Caspian (Carolina Reapers 8)

Tyler looked at me, then Chuck. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a schoolhouse matter between unruly boys, but if you want to come down to the station and press charges, that’s your right, Stewardson.”

“The whole town already knows he’s a pussy,” another man said behind me.

“You know what?” Chuck jabbed his finger toward me. “Fuck you. We’ll see who gets the last word.” He climbed into his truck, slamming the door, and revved the engine before driving out of the loading dock.

“He didn’t even get his feed,” Tim said, holding the receipt.

“Caspian. Foster.” Mom narrowed her eyes at me. “Get in that truck right now.”

I got in.

We clicked our seatbelts, and Mom killed the radio as I pulled out of the parking lot.

“I can see that professional hockey isn’t helping that temper of yours.” She clucked her tongue.

“I’m sorry you saw that.” My knuckles ached as I turned the wheel, but it was the same pain I felt on countless mornings after games.

“I’m sorry it happened.” She sighed, long and loud. “What he said was on him. What you did was on you. Now, I don’t expect you two to get along, not with what he did to Ryleigh and whatever’s going on between you and her.”

“I sense a but—”

“But, I do expect my son to have control of his temper at all times.”

“Yes, ma’am.” We pulled onto the main road and headed out of town toward the house.

“Any chance you want to tell me what he said? I was just coming around the corner when I saw you throw that punch.”

“Nope.” I felt her stare, but kept my eyes on the road. “There’s zero chance I’m repeating that in front of you.”

“Hmmm.” She grew silent as the miles passed, only speaking when we drove by Ryleigh’s mom’s house. “Any chance you want to tell me what’s actually going on between you and Ryleigh?”

“If I knew the answer, I’d tell you.” I didn’t have a fucking clue. We were sleeping together. We were eating together. Having fun together. But were we…together? Or was I just her post-Chuck rebound fling until I hauled my ass back to my real life?

We pulled into the driveway, and I killed the engine.

“Caspian, you know I love having you here. Nothing makes my heart happier than when you and London are home, but have you given any thought to when you have to get back? To what will happen when you do?”

I shook my head, spinning the keys on my finger.

“She’s my oldest friend’s daughter,” Mom whispered.

“I care about her.” It was the most I’d admitted to anyone.

“I know.” She gave my hand a pat and opened her door. “Now put the feed in the barn and then ice that hand. I hope it serves as a lesson and hurts like hell.”

Mile after mile, I ran, pushing my body to the limit. Sweat poured down my body in rivulets. I’d ditched the shirt by mile two, earning more than one turned head as I reached the town limits.

Running wasn’t ice time, but it would have to do. I wasn’t canceling my plans with Ryleigh just because I wanted to skate. It would be a three-hour trip just driving to and from Des Moines and there was no guarantee they’d even have open ice.

Fuck, I missed Charleston. I missed the unfettered access to my gym, my rink, my friends. I could always drive up to Minneapolis if I wanted to shoot around with Kolton, but that was even more time.

I reached the hardware store and finally stopped running, my chest heaving as I threw open the door to the chime of a jingly bell.

“We’re closing!” Ryleigh’s mom called out from behind the counter but smiled as soon as I stepped into view. “Oh, Caspian, it’s you. Ryleigh’s in the shed out back.”

“Thanks. You’re closing up?” I glanced around the empty store as my breath evened out. Usually, Ryleigh made a fuss about being the one to close.

“I told her that if she could trust me to raise her, she could trust me to close while she gets some work done.” She crinkled her nose. “We’re making progress. Heads up.” She tossed a bottle of water my way, and I caught it mid-air. “You look a little dehydrated, dear.”

“Thank you.” I drained the bottle of water and chucked it into the recycling bin as I walked through the aisles to the back door. The storage room was empty, and I continued outside to the metal shed where I could see flashes of light coming from the open door.

Ryleigh was welding.

I kept clear of the sparks, leaning in the doorway as I watched her work, bending and shaping metal to her whim, creating what looked like another glass-accented windmill. She deserved a workshop with every tool imaginable, and here she was, honing her craft in a ten-by-twelve shed.