Chicago’s center barrels into me, but I don’t feel the hit.
My body is numb, my mind shutdown. I’m back to breathing pure hockey. Quickly, I gain control of the puck and flip it to Devon, watching as he flies down the ice. A sharp pass to Patton and we score.
Around me, the Bolts fans cheer, standing and clapping wildly.
I don’t absorb their excitement either. I don’t absorb anything except the heartbreak in Maisy’s eyes when she admitted I make her feel like an afterthought.
A goddamn afterthought.
Disgust swells in my throat. I hurt her. Even though I think of her constantly, she never knew the depth. And why? Because I never told her.
Communication. The key element.
I fucked it up with Anna. I screwed it up with Marisol. And now, with Maisy. When will I learn? How the hell have I not grown emotionally since I was a high school punk with a baby?
“Yo!” Patton shoves me. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I get back in position, my gaze zeroing in on the puck.
For the next four minutes, the game consumes me. Chicago is tough competition and even though we’re down, we’re not getting our asses handed to us. Under the leadership of our coaching staff, the team is starting to gel. We’re getting into a groove and as Devon scores again, team morale spikes.
I manage a grin and a slap to Devon’s helmet. It feels good, to play solid hockey with a great group of men, again. But it doesn’t feel as good as it should because I fucking hurt Maisy.
“Get your head in the game.” Barnes jerks his chin at me.
I acquiesce and check Chicago’s center hard on the next play. He rushes me, gripping my jersey, and I grin. Finally. I let him at me for a handful of seconds, waiting for him to take the first swing.
Then, I lunge at him, relishing the adrenaline that rushes my system. Whipping off my face shield, I pummel the guy with a cross to his left cheek.
“You fucker,” he growls.
I laugh, shaking off my gloves. He’s giving me exactly what I want. “Thank you,” I mutter before he’s on me.
We brawl for a few minutes. In the background, I hear the sharp whistles, grunts from my teammates, some swear words. But I only have eyes for number thirty-four, and I relish beating on him. My anger, frustration, uncertainty, it all floats away as I unload on the dick who was stupid enough to start shit with me. Tonight, of all nights.
Eventually, the refs and the team break it up. The Rookie and Devon pull me off the guy. He spits a wad of blood and I grin.
“What the fuck got into you?” Devon shakes my arm.
I shrug him off, falling back into old patterns. Re-embracing my nickname. I’m not called Brawler for nothing. “Just here to play hockey,” I flip one of his bullshit lines from over the summer back at him and he glowers.
Dropping his voice, he hisses, “I know you’re twisted up over Maisy but—”
“Don’t.” I glare at him, my expression hard. “Don’t fucking go there.”
He swears. “Get your head in the goddamn game, Brawler. That’s an order.”
I flip my chin in agreement, knowing that as Captain, he’s trying to regain control.
But I don’t give a fuck. Because I am here to play good hockey. And right now, I’m back to feeling nothing. Only numb.
Maisy: Are you okay?
She texts me an hour after I arrive home from the game. I pull a bag of frozen peas from the fridge and head to the couch. Leaning back, I drop the peas on my cheek.
Holding my phone over my face, I read Maisy’s message again, as if it would have changed in the last five seconds.
It’s the first contact I’ve had with her in four days, and it stings, even more than my face.
Me: Are you?
Maisy: No. How’s your face?
Me: No worse than everything else.
Maisy: I’m sorry, Axe.
Her words gut me, and I wince. She shouldn’t apologize for me making her feel unwanted. Unworthy. Not enough.
Her apology makes me feel fucking worse.
Me: You have no idea how sorry I am, Mais. Get some sleep.
Maisy: Good night.
Dropping my phone next to me, I close my eyes. I wish I was better with words. I wish I could tell Maisy just how much I want her, care for her, can see a future with her. I just don’t have all the details sorted yet. I know I want her by my side, but I don’t know if we’ll marry, or have kids, or live in Costa Rica.
Can I give her all of that? Can I make her happy enough to stay with me?
A loud knock on my door ruins my peace. It’s gotta be Lola and Jasmine.
“It’s open,” I holler.
The door swings open. “Figures,” a male voice says.
My neck whips around since Asher left on Monday—with a stern warning to get my shit together—and there aren’t any other males who would waltz into my house. I swear as Devon, Rookie, Barnes, Turner, and River fucking Patton filter into my kitchen.
“What are you guys doing here?” I resume my position and lay the peas on my cheek.
“Helping you get your head out of your ass,” Barnes says cheerfully.
“That was some fight, mate,” Turner offers as he plops down on a chair in my living room.
“You knocked him around pretty good,” Patton confirms, a begrudging kind of respect underlining his words.
“All of that cause Maisy Stratford’s got you tied in knots,” Devon states, going where none of the other guys would.
I glower at him through one eye.
He smirks and sits down on the other end of the couch. “What’s your plan?”
“Huh?” I ask.
“To win her back,” he says, spelling it out for me. He’s pushing the same way Anna did with her gentle words and kind eyes. The same way Asher tried with his snarky remarks and smacks to the back of my head.
I close my eye. “She’s done with me.”
Barnes snickers as Patton looks at me in disgust.
“What?” I ask Patton.
“Never took you for stupid,” he mutters.
Turner bites back his smile.
“You gotta do something big,” the Rookie muses. “Something special.”
“Something no one else has done for her,” Devon agrees.
“She doesn’t want to be with me,” I say, even though the words ring false. She does want to be with me, just not this uncommunicative, emotionally stunted version. And can I blame her? Hell fucking no. Because I’m the one who mucked everything up.
“Stupid,” Patton hisses.
I throw the peas down and glare at my teammates. “She deserves better.”
“Then how you’re acting?” Patton lifts an eyebrow. “I agree.”
“Do you want to be with Maisy or not?” the Rookie asks, cutting to the heart of the matter.
“More than anything.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I duck my head, embarrassed.
But the Rookie smiles and Turner looks relieved.
“Something big,” Devon reminds me. “Special.”
“She doesn’t care about material things,” I shut them down. “I need to prove to her that I’m all in. That I want her as part of my life. That she’s not just some afterthought.” The word tastes like shit on my tongue. “But at the center of everything I want. Everything we’re building. My whole goddamn future.”
“There ya go.” Patton nods.
Barnes claps. “Finally.”
“Huh?” I ask again.
“You’re getting your head out of your ass. We knew you could do it,” Turner explains.
I heave out a sigh. It’s almost a relief that I don’t have to front with these guys. “I care about her.”
“We know,” the Rookie agrees.
“I’m falling in love with her,” I admit, telling them the truth that no one, not even Maisy, knows.
“We know.” Turner’s voice is soft. Understanding. At the lack of judgement in his tone, it’s clear he’s the eldest of five.
“Something big.” Damien leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And special,” I muse, before an idea explodes in my mind. Sitting up straight, I snap my fingers. “I got it.” I laugh, surprising, or scaring, my teammates. “I fucking got it.”
“What is it?” the Rookie asks curiously.
I shake my head. “Wait till I tell you this.”
They all lean forward, as if we’re in a huddle, and I tell them exactly how I’m going to win Maisy back.
Exactly how I’m going to show her she can trust me. That we have a future. That there will always be an us.