Rookie (Seattle Sharks 4)

Because I’d seen it in her eyes.

The way she’d looked at me—like she needed me on a level she couldn’t shake.

And I fucking knew what that felt like because I’d felt it the second she walked into this damn locker-room.

“I’m going to skip this one,” I said. “Head home. Catch up on sleep.”

Pathetic excuse, but it was all I had.

Rory flashed Gage a knowing look, and they turned around, stopping before me.

“All right, man,” Gage said. “Want to tell us what is really going on?”

I sank onto the bench, raking my hands through my hair.

“She was everything to me,” I admitted on a long breath.

Gage sat down beside me, Rory and Warren filing in on the other side.

“And?”

“And nothing. She wouldn’t come with me when I went to college. She moved on. So I did.”

“But . . .”

“Fuck,” I hissed. “I still love her.”

There.

I fucking said it.

It was out in the world.

“I never stopped.” Okay, sure let’s just keep piling it on. “And I never once thought she’d come here. Work for the team.”

“Fucking hell,” Rory snapped. “This is bad.”

“No,” I said, my tone shaky. “I’ve got this under control.”

“Do you?” Warren asked. “’Cause you just bailed on drinks because she was there.”

“I know. Fuck me, I know.”

“It’s fine,” Gage said. “Just tell Coach.”

“And lose the ice-time I’ve worked my ass off to earn? Fuck that.” I shrugged. “Besides. Nothing is going to happen.”

Gage eyed me like he knew better.

“She doesn’t want me back. Not in that way.” I think she wanted her friend back, nothing more. “It’ll be fine. We were friends before we were . . .” I sighed. “We’re going to try to be friends again.”

Gage nodded. “You sure about this? You could just tell Coach about the history.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do that. Not yet. Not without talking to her. Her job is on the line, too. And why stir up trouble? Absolutely nothing has happened.”

“And nothing will,” Rory added, but even he sounded like he didn’t believe it.

Gage clapped me on the back. “I hope so, Rookie,” he said. “I’d hate to lose you from the team just when you’re finally getting up to our level.”

I laughed at the joke, flashing him a thankful look at taking off some of the heavy.

“Now get your ass up,” Rory demanded. “You’re getting that drink with us. Prove it to yourself and Chloe that you are really just friends.”

Warren laughed while Gage whistled, and I found my dumbass following them out of the rink and into the parking lot.

Twenty-minutes later we walked inside one of our favorite dives—a small place with great food, good drinks, and most importantly no press. It was a place that let us be without all the flashing lights and constant questions.

And there, tucked into a back-corner booth, right next to Bailey, Paige, and Jeannine, was the love of my life.

Her black hair slightly mussed, as if she’d tossed it a few too many times. Her cheeks rosy, likely from the collection of empties that littered their table. And that laugh. Fuck me it was enough to shake up my soul and make me see.

I felt like I hadn’t seen clearly in so damn long—like this past decade I’d had a film over my eyes and it only lifted when she came crashing back into my life.

Friends.

I’m happy to see my friend.

Nothing more.

Then why the hell was my heart racing the closer we got to the table?

“Babe!” Bailey said, throwing her arms around Gage.

Warren and Rory received similar greetings—the buzzed vibe at the table not lost on any of us.

Before I could choke out an awkward hello Chloe had hopped out of the booth and thrown her arms around my neck. I caught her in a blink, her body fitting perfectly against mine as I wrapped my arms around her hips, her feet slightly off the floor from her jump.

“Bent!” she practically squealed.

For a few seconds I wasn’t here, in this bar.

I was back there—under our tree, laughing and listening and kissing and holding.

“I was just telling the girls about that time we stole your dad’s truck and caught an Aerosmith concert in the city over.”

I chuckled, reluctantly setting her on her feet when I caught Gage’s raised brow in my direction. “That so?”

“Mmhmm,” she said, her smile so much younger than it had looked yesterday. Like the alcohol had shed her of whatever haunted her. “Remember how sick you got?” She turned to the booth, our audience hanging on her every word. “We think his drink got spiked or something. Anyway, he threw up so much I seriously thought he was going to die. Like, I almost took him to the ER, but he didn’t want to get caught so we drove home.” She snorted. “He puked the whole way out the window.”

“Really?” Rory asked, motioning for her to sit back down. “Please, do continue with more embarrassing stories of the rookie.”

“Or don’t,” I said, taking a seat on the other side of her.

“Oh, that wasn’t embarrassing. I felt so awful for him.” She placed her hand on my forearm, which flexed underneath her touch. “Though, I think I took pretty good care of you.”

“Yeah,” I said gruffly, remembering just how well she had later that night when I’d started feeling better.

“That was the night I realized I’d be good at helping people,” she said. “I guess we could say that Bent here is the reason I’m a PT.”

“And the reason you love hockey,” Jeannine said, eyeing me.

Oh hell, what all had they talked about?

I glanced at the guys, half panicked, but they each just shook their heads as if to say just go with it, dude, you’re out of your realm.

That was the fucking truth.

“You were saying?” Rory drew Chloe’s attention. “Embarrassing details about the rookie . . .” he urged her.

Paige smacked his chest. “You’re as bad as Nine!”

Rory bumped his fist against Nine’s. “We’re besties for a reason,” he said.

The whole table laughed, though Chloe’s stood out the most to me. And as I sat there, drinking beers and watching them all interact, I realized just how much shit I was in.

Because it felt right.

All of us together—easy.

Good people, good times.

Chloe at my side most of all—happy and free and talking like the decade that separated our lives never happened. Like we were the oldest friends we’d always been.

And fuck me, I wanted more.

I wanted her.

I wanted my heart back.

And she was the last person on the planet allowed to give it to me.

Chapter 8

Chloe

“Heads up,” Nine said, stopping us before we entered their favorite club Phantom. “I invited the Rookie.”

“What?” I didn’t mean to whine.

Bailey and Paige quickly entered the club, flashing me a few totally innocent glances on their way.

It’d been two weeks since I went out with the girls to the bar—and got massively drunk which resulted in flirting way too much with Bentley. Since then, the girls and I had gone to lunches, a few dinners, and I’d even tagged along on play-dates. They had quickly become some of the best friends I’d ever had—in the female department anyway—but I was seriously contemplating throat punching Jeannine.

“I had to,” she said, giving me puppy-dog eyes.

“Why?” I sighed. “You know how much I—” I stopped myself short.

The girls knew my feelings for him were intense and complicated and had no chance of ever going away. They also were aware that what I wanted was forbidden.

I could

n’t be with him—the coach had forbade any of the players from going after me, and he didn’t even know my history.

Nine did. She knew about my ex—an Ontario hockey player—and the threats he liked to casually remind me of over text every week or so.

“You’re miserable,” she said. “You are so far gone for that man.”

“So?” I hissed, wrapping my arms around myself. The air was cool, but it was my insides that had dropped a few degrees. “Maybe I should go,” I said, spinning on my heels.