Bennett leans in closer, lowering his voice ever so slightly as if he’s worried someone will hear. “Well, he got kicked out of the NHL.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
He nods before looking over at Saint, who nods, too, and says, “We have no clue what’s the truth and what’s being spread on sports sites, but apparently, he got into a fight with his teammate. But a volatile guy like Hawthorne? That’s honestly not all that surprising. It must’ve been really fucking bad for the Bruins to release him, especially with his professional record.”
Holy crap.
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip as I listen. Bennett blows out a breath and shakes his head. “Yeah. Like yourownteammate? That shit is wild. I mean, he’s always been a reactive player. Constantly in the box, constantly being an aggressor on the ice, but I guess it wasn’t as big of a deal then because he was such an asset. He was young, had his entire career in front of him. It’s easier to turn a blind eye or make excuses for a rookie who’s carrying the team and not a guy in his, what, mid-thirties and is fucking up more than he’s scoring.”
I had no idea about any of this, yet another stark reminder that I don’t know him at all.
The things I do know are ones that I can never whisper a word of.
“That’s crazy,” Lennon murmurs as she rests her cheek against Saint’s shoulder, and he dips his head, pressing his lips to the top of her hair.
“So I’m guessing the only reason he’s here is because no one else would take him, and he’s an OU alumnus. He started his hockey career here. Just like you, Saint,” Bennett says, lifting a brow. “Except you’re going to get more Cups than him and not end up back here.”
A low chuckle vibrates out of Saint.
Rare for Mr. Broody.
“I’m guessing he’s done in the NHL. No one wants someone that old back. He’s basically at retirement age.”
My mind is moving a hundred different directions as I try to process everything I’ve just learned.
God, Wilder was kicked out of the NHL for fighting his own teammates? I mean, I can see the whole temperamental, reactive part.
But like the guys just said… why would a guy like him give up his entire career over something as insignificant as a fight? It just feels like there’s more to it. There has to be.
I guess all of that must have been part of the reason he acted so harshly to me that day in his office. Because he was worried that if someone finds out, it would be a nail in the coffin after coming off something like losing your spot in the NHL.
That’s why he’s so adamant to keep what happened that night a secret. Because of how much worse it would make him look after what’s happened.
He’s got stakes, and they’re higher than I ever imagined.
“Wow,” I finally murmur just as our waitress walks up.
She takes our drink order, and of course, the guys put in more food than they could possibly even eat, and I settle back into the booth, lost in thought.
“All I know is that if this is how every practice is gonna go, I’ve gotta stop eating all this fucking pizza,” Bennett complains.
As if the guy has an ounce of fat on his entire body.
“Yeah, you’re right. All that pizza will go right to your ass,” I say, flashing him a cheeky grin.
“Nah, I’m caked up for days, babe. But it does make me slow as fuck on the ice, and I’m not going to be able to keep up with this guy. I can hardly fucking move.” He winces when I jokingly poke him in the side.
“You can’t keep up with a guy that you just calledold?” I arch a brow. “Not sure that says much aboutyou, big guy.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
WILDER
It’s only10:00 a.m., and it already feels like my head’s going to fucking explode. There’s a dull, incessant throb at the base of my skull that has only gotten worse as the morning has gone on, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my temper at bay.
“Eyes. You didn’t look,” I bark, shaking my head. “Again.”
