I let out a breath when she disappears, which is fine. I can find my own water when the plane takes off. Except, before I can even get my eye mask out of my bag and over my eyes she’s back, and this time with a crystal glass of what looks and smells like a very nice whiskey.
Ava opens her hand and reveals a small metal box.
She sets it down and I stare at it hard.
“I need you to take that back, please,” I manage in a shaky breath.
I see her brow knit in confusion, and yeah, whatever my original impression of her was, it was clearly in my Roe Monroe, bad boy of hockey era.
“I’m sober. Been that way for a while,” I tell her, my eyes locked on the glass. I’ve been around beer and liquor with the team and even with Gabe. Maybe a drink will help.
No. Even that is the wrong move here. No numbing out.
With the stress of what this series of games might mean looming over me and the temptation to find out what is in that tin box, I have no business taking down my inhibitions.
Frankly, I’m shocked the Knights’ assistant coach, Jerry, didn’t have the crew searched.
I’m not afraid I’ll mess up my sobriety—that’s not it, exactly. I have so much more to lose now. More than I ever have. Past me, superstar team captain me, didn’t know shit about what could be on the line.
And it’s just that the , and Ava, aren’t tempting. At all.
Not even a bit.
How could they be?
Ava doesn’t have Thatcher’s gorgeous eyes that darken when he’s aroused or look so lovingly on his son. Her hands don’t have that work-roughened feel that lights me up like electricity and burns like fire when he touches my skin. If pressed against me, I bet she wouldn’t have the lean muscle and fresh wood scent that drives me out of my mind.
But Gabe has all of that.
I have all of that.
I also have a solid record of game time that I’ve worked harder for than any first line start I ever earned.
I may have walked into Fox River Falls with nothing, but now I have the world at my fingertips, and I’m not fucking that up for anything.
I know full well what’s on the line this time, and it’s not something I’ll give up without a fight.
Ava gives me a long look and takes the drink drink and box away, returning with a bottle of water.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
My eyes jerk up. “Thanks,” I tell her. “And sorry, also, if I . . .” I trail off. If I what? Disappointed her? Left an impression I can’t remember?
“No,” she says firmly, then smiles. “No need for an apology. She—or he—is lucky. Good luck.”
***
By the time I hit the ice the next morning for the pre-game skate, the thought of the encounter on the team plane is a million miles from my mind.
I warm up on the bike and then hit the ice. I’ve played in Boston before with the Knights, but I still like to get the feel and shape of the ice beneath my skates first thing. The ice is fast tonight, and that’s just the way I like it.
After a while, Benji comes up to me and practically tackles me to the boards.
“I didn’t even see your bags this morning, roomie,” he teases, since we’re sharing a room on the road.
I shrug. “I just came straight to the ice. I wasn’t sure I’d have enough time for the hotel thing.”
Benji gives me a good-natured punch to the arm, and then it’s off to warming up with the team and figuring out where I fit in here.
