Chapter Forty-Two
AIDAN
Iwish I could say that I channeled all my rage about Morgan’s date into the game. I wish I could say that I went out onto the ice tonight and showed AJ that I’m as serious about staying in Boston for my next contract as I told her I was when we met earlier. I wish I could say that it didn’t feel like every part of my life was falling apart right now. But it would all be lies.
“You coming out with us to celebrate?” MacIntyre asks me in the locker room when I return from the postgame press conference. It’s the first one I’ve been asked to do this season, and at least I didn’t fuck that up, unlike the rest of my life.
Tonight, we eked out a win with two goals in the third period. It was messy, and I definitely didn’t play my best. I’m trying to be happy we won, but right now I’m a jumble of emotions that focus entirely on Morgan instead of my job.
My lips press together into a line as I consider whether I’m better off going home or going out. I’m not sure I’ll be good company tonight, but I’m equally unsure if I want to be alone with my own thoughts.
I’m a fucking disaster. Seeing Morgan earlier today, and tonight at the game, has messed with my head in exactly the way I feared it would, but still wasn’t prepared for. The only thingmore painful than not seeing her for the past two weeks, was seeing her again and realizing that she’s moved on. Or that she’s trying to, at least.
“Not sure,” I tell him. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re headed to Dave’s.”
It’s a trendy piano bar that’s a short walk from the arena, which means it’ll be filled with Rebels fans. I don’t feel much like celebrating. “Nah, I think I’m going to pass tonight.”
“You sure?” he asks, a note of teasing in his tone. “Because I overheard that cute social media girl telling someone that’s whereshe’llbe tonight.”
My head snaps right as I focus my gaze on him. “What cute social media girl?” I grind out the words through a clenched jaw.
He turns and sits so he can put his shoes on. “The one that you’re always staring at.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” The nonchalance in my tone is so forced that he looks up at me with a smirk, letting me know I’m entirely unbelievable.
“The curvy one, with big tits?” He says it so casually I want to fucking strangle him for noticing or daring to talk about her body like it’s there for his viewing pleasure. The only thing that saves him is the fact that I’m still focused on his comment about me always staring at her. Have I been that fucking obvious all along?
“Fucking grow up,” I grumble. “We don’t talk about ourcolleaguesthat way. Something you should have learned after you got that intern fired.”
“Oh, did she officially get fired?” His tone is careless, just like his actions were, and I know from Morgan that his behavior ruined Natalie’s job prospects here. Which is probably why I reach down, grab the collar of his dress shirt, and twist it as I pull him up to standing. The shock on his face hints at fear as he stares back at me.
“I don’t know for sure. But you ruined that girl’s internship and she may not graduate because of it, and that doesn’t seem to bother you one bit.” It all tumbles out in a low growl. “And now you’re talking about another woman who works with the team like she’s a piece of meat. That’s not how we operate here, so you need to be a better person or find a different club to skate for.”
I push him back down onto the bench right as McCabe comes up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Listen to your captains, Rookie,” McCabe says. When he glances over at me, I realize he’s including me. “You might have been a first-round draft pick, but if you don’t fix your fucking attitude, you aren’t going to last here.”
I’m not quite sure what I see flash across MacIntyre’s face as our captain takes him to task. It’s like humility mixed with defiance, and then he says, “Yeah, I’m sure you were both perfect angels when you first came into the NHL.”
McCabe and I glance at each other, before McCabe looks back at him and says, “You don’t have to be a perfect angel. Just don’t be such a douche.” Then my friend turns his attention back to me. “Get dressed, you’re coming out with us.”
I don’t argue because even though I don’t particularly want to see Morgan out on a date, the only thing worse would be sitting at home alone wondering how the date is going. Some self-sabotaging part of me needs to see for myself if she’s truly moved on, or if she’s just trying to.
Even though I’m the one who told her I couldn’t do a relationship, I’m starting to think that moving on might be impossible for me.
“You going to tell me what’s going on there?” McCabe asks, following my gaze across the bar to where Morgan’s sitting at a pub table with the same guy she had a drink with in Dallas.
“Looks like Morgan’s on a date,” I say with a shrug. I’m trying damn hard to sound unaffected by this, but my jaw is so tense the words sound strained.
“A second date, by the looks of it.” McCabe obviously recognizes the guy from Dallas, too.
“Who knows?” Another shrug, this one smaller because my shoulders have tensed up from the way his knee just brushed hers beneath the high-top table.
“Still trying to convince me that you don’t have feelings for her?” The amusement in his tone makes me want to take out all my frustration on him, since I can’t do anything about that asshole sitting across from Morgan.
But I don’t, because Morgan’s words keep running through my head:Grow up and be a good influence on yourself. Maybe acknowledging that it’s my fault she’s on a date in the first place, because I couldn’t be a fucking adult and admit I have feelings for her, would be a good place to start?
