The Bad Boy Hockey Collection: A Collection Of Single Daddy Romances

Chapter 21

Tristan

What the fuck is wrong with me?

One minute, things are good—hell, better than good—and the next, I’ve fucked everything up royally. As much as I try to get close to Faith, as much as I want to, something always pulls me back.

I meant what I said to her. I want to keep seeing her. And I know she wants to be with me, too.

At least, she did. Past tense. Over the past couple weeks, I haven’t seen much of her at all. Between traveling for games and the fact that she avoids me at all costs when I am around, she does a pretty good job of not letting me get her alone.

The coach praised me the other day for my team effort. I’d taken Jack’s advice and started to make more of an effort with the team, and it’d made an impact. But all I could do was laugh hollowly at the thought. Right now, I feel like I should be wearing a t-shirt that says Does Not Play Well With Others.

To make matter worse, Faith and I have reverted back to monotonous, clipped texts to update me on the kids each day. My mom fills in the missing pieces. Once, she even asked if I’d had a falling-out with Faith, because it seems like we don’t communicate anymore. Her words, not mine. I lied and told her nothing happened, and everything was just fucking peachy. I don’t want her knowing what went on between us. Hell, I’m not sure I even know what happened. All I do know is that I want it back.

But, I can’t focus on that right now. Not when I’m standing in the locker room, mere moments after we won the playoffs. I should be on a high, not moping in the corner about what I did or didn’t say in a relationship that was never really a relationship at all.

“Fuck!” The curse passes my lips as I slam my locker, making Jack laugh beside me.

“We fucking did it, man.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, wanting nothing more than to slap him upside the head for not knowing the difference between Fuck! And Fuck yeah! I’m about to say something when I see my phone screen light up. Someone’s calling. I suck in a breath, seeing Faith’s name on the display.

I could ignore it and pretend I’m celebrating with the guys. It’s the one thing I could get away with right now, and it’d be completely warranted.

But, this fucking cat-and-mouse game we’ve been playing needs to stop. I need to grow a pair and just tell her how I feel. Because I do care about her, even if I have a funny way of showing it.

Emotion and commitment from Tristan Wright—I swear, sometimes it’s like trying to get blood from a stone. The feelings percolate within me, and the words I need to say swirl constantly in my mind, but for them to leave my mouth seems damn near impossible.

What am I scared of? That she’s going to hurt me?

Like I already hurt her?

Jesus. I’m an asshole. I pulled the ‘got to hurt her before she hurts me’ bullshit without even consciously doing it. I haven’t been fair to Faith at all. She’s gone above and beyond for my kids, made them happy again, and put up with more of my shit than anyone should ever have to. And she did it with a grace and politeness I’m not sure anyone else could’ve mustered.

“Faith.”

She’s chuckling in my ear. “We just saw the game. The kids passed out in the living room, but they managed to stay awake long enough to see you win. That last goal was epic. You must be on Cloud Nine right now! It was really something, Tristan. Amazing!”

She’s rambling. And I know her well enough to know she talks endlessly when she’s nervous. “Yeah, it was quite the game. So, I suppose you’ll be getting ready to leave soon.”

Shit, did I just say that? Smooth, asshole.

“What?”

I take a deep breath. “No, wait. That didn’t come out right.” I think about what I need to do next. What I need to say. To hell with the fact that I’m in the dressing room, surrounded by guys who don’t give a rat’s ass about my love life. It’s time to stop fucking around and say what I should’ve said a while ago.

“Faith, I’m coming home soon. Tomorrow, I’ll be there. By your side. Just like I was a few weeks ago.”

r /> Her voice is louder now. “Tristan, I can’t hear you.”

The guys are being rowdy, beginning to chant We Are The Champions. The partying will start immediately, and there’s no way anyone will be in anything that could be mistaken for a sober state within a few hours.

I shout back at her. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Tristan, are you still there?”

It’s no use.