“Yeah. Her brother checked out of his hotel and wanted to put his suitcase in our room until we leave,” he says.
“Even if she weren’t Logan’s girl,” Nolan starts, since he can’t seem to let this go. “You wouldn’t try to get with her.”
“And you would?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Stop talking about my fucking wife,” Fitz growls.
“We’re saying we wouldn’t go for her,” Nolan says. “Because we’re fucking pathetic.”
I nod gravely. Fitz rolls his eyes.
“Look at what we can have.” Nolan lifts the stick in the direction of the puck bunnies.
The three of us look.
“They’re fucking hot,” Nolan says.
“They are,” I agree, as I look at each of them.
I already know how this ends, though, and it isn’t with my dick in any of their mouths. I’m sure no sane person would pass them up, but what the fuck would I know about that? Lyla took what was left of my sanity with her.
“The two of you are single,” Fitz says, turning his back on them to face us. “You do realize that, right?”
I glare at him and turn my back to them as well.
“That’s why I said we’re pathetic.” Nolan gives them his back. “I can’t believe they’re still standing there.”
“And I can’t believe they’re making us do this shoot-out,” Fitz says, stealing the puck from me. He’s complained about the shoot-out five times.
“Are you scared cuz you know I’m gonna whoop your ass?” I steal the puck from him, as we skate to the other side of the rink.
“Please.” He scoffs.
“Speaking of ass whoopings,” Nolan starts. “Which idiot thought it was a good idea to put the three of us on the same team?”
“Someone who wanted to watch an ass whooping,” I say.
“I bet a club is trying to get the three of us on their roster now,” Nolan says, shooting me a hard look. “But one of us is retiring, so that won’t happen.”
“What’s the real reason you’re retiring?” Fitz asks as we stop. He passes the puck to Nolan, who passes it to me.
“I told you, my father. . .”
“Oh, fuck off with that,” Fitz says, cutting me off the same way our friend did earlier. “You’re going to walk away from this.” He signals around the arena. “For your dickhead father? Don’t give me that shit.”
“He didn’t even go to any of the finals games, and they were right by his building,” Nolan says.
My stomach still tightens at the mention of that tournament. No one blames me for the game not taking place, at least publicly, but the guilt eats me alive each time I think about it. I know the attack wasn’t my fault, and there was no way I could play, but it pisses me off that it affected everyone else, too. I try to push the thought aside. I’ve been in a semi-good mood this weekend, because I’m