match-up where I’m going to be forced to stand in the tunnel and watch.

I fucking hate this.

“That’s already looking so much better,” Darcy tells me. His voice is light and positive, but considering I learned to ride a bike at the age of about five, hearing that I’m doing better at it, now at almost thirty, falls a little fucking flat.

The glare I give him in response must say everything I’m thinking, because he follows it up with, “I know it’s hard. But we’re going to get you back on that ice before you know it.”

I scoff. That’s bullshit and we both know it.

He knows my recovery schedule just as much as I do. Unless I get that miracle I’m hoping for, I’m not going to be lacing up my skates and stepping onto the ice for at least another six months.

It might sound dramatic, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to wait that long.

Skating has always been my personal form of therapy. It helped me as a kid who never felt like I’d be able to achieve my dream. A kid who was constantly trying to break free of the mold that everyone was trying to force me into. It was the same when I finally escaped and landed myself a full ride to the college of my dreams. But while it was everything I wanted, it wasn’t easy. Hell, it was hard fucking work. And then getting my big shot in the NHL. Being a first-round pick after all the doubts cemented everything I knew about my skills. But the pressure that came hand in hand with that…Fuck me. Some days it was utterly debilitating.

Things have gotten easier. Shifting out of my rookie status sure helped. But with every year that’s passed, my confidence has grown, and until a few weeks ago, I knew that I was exactly where I was meant to be. Life was fucking fantastic. And then it all came crashing down thanks to an asshole named Cooper Nash who couldn’t keep his fucking anger in check.

And now, everything I’ve worked so hard for, all the sacrifices I’ve made, might have been for nothing.

I’m not ready for this to be the end for me. Nowhere near fucking ready.

3

SIENNA

“Whoa, you look like you had a good night,” I tease when Garrett finally joins me in the diner we’d agreed to meet at for breakfast.

There was me worrying about oversleeping after all the stress of yesterday, but it turns out it was totally unnecessary. I was awake as the sun rose this morning—kinda the side effect of not having any blinds or curtains yet. But I woke with excitement and determination buzzing through my veins.

After making myself a coffee, I got to work, and I can now proudly say that my bathroom and bedroom are fully unpacked. I still have a few random boxes to work through, but my apartment is already looking like a home. My head is also spinning with ideas for how I can decorate and furnish it. My brain is apparently failing to understand that I don’t have enough money to buy anything for the place right now, after the moving costs. It’s going to be fun to plan, though, and shop for, even if I can’t actually purchase anything.

“Don’t,” Garrett warns, holding his hand up to stop me from commenting on the fact that he’s just lowered his ass down opposite and failed to drop his hood or take his sunglasses off.

“Ah, is partying as a graduate different from being a student?”

I take his grunt as an agreement.

He drops his head onto his folded forearms as I scan the menu.