Consider Me (Playing For Keeps Book 1)

CARTER

I’M A SHIT ACTOR. These past few days have done nothing but prove that. I don’t have a clue how to shake what I’m feeling, the confusion, the fucking anguish. I feel like a lost puppy, and I know I look like one too.

Mostly because Garrett keeps poking my cheek and saying so every time he catches me frowning. Admittedly, that’s pretty often these days. He called me a mopey ballsack yesterday. Adam tells him to be nice to me, but I mostly ignore it. I don’t know how to talk to them about the way I’m feeling. I think they all expected me to simply move on. To be honest, I kinda hoped I’d move on too.

When it comes to relationships, I can’t think of much worse than feeling so alone, and that’s how I feel now that Olivia’s trying to shut me out.

But I don’t have to be an expert to know that relationships are hard. All I have to do is look around this bar at my teammates. Guys that aren’t ready to settle and give up their freedom. Ones that can’t find a partner who’s in it for them and not their money. Of the few that are married or in serious relationships, only a couple are faithful. Sometimes it feels like there are more shit examples than there are good.

A seed of envy roots in my stomach as I watch Emmett grin down at his phone. There’s a part of me that thinks I might want what he has, for my whole life off the ice to be wrapped up in a girl who makes me happy, someone I can be myself with.

But then I catch sight of Adam as he checks his phone for the umpteenth time tonight, frowning at the lack of messages from his girlfriend. The same girlfriend who hasn’t been to a single home game in over a month, who rang in the new year alone because she didn’t feel like coming. Adam had what Emmett has, and now it feels like he just…doesn’t.

I nudge him with my elbow when he tucks his phone away. “Everything okay with you and Court?”

“Hmm?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, man, I have no clue. She’s so distant. Never wants to do anything and hardly answers my messages when I’m away. You know how she said she wasn’t in the mood for your party? When I got home, she was wasted, getting undressed from wherever the fuck she’d been.”

Fuck. “Did you talk to her about it?”

“Tried. She said I was making a big deal out of nothing and slept in the spare room. The next morning, she refused to talk about it.”

I don’t know what to say. I have, like, zero experience with adult relationships, that much is clear by now. I’ve basically been fucking my way through my twenties without a care in the world, other than ensuring I have a rubber secured to my dick before I stick it somewhere hot and wet. I have nothing of value to add to this conversation. It’s probably best I keep my mouth shut because if I say anything, it’ll probably be dump her.

So instead, I tell him I’m sorry.

This is why I don’t do relationships. They’re complicated and messy and it seems like people spend 99 percent of the time being miserable, jealous, angry, or worried.

Except my parents. There’s a reason the only thing I’ll settle for is something like they had.

Because it was pure. It wasn’t ugly, bogged down by never-ending resentment or toxicity. Mom used to tell us those smooth bits came with time, that nothing is ever perfect in the beginning, and even when they seem perfect later on, they’re not. But to me, to any outsider looking in? It sure as hell looked perfect.

I watched my dad spin my mom around the kitchen every day of my life until I moved out. I listened to their stories, their laughter. They loved hard, and it was palpable. I could always feel it as much as I could see it.

But my mom’s been living with a broken heart for the last seven years, only I don’t think living is the right word. More like surviving. She’s been surviving, and barely.

And that’s terrifying. I can’t imagine loving someone that much, losing your other half and not knowing how to go on. I’m not interested in feeling that level of hurt. I can barely handle keeping my mom afloat some days.

Now here’s Adam, one of my best buds and the kindest guy I know with the biggest heart, and he looks like he’s already going through it, even though he’s still with his girlfriend.

So maybe Olivia walking out on me was for the best. The feelings are already there, stronger than I realized. The last thing I need to do is go and fall in love or whatever the hell you do in relationships, only to inevitably wind up like Adam, or worse, like my mom.

I don’t want to be fractured; I want to be whole. And maybe being whole by yourself is better.

The thought settles uncomfortably in my stomach, like my body’s fighting it, telling me to hang on, but my brain doesn’t know that we can. By the time the guys and I make it back up to our suite to play a game of COD and settle in for the night, I don’t know whether I’m closer to being over Olivia, or have somehow managed to fall harder for a woman I haven’t seen or talked to in days.

“You’re extra into those Oreos lately, eh, buddy?” Adam’s eyes shine as he watches me tear open a package and stuff two in my mouth while simultaneously pulling on sweatpants.

We kicked ass in Calgary earlier tonight, no thanks to me. I racked up six penalty minutes, got an earful from my coach for being a shitty leader, and now that I’ve had a beer and a platter of nachos to myself, I fully plan on stuffing my face with sugar and collapsing on the couch.

