Hard Limit (St. Louis Mavericks 2)

Wes gave Coach an incredulous look. “Did you hear what he just said about my wife?”

Coach stood up, turned around and looked at Sawyer. “What’s the issue with a few wives stopping by to meet your wife?”

Sawyer was silent for a few seconds, clearly at a loss. I squinted, almost certain I saw tears shining in his eyes as he spoke. “My wife is medically fragile. Exposure to germs or viruses means actual life or death for her.”

Wes’s expression changed in an instant, the anger sliding away.

“Well why the hell didn’t you tell anyone?” Coach asked. “That’s the kind of stuff we need to know.”

“Annie didn’t want people to know,” Sawyer said, the fight gone from his tone. “I wanted to respect that.”

Coach nodded and said, “Let’s talk when we get to the arena, Cain.”

My phone buzzed with a text and I looked down at the screen.

Sheridan: I just went to meet Annie Cain with Hadley and Nina. She’s so sweet but it was very sad because she has cancer and it seems pretty serious.

I glanced at Sawyer, and then back down at my phone screen. It made sense now—why he was so private and why he was always in such a shit mood. Who wouldn’t be if their wife was seriously ill?

Me: It was nice of you to go.

Sheridan: She said she appreciated it, and she gave us all her number. My heart is broken now, though. The poor woman is desperately ill, and it’s so damn unfair.

Me: It is. It must be very hard for both of them.

Sheridan: Can you fly home right now and give me a hug?

Me: No, but I would if I could.

Sheridan: How’s the road trip going?

I considered telling her about what had just gone down on the team bus, but then she’d probably feel bad about going over to Sawyer’s house. Probably best to just leave it alone.

Me: Boring.

Sheridan: I’m working from home the rest of the day, mostly boring meetings. Hopefully we’ll both get to do something more exciting soon…

Me: There are many exciting things I want to do with you.

Sheridan: Such as…?

Me: I have been thinking since waking up about burying my tongue in you. Then burying my cock in you. Would you like that?

Sheridan: God yes. I have a Zoom call starting in one minute and I’m not wearing a padded bra, so stop saying things that make my nipples hard.

Me: It’s bad your nipples aren’t in my mouth right now.

Sheridan: Not helping. I’m not going to look at my phone again until after this meeting is over…

Sheridan: Good luck with your game tonight.

Me: Good luck in your meeting.

Sheridan: xoxo

I stared at my phone screen for a second, arching a brow. I wasn’t a “xoxo” kind of guy, but I didn’t want to ignore her way of saying goodbye and not reply. I sent a thumbs-up and put my phone away.

Several hours later, my mind was finally focused entirely on something other than Sheridan.

I’d reviewed the stats of my opponents and watched a little film, but not as much as I would have liked. I’d been in a mood before the game started.

The pregame pasta I’d gotten from a local Italian restaurant had fucking sucked. It was cold and the chicken was dry. Our equipment manager, Clint, was back in St. Louis with his wife, who had delivered their son last night, and the assistant who had sharpened my skates wasn’t as good at it as Clint.

But here I was, on the ice, even though my mojo was off. It was the second period, and we were down 2–1. I was no longer pissed off about the pasta or my skates—now my anger was focused on Tony Gruen.

Tony was the first line center for Toronto, and he played dirty. He’d just come skating out of the penalty box, running his mouth at Wes before the door was even opened. It was instigating a fight with Wes that had landed him there in the first place, and I wasn’t letting him get another crack at my captain.

“Shut the fuck up and play,” I said, glaring at him.

He gave me a disgusted look. “Was I using words too big for you, Jansson? You need a special ed teacher to come out and hold your hand?”

Tony immediately turned his attention back to the game after his comment, but I wasn’t having it. I dropped my stick and barreled into him, slamming him against the boards and taking my gloves off.

I didn’t have the words to fight back, but I had my fists. I let Tony have it, punching him relentlessly as the crowd roared in response.

“Enough, man.” I heard a voice calling out to me to stop, but I couldn’t.

I kept hitting Tony, and he groaned in response. Several of my teammates tried to intervene, but all my attention was focused on Tony. Two of my teammates finally put themselves between me and Tony, and two others forced me to back away from him.