The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

“Ding, ding we have a winner.” He shakes his head at my antics. “So,” I say, growing serious, “what are you going to do?”

He shrugs and stands, pulling off the sweater and dropping it on the bed. “I have no idea, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

He tries to sound positive, but the look on his face tells me he feels anything but sure of himself. I wish I knew how to help him, but he’s on his own with this one.

Michael and I have been running drills for hours. I’ve gotten to know the guy pretty well, and he’s a nice dude with a future in hockey ahead of him. I’m sure of it. I don’t tell him that—I don’t want to give him false hope—but I already caught sight of some scouts at one of the home games, and I’m certain they were checking out Michael. He’s one of those players that exudes magic on the ice.

We skate off the ice and head back to the locker room to shower and leave.

“Thanks for helping me out, man,” I say, tying the laces on my shoes.

Michael shrugs into his jacket. “No problem. Glad I could help. Besides, I need all the extra ice time I can get.” He grabs his bag and slings it onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you in the gym tomorrow. Coach says he wants us there early.”

I nod and shove my stuff into my bag. “See you later.”

Michael leaves and I’m alone in the locker room. I can’t help but take a moment to look around. It still looks the same as when I was here a few years ago. Ugly blue tiled walls and floors. Rows and rows of gray lockers and wooden benches. It’s your standard locker room, but to me, it feels like home.

But it’s not the room that feels like home. It’s the feeling of belonging. I always felt like an outsider with the Hunters. Most of the guys don’t like me because I’m better than them. I’m not being cocky, it’s true, and no one wants someone better to come along because it jeopardizes spots on the team. In other words, older players begin to shake in their skates and fear being kicked off the team.

Playing for the Hunters was my dream since they’re my home team, but the reality could never measure up to the dream. It wasn’t that professional hockey is harder than college hockey, though it is, it’s just … it’s not a good fit. We don’t mesh well. And maybe, with a different coach, we’d come together as a team, but I don’t see Matthews getting booted—though, I wish every day it would happen.

I don’t know what my next step with Matthews is, but I know I have to get people on my side to back me up, which means I need to start by reaching out to the team. Not all of the guys hate my guts, so I think there are a few who’d be open to going to a bar and getting a few drinks and talking. I don’t know exactly what I’ll tell them, but I know it can’t be the truth. At least not yet.

The truth.

Fuck.

I still can’t believe I told Grace. I mean, she kind of guessed it so it doesn’t really count, but … Who the fuck am I kidding? I should’ve never involved her in this. When she guessed right, I should’ve lied or done something. Anything but let her in on the truth, because if Matthews finds out she knows I don’t know what he might do and I swear to God if the fucker hurts her I’ll make all of Grace’s axe murderer worries come true and kill the asshole.

I slam my locker closed and grab my bag, lumbering out of the arena. I’m exhausted. I’ve been pushing myself too hard, but I’ve had to do something to distract my mind. Being around Grace helps, but she has classes and even more studying than normal with her finals coming up.

I should head back to my room and get some rest, but my feet have a mind of their own and lead me right to Grace’s door. It’s getting late, after ten, and I debate for about thirty seconds on whether or not I should knock on the door before I finally do.

I knock lightly, just in case she or Elle has fallen asleep studying, but loud enough that someone awake should hear.

I hear footsteps treading lightly across the floor and then the door eases open a crack. “Bennett?” Grace pokes her head out. “It’s late. Are you okay?” She’s probably having flashbacks to the night I showed up flustered and begged her to go to Boston with me.

“I’m okay,” I assure her. “I just wanted to see you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I want to take them back, but Grace just nods and doesn’t seem to read into them. I shouldn’t want to see her, though. This thing between us is supposed to be a business deal more or less an agreement between two parties who have no interest in each other. But that lie is getting harder and harder to tell myself. No interest in Grace? I’d have to be a blind fucking monk to not be interested in Grace. She’s fucking gorgeous. And sweet. And her smile … Oh, fuck, her smile is the best.

“I was just about to go to bed,” she tells me, not opening the door up any wider.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

Where the ever-loving fuck did that come from? Stay here? For the night? Together? I have completely lost my mind. But it’s too late to take it back now.

She looks back into her room and then at me, biting on her plump bottom lip. It kills me when she does that. It’s an innocent gesture, one she does when she’s nervous or uncomfortable, but there’s something infinitely sexy about it.

“I …” She pauses and I’m about two seconds away from leaving when she finishes. “Okay.”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “Seriously?”

She shrugs. “We’re just going to sleep, so I don’t think it’s a big deal.” She opens the door wider to let me in.

“Where’s Elle?” I ask, noting the empty bed.

Grace sighs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m betting with Ryland.”

I nod. “I’m not surprised.”