Home Game (A Vancouver Wolves Hockey Romance Book 2)

I LAY in Zoey’s bed and stared at the wall. I hadn’t slept in my own bed since that first night she had left. I hugged her pillow like a teenage girl. Trying to breathe in her scent.

The day Krista took her apartment shopping, I had paced all day, planning my talk with Zoey. My heart had stopped when Krista had shown up at my place instead of Zoey.

“Where is she?” I stood in the doorway and watched as Krista moved around Zoey’s room gathering up her stuff.

“I told you if you hurt her, I’d disown you.”

“Tell me where she is, Krista,” It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Zoey was supposed to come home, and I was going to talk to her and explain what I was trying to do. I was supposed to help her move out and help her thrive. So we could get to the place where she felt like an equal. It hadn’t even dawned on me she wouldn’t come back and wouldn’t give me an opportunity to explain.

“She’s at my place which is where she will stay.”

I dropped her arm and moved out of the bedroom, looking for my keys and wallet. I needed to talk to Zoey. Make her understand.

“Ryan, where do you think you’re going?” Krista followed me.

“I need to talk to her.”

“No!” She stood in front of me, her arms pushing against my chest. “Absolutely not.”

“She can’t just leave. Not without me explaining.”

“You fooled around with her and then asked her to leave. She is devastated!”

My stomach dropped, and I didn’t even try to hide the panic in my voice. “I can explain. This is a misunderstanding.”

Krista glared up at me. “I’m listening.”

“I want a future with her.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I don’t want Zoey’s choice to be me or the streets. That’s not really a choice, is it? And it’s a shit way to start anything.”

“She is back at my place and her heart is breaking. You think you could have handled that better?”

I ran my hands through my hair, unsure what to do. “I fucked up. And then she didn’t want to talk.”

“She still doesn’t. She trusted you with her heart and her body and you broke that trust.”

My heart sank with the truth of that statement. “I know. What do I do?”

“Give her space.”

“I didn’t want her to move out immediately. I thought this whole thing would take a few weeks and we could find our new normal.”

“Ryan?” She shook her head with sadness. “It doesn’t really matter what you want anymore.”

“What do I do?” I needed to explain all of this to Zoey.

“You’re right. This whole situation has been all about what you need and what you want. She’s been at your mercy since the day she moved in.”

“I know. I want to change that.”

“Then respect what she needs. Right now, she needs her space from you. She’s choosing to not speak to you. And you need to accept that.”

That statement went against everything I needed to do. I needed to see her. Explain to her. Make this better. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

“You don’t have a choice. Now Zoey’s the one who gets to choose.”

I sighed and rolled over to look at the ceiling. I knew I had fucked up. And I also knew Krista was right. It was Zoey’s time to choose. The only thing that freaked me out was that she was choosing to not see me.

My phone buzzed. I eagerly swiped it open, hoping against hope that it was Zoey.

Mica: Downstairs. Get decent. I’m coming up

I staggered out of Zoey’s room, not caring about my appearance. I unlocked the door and then sat down on the couch.

Mica walked in and looked around before studying me.

“You look like shit.”

I didn’t take offense. I felt lower than I have ever felt in my life and I didn’t even have the energy to care. “Thanks.”

He sat down on the IKEA chair across from me and thought about his words before he spoke. “Zoey is done with her Krav Maga classes. She passed with flying colors.”

“How is she?” I didn’t even bother to hide my desperation.

“She’s sad, but she’s doing well at her job and the other day she asked me to help her put together some more furniture. She got a couch and a chair and I bought her a TV as a housewarming gift.”

I lifted my head. “How does she look?”

He ignored me and looked around. “You need a maid.”

“I have one.”

“You need a new maid.”

The short laugh punctured out of me. “I’m scared she’s going to quit.”

“Come on. Go shower. I’m taking you out.”

No fucking way. “No, man. I’m good.”

He stood up, picking up empty take-out containers. “I wasn’t asking. Go shower.”