“Can’t stop, won’t stop,” I mumble around my cookies. Fudge dipped today. I like to switch it up, and all flavors are good. Except carrot cake. I love carrot cake, but in my cookie? No fucking thanks.

“He’s eating his feelings.” Garrett pats my belly. “Aren’t ya, big fella?”

I hit him with a judo chop when he reaches into my package, and then twirl away when he tries to throw himself at me, making grabby hands at my cookies.

“Get the fuck outta here.” I kick my leg out, hitting his stomach, keeping him at bay.

“Share,” he whines. “I want some.”

“You don’t get shit. You said I was eating my feelings.”

His shoulders pop up in a shrug. “Well, you are. You’re a mopey ballsack, and you’ve crushed nearly that entire package today. So gimme one before they’re gone.”

Rolling my eyes, I toss a cookie in the air, watching as Garrett eagerly catches it in his mouth like a dog with a bone. Emmett chuckles, flopping down on the couch and pulling out his phone.

Things have been a little weird with him. He said Olivia and I shouldn’t have had sex, and I know that, but sometimes hindsight is twenty-twenty. Other than that, he’s been more on the reserved side. This is the guy that went streaking with me through downtown Vancouver after our NHL debut and a shit ton of booze. He’s not reserved.

“Emmy!” My head cranks at Cara’s voice filtering out of Emmett’s phone. He’s got her on a FaceTime call, and she’s wrapped up in a blanket like Mother Teresa. “I miss you,” she slurs. “Show me your di—”

“I’m with the guys,” Emmett cuts her off quickly. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

Cara pouts and then quickly lights when she spies me over his shoulder. “You sucked tonight, bud. Stay the hell out of the penalty box.”

I flip her the bird and twist another Oreo apart.

“What are you doin’, babe?” Emmett slips a hand up his shirt, rubbing his torso. It’s a strategic move, I think, because he grins at Cara and wags his brows.

She starts tracing the shape of her lips with her pointer finger, and there’s a solid beat of silence before she snaps out of it, shaking her head. “Livvie and I are having a sleepover and getting wine drunk.”

My heart stops at her name, and so does my hand, on my way to my mouth, my tongue waiting, drooling, ready for that icing, and hopefully a shot of Olivia. Instead I get a shot of the coffee table, littered with wine bottles, empty take-out containers, and junk food.

A sly smile crawls up Cara’s face before the camera lands on a shell-shocked brunette. “Say hi, Ol!”

Olivia’s got her hair piled on top of her head in a bun messier than the one my sister always wears, the one I tell her looks like a bird made a nest on her head. She’s wearing the rattiest hoodie I’ve ever seen, covered in paint splotches and holes, and she’s still fucking beautiful.

Her wide eyes lock on mine, cheeks blazing, hand hanging there in midair, holding on to a…

A goddamn Oreo.

Woman’s my fucking soul mate.

The silence is deafening. No one’s saying a damn thing, watching to see how this plays out.

Garrett rips open a bag of Doritos in slow motion, gaze ricocheting between me and the phone screen as he brings a chip to his mouth at the literal pace of a snail. The drawn-out crunches have me considering all sorts of violence, and Adam’s body stutters as he tries to hold back his laughter. Emmett makes this cough-snort sound, body shaking until he finally can’t hold it in anymore.

Emmett and Adam fold over with booming laughter and Olivia tugs the collar of her hoodie up to her nose, dropping her gaze and her cookie. I watch her shrink back from the screen, and my heart sinks with every inch she moves farther away from me, though she’s not really here anyway.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she lies quietly. I get a look at the loose sweatpants hanging low on her hips, watching her tug them up as she stands, flashing me a hint of that creamy skin I love so much before she slinks away, leaving me wondering when I’ll see her next.

The camera toggles back to Cara and she makes a face, all wide eyed and grimacing. “Man, she is gonna kill me for that later.”

Garrett shoves a handful of chips in his mouth and shrugs. “Well, you did say you wanted to see her.”

See her? She can’t even fucking look at me. This is nothing like the reunion I had in mind.

Everything about this fucking sucks.

I’m stomping off the ice in my skates before the buzzer finishes ringing, throwing my gloves off the second I shove my way into the change room.

“Fuck!” Tearing my helmet off, I make my way to the sink, where I let the water run past the point of frigid before splashing it over my sweaty face. My skin feels like it’s sizzling, and every bit of tension I’m carrying knots in my back, my chest.

“Beckett!”

My head drops at my name, the person who barks it. My grip on the sink tightens until my knuckles turn white, though I knew this was coming.