THE ONLY TIME I felt alive was when I was on the ice. It was the one place that I felt like myself. The game was a rough one, and we lost. Off the ice, I felt my mood sour again. Everything heavy and dark returned the second my skates came off.

Jensen was pulling off his jersey. “I heard Zoey moved out.”

I ignored him and began to undress.

He continued. “I heard she got sick of you.”

Mica stepped forward. “Zip it.”

“Just stating the obvious. Maybe I should try to tap that now that you’re out of the way.”

“Enough,” Mica roared.

I was already across the room. Jensen smiled at me. He wanted to fight as bad as I did.

“You touch her and I will end you.”

“Heard you have no say in that anymore,” he jeered.

I shoved him hard, almost pushing him off his feet.

He came back with fists.

By the time the other players pulled us apart, we were both a lot worse for wear.

Mica shoved me towards the showers. “Cool it.”

“If he touches her, I’ll kill him.”

“He wants to get you kicked off the team.”

“What?”

“He’s goading you.”

I knew that, but at this point, I didn’t care. “Does it matter?”

“If you want her back, it should.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will not have a shot at getting her back if you live in Chicago.”

My frustration was at an all-time high. I wanted to destroy something.

“Get showered,” he instructed. “We’re going out.”

“Nope. Mica. Not tonight.”

“You see me asking you?”

“If I go out, I’m just going to drink myself into oblivion.”

“That is the plan.”

THE NEXT MORNING’S skate was painful. Every bone in my skull pulsed in pain. Nine shots of Beluga Noble Russian vodka would do that to a person.

After practice, I puked before and after I showered. I needed to get home and get to bed.

“Parker?” One of the assistant coaches yelled.

“What?”

“GM wants to see you.”

Mica and I exchanged looks. Jensen grinned. “Wonder what he wants.”

Mica snapped at Jensen. “If you don’t learn to keep your mouth shut, I will shut it for you.”

Jensen rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say another word. Mica had that effect on people.

THE MEETING WAS a déjà vu of my first meeting with the GM.

Gordon and Mark Ashford exchanged secret looks while giving me the stink eye.

“Heard you instigated a fight in the locker room.”

“I didn’t instigate it, I finished it.”

I looked up as Rory Ashford slipped into the room. She didn’t even sit down. She scrolled through her phone while she leaned against the wall.

Ashford crossed his arms. “You’ve made good progress with gelling with most of the team.”

All of them, except Jensen and his loyalists.

“Thanks.”

“But it’s not good enough. If you want to stay on this team, I need more.”

“This street is two-sided,” I countered. “I can’t gel with guys that don’t want to gel.”

“Figure it out.”

We all sat there in silence for a while.

“You’re dismissed.”

It took all my control to temper my emotions, leaving that meeting. I walked down the hall when someone called my name.

Rory.

I kept on walking.

I pushed through the doors of the executive office and started down the Concord.

I heard her heels click after me.

“Ryan, please.”

I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. “Not a good time, Rory.”

“We need to talk.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

She caught up and stared up at me. “Wow, you look like hell.”

“Thanks. Can I go now?”

“The GM can be blunt.”

“You think?”

“He likes you.”

“Were we in the same meeting?”

“You’re the third highest goal scorer in the entire league. Trust me. He thinks highly of you.”

“I’d hate to see how he acts when he doesn’t like me.”

“You should ask Max about that.”

I couldn’t imagine trying to date the GM’s daughter. “Max must have balls of steel.”

She smiled. “The GM doesn’t care what happens in the locker room as long as it doesn’t impact what happens on the ice.”

“It doesn’t.”

“How many times have you passed to Jensen?”

“No clue.”

“When he’s in your lineup, you statistically pass to him 50% less than you do when you are playing with any other player.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true.”

I stared at her. “He’s a dick.”

“Can I give you some advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

She seemed unfazed by my asshole ways. “Jensen is chippy, and he sometimes gets himself into trouble he can’t get himself out of.”

She meant, he liked to take dirty shots at players but sometimes couldn’t handle it when they came back at him. “So?”

“I want you to defend him.”

“No fucking way.”

“When someone goes after him, you go after them.”