“Over here. Now!”

I follow my coach through the change room, past the apprehensive stare of my teammates, until we round the corner, giving us a fake sense of seclusion. They may not be able to see us, but I know from experience that they’ll be able to hear every single word of this verbal beatdown.

“What in the hell has gotten into you?” Coach’s eyes blaze with ire, face red and twisted. “We’re only twenty minutes down and you’ve spent five of those minutes in the goddamn penalty box again!”

I know better than to hang my head in shame; it’ll get me nowhere with Coach. Own my mistakes and commit to not repeating them, that’s what I need to do. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Tell that to your fucking team. You’re their leader and you’re letting them down. We’re down a goal because of the shit you pulled out there!”

His anger is justified. My head’s up my ass tonight. I’m distracted, even more so than I’ve been this last week. Seeing Olivia on the video call two nights ago, how she couldn’t get away from me faster, it fucked me up more than I care to admit.

I’ve been making a conscious effort to turn away every woman postgame at the bars. I’ve been trying so hard, been so good, in hopes that she’s watching, that she’ll see me changing and her fear will disappear. It’s not working, and the fact that she’s becoming such a distraction to me despite the distance makes my head such a cloudy, jumbled mess of a place to be.

One night. One damn night with this girl and I’m fucking wrecked. Why the hell can’t I shake this?

I don’t know what Coach sees on my face, but there must be something there—defeat, probably—because his gaze softens.

With a gravelly sigh, he scrubs a hand down his face. “Look, Carter, I can tell something’s going on with you. This isn’t you. You’re more levelheaded than this on the ice. You never fail to lead, but lately…lately your head isn’t there.” He pats my shoulder as if that’ll offer me any comfort. It doesn’t. “You gotta shake this.”

I’m fucking trying.

“I don’t know if you’ve switched up your routine or something, but whatever it is, go back to what you were doing before. That was working for you. Find the Carter Beckett we all know and love.”

But what if I don’t love that version of me? What if I don’t want to be that Carter Beckett anymore?

That’s what everyone wants though, so that’s what I give them.

I head back to the ice for the second and third periods, and I whip my ass into gear. I manage to stay out of the penalty box, score a goal, and get an assist, leading our team to another victory. Coach is happy after the game, even if I’m not.

“Carter! Can we grab you for an interview?”

I’m hellbent on ignoring the hoards of reporters waiting in the hallway as we make our way back to the change room after the game has ended, but Coach wraps his hand around my padded elbow, stopping me.

“He’d love to chat. Wouldn’t you, Beckett?”

Burying my groan becomes near impossible as recorders and cameras are shoved in my face, denying me privacy.

“You struggled there that first period, Carter,” one reporter says. “Seems like you’ve been struggling a lot.”

Dragging a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, I sigh. “Uh, yeah, I’ve, uh, been feeling a bit off lately. Getting over a bit of a bug.” The lie rolls easily off my tongue. “Trying to get my butt in gear though,” I add with a forced grin.

“You turned it around in the second and third. What changed?”

“Um, I—”

“Is it Olivia?”

My hand stops its skim of my jawline at the mention of her name. “Pardon?”

“Olivia. The girl from a few weeks ago. You dedicated your goal to her and were seen dancing together the same night. It looks like she was the same girl you had with you at the fundraiser for The Family Project, but she hasn’t been seen since.”

My jaw tightens. “What’s your question?”

“Did you two break up? Were you dating? Or was she just another flavor of—”

“I’m not talking about Olivia.”

“Can you tell us her last name? Who is she to you? What does she do?”

“Un-fucking-believable.” I squeeze my eyes, a dark chuckle rumbling beneath my breath. With a step forward, I tower over the reporter who has the nerve to keep pushing. I don’t like being pushed, and the way he stumbles backward a half step tells me he finally sees that. “Olivia’s personal life is none of your damn business. Drop her name, because I can guarantee you my bite is as vicious as my bark.”

The crowd clears as I push through to the change room. “Interview’s over.”

My warpath doesn’t end there, though. In fact, with each passing moment, my frustration amplifies, my anger, my fucking confusion. I hate this, and I don’t know how to change it.

This isn’t me; my coach is right. I need to do something to fix this, and I need to do it quick. That’s why I make a beeline for Cara as soon as I step inside the bar after the game.

But Emmett beats me to her, spinning her around as she takes his face in her hands and kisses him. Just over a year together and they haven’t lost that spark yet. I think they’re one of those lucky couples who never will, the easy kind where everything falls into place right from the get-go.

Cara sets her phone down before the two of them head off to the bar, and I slide into her spot. I’m not entirely proud of myself as I scoop her phone up, ready to pluck Olivia’s number from it. Maybe luck is finally on my side, because the screen is already opened to a message thread with the fiery brunette.

Cara: Ur date rope you into breakfast tomorrow or what?

Olivia: Duh. Is it even a real date if it doesn’t end with breakfast?

Blood drums in my ears, the words in front of me sending a raw ache through my chest as awareness settles over me. She’s moved on, on from whatever the hell this was, or whatever it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t ever anything, was it? Nothing more than undeniable chemistry and physical attraction, paired with some foolish notion that a relationship might be something I wanted, that Olivia and I might be good together.

Why the hell did I ever think this was a good idea?

Coach was right. This new me isn’t working. I need to get back to the old Carter Beckett. That Carter wouldn’t give two shits about this right now. He’d bury his feelings in something hot and wet.

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

My gaze sweeps the bar, bouncing around all the hopeful stares until I find what I’m looking for.

Tall. Platinum blonde. Rail thin. Wiggling her fingers at me with a wink, swinging one hip out in a dress that looks more like the leftover scraps of a sewing project gone wrong.

The exact opposite of Olivia.

“Mr. Beckett.” She trails a glossy black nail down my tie before slinging her arms over my shoulders and sinking her fingers in my hair. “Don’t you look handsome.”

My eyes close at what I’m about to do, like they don’t want to see this train wreck of a decision go down. “Wanna get outta here?”

“What do you wanna do?”

Christ, I don’t have time for this shit. “You know what I wanna do.”

She wraps my tie around her fist and hauls me closer. The perfume she’s wearing is suffocating. “I got a new tattoo,” she whispers.

“Cool.” I don’t fucking care. “Can’t wait to see it.”

Another repeat offender. Brandy or Mandy or fucking Candy. I don’t know or particularly care. All I know is I’ve fucked her before and it was decent enough. Hopefully decent enough to knock me off whatever this hellhole of a roller coaster I’m stuck on is, because I don’t wanna ride this fucking ride a second longer.

“Let’s go.” I hate myself the second I clap my hand over her ass, and even more when I slip my hand into hers and tug her out the door.

This winter is fucking kicking my ass. Mountains of snow and frigid air that slaps at your cheeks, neither of which are typical of a west coast winter. Part of me keeps equating the way I’m feeling to those winter blues people talk about, but as I stalk down the sidewalk with Candy Brandy’s hand in mine, I know it’s because this hand doesn’t feel right.

None of it feels right.

I don’t have a single clue what I’m doing right now, why I thought this might be the right way to deal with the way I’m feeling. No fucking shit Olivia didn’t trust me to change, to be different than I’ve been. This right here proves I’m the same guy fucking his problems away. The feeling that my dad would be so utterly disappointed in me hits me like a truck.

My condo comes into view up the road, and panic races up my spine at the sight of cameras waiting to see who I’m bringing home tonight. I’m so tired of having my picture splashed everywhere, having my private life up for everyone to see. I don’t want to be this person anymore, so careless, reckless even. I want to be the steady person someone can count on. I want to be the person I can count on.

I shove my fingers through my hair, tugging at the ends as I come to a stop. “What the hell am I doing?”

Brandy—Mandy?—slides her palm beneath the collar of my coat, lashes fluttering. “Me, in about two minutes.”

My head wags, tension coiling beneath my skin. Pressing my palms into the cold brick of the storefront we’re stopped in front of, I heave one deep breath after the other. I drop my forehead to the wall, gently banging it a couple times for good measure. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into me.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“What? You’re the one who—”

“This was a mistake.” I take her hand in mine, leading her back down the street toward the bar. “C’mon. I’ll take you back.”

Her hurried steps match mine, and when she peers at me out of the corner of her eye, I remember why I liked her enough to go back for seconds. Because although she barely knows me, she sees me as a human being, not only a meal ticket. “You okay?”

“I’m…I…I don’t know. I fucked up.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I don’t know how to fix my past.”

Her mouth quirks. “Playboy ways coming back to bite you in the ass?”

“Yup.” My eyes fall shut with my groan as my name is shouted from behind us, and I hear the rustle of people jogging to catch up to us, see the flash of cameras as they catch my back. “Fucking ruthless,” I mutter.

“Carter! Over here!”

Just as we reach the bar, my vision goes stark white, blinded by flashing cameras.

“The first girl you’ve been seen with this year! No more Olivia?”

“Who’s the beautiful girl?”

Shielding my eyes from the bright lights, I reach for the door.

Except Mandy wants to talk.

“Sandy,” she tells them with a bright smile, waving at the camera. Huh. I was close. “With an i-e. Sandie with an i-e.” For fuck’s sake.

I tug on her hand. “Let’s go.” I need to go home and screw my head on straight before it explodes.

“So the rumors weren’t true?” a reporter calls. “About you and Olivia? She was nothing more than another—”

“Enough!” I roar, twisting back to the cameras. My skin crawls like ants, knuckles flexing as my chest heaves with a fury so deep, one I don’t know how to handle. It shakes my whole body, begging for release, and it’s about to get it if they say her name one more time. “Enough about Olivia! Leave her name out of your damn mouth!”

Sandie shoves me through the doorway. “And for the record,” she shouts, “there’s nothing going on here. He was being a gentleman and walking me back to the bar. Get a real job.”

“Uh…” I blink down at her. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a martini calling my name.” She struts away, pausing to glance over her shoulder. “Oh, and Carter? You can’t fix your past, but if you want a different future, all you have to do is choose it.”

From across the bar, I feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. I don’t meet them; I don’t think I can handle the disappointment right now, the frustration with me, not when I’m already bogged down with my own self-loathing. I head straight for the back exit, the cold air a welcome reprieve this time as I lean against the wall and just fucking breathe.

I hear the click of the door, and without opening my eyes, know who it is. They let me stand here with my thoughts for a moment before speaking.

When I finally open my eyes, the sympathy reflected in their stares throws me for a loop.

“She’s on a date.” The words are more shattered than feels reasonable.

Cara’s face twists. “What? Liv?”

I nod. “I saw your phone,” I admit, cringing as her sympathy shifts to anger. “She said she was gonna have breakfast with him too.”

“Oh, you fucking…” She groans, fishing her phone from her purse. “Carter, I swear to God.” She flashes me her screen, a photo of Olivia and a small girl who looks remarkably like her smiling at the camera. “That’s her date. Her seven-year-old niece. They’re having breakfast because she’s got her for the weekend.”

A wave of relief rushes through me, a bit of tightness easing off my chest. “She’s not seeing someone?”

“No, you dork. She’s hung up on you and trying to work through her self-doubt and insecurities with the public life you’ve been leading.”

I hang my head. “She’s going to hate me now.”

“Why?” Garrett’s brows tug together. “You didn’t do anything with that girl. We all heard her yell it. Should you have left with her? No, probably not, because you know as well as we do that it’s not what you really wanted.”

Adam lifts a shoulder. “The important part is that you stopped yourself before doing something you’d regret.”

“She’ll never trust me now. Nobody thinks I’m good enough for her.”

Emmett holds a hand up, shaking his head. “That’s not at all true. Were some of us hesitant to let you get close to her? Absolutely, I can admit that. Because this right here is out of character for you, at least when it comes to women. You’ve been my best bud for nearly ten years, and not once have you pursued anything serious.”

I rub the back of my neck. “You’ve barely talked to me lately. Kinda thought you were mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, dude, and there’s not a single part of me that thinks you’re not good enough for Olivia. Far from it. I just feel stuck in the middle a little. It sucks, because I love you two and you’re both hurting. I understand why she’s afraid, and at the same time I can see how much you like her. I want you guys to be happy, and I think it would be cool if you were happy together, but I don’t think pushing Olivia to be ready is the right thing to do either.” His shoulders pop up and down. “It sucks all around.”

“Then help me,” I beg. “I’m trying here. I hate feeling like this. I’ve decided what I want. Isn’t it supposed to be easy from here on out?”

Cara holds my gaze for a moment before her head rolls over her shoulders with an exasperated laugh. “I love the fuck out of you, Carter, but are you really that daft when it comes to relationships? Things don’t suddenly fall into place because you’ve decided you want her.”

“But that’s how it worked for you guys.”

“No offense, but if Em had half the reputation you did, I probably would’ve made him work a little harder. But just because we fell in love right from the beginning doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard. We’ve had to choose each other every single day, put aside our differences and work together to compromise, to build a life together. Maybe it looks like everything simply fell into place for us, but we’ve worked hard at this, and with any good relationship, you will. You’re taking two lives and merging them. That requires a lot of work and a strong commitment. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” It’s strange what a simple three-letter word can do, one spoken with so much certainty, the weight that lifts with the epiphany that comes with it. Yes, I want to choose Olivia, over and over again. I want to work for it, for us. I want to be better, not only for her, but for myself too.

Cara loops an arm through mine, tugging me back through the bar. “Then let’s get you your girl back, Mr. Beckett.”