“Half the time he deserves it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“So he gets away with his dirty shots.”

“We’re dealing with him in our own way over that. The GM hates that side of him.”

“So why do I have to get involved?”

She smiled a smile that was so sweet it was hard to remember what a shark she was. “Optics.”

And then, she turned on her killer heels and sauntered away.

I WOKE up from a six-hour nap and downed half a container of orange juice. I had a feeling this hangover might last two days.

I checked my phone and my heart skipped a beat.

Zoey: Are you okay?

I studied her words. That could be read so many ways.

Me: Not really

Zoey: He hurt you!?

Me: What are we talking about?

Zoey: Krista said you and Jensen were in a fight

Fucking Jensen.

Me: Oh that. It was just a scuffle

I sat and refreshed my screen for 17 minutes before her next text came thru.

Zoey: So why aren’t you okay?

Me: I miss you. Can I call you?

Please say yes. Please. I need to hear your voice.

Zoey: Not yet.

Me: One day?

Zoey: Maybe

I SAT IN THE BAR, not looking around. This was a mistake.

Why I had let Mica talk me into going on a blind date was beyond me. A moment of weakness. Maybe it was because I was so damn sick of my own company I couldn’t stand it. But now that I was here, I realized I wasn’t ready.

“Ryan Parker?” A soft voice spoke from beside me.

I forced a smile on my face and turned to the owner of that voice. She was cute, in that perfect, blonde, manicured sort of way. She wore a smoking hot red dress that normally would have my blood thrumming faster, but for all I cared, she could be wearing a potato sack.

“Michelle, I presume?” I stood up and offered her my hand.

She ignored it and came in for a scented hug, pressing her chest against my body.

My cock didn’t even wake from its coma.

“Would you like to get a table?”

“Here is fine,” she smiled and sat too close on the seat beside me.

We ordered her a glass of wine and another beer for me.

I asked a few general questions, which resulted in her oversharing. I let her words wash over me as I studied her face.

Cute nose, wide green eyes, high cheekbones, great teeth. She knew how to apply makeup. Her gloss and sheen were artfully applied to highlight her features.

She paused and smiled.

“That’s amazing,” I said, looking at her mouth. “Tell me more.”

So she talked, and I nursed my beer.

I worked to concentrate on what she was talking about. Her job. Something about a new program she was developing for kids. She seemed passionate about it.

She didn’t ask me a single question about myself and for that I was grateful. I wasn’t sure I could fake interest if I had to take part in this conversation. I found that if I kept my eyes on her face and made enough eye contact, she seemed content to carry the entire conversation.

When she finished her second glass of wine, she leaned forward and touched my knee. “I think I’m ready to go.”

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“I took a cab here.”

Historically, that was my cue to offer her a ride home. But tonight, I said, “Let me help you catch a cab.”

Disappointment flashed over her face. I paid our bill and then walked her outside and flagged her a cab.

We stood in front of it, the backdoor open.

“I had a great time,” her voice was husky. She stepped closer.

What the hell. I bent down and kissed her.

My dick remained as limp and sad as if I had drunk an entire bottle of vodka.

I stepped back. “Have a good night.”

I opened the front door and passed a fifty to the driver. “Make sure she gets home safe.”

Saying nothing else, I shut the door after her and then walked away.

Instead of driving home, I drove by Zoey’s apartment. All the lights were off.

Was she home and asleep? Or was she out enjoying another guy’s company?

The thought made me sick. I turned around and drove home, wishing for the thousandth time that things were different.

“HOW WAS MICHELLE?” Mica asked me as we suited up for our first playoff game.

“I think she only wanted to get laid.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that was the point.”

“Wasn’t interested.”

“You prefer brunettes?”

No. I prefer spunky, punk rocker chicks who make me laugh and never hold a verbal punch if they can get one in. “Just not in the mood these days.”

His voice lowered. “It’s been over four months.”

“I’m not ready.”

He shrugged. “We will keep on trying.”

“Nope. My only focus is winning the playoffs.”

“When we win the cup, will you let me set you up again?”

“I’ll think about it.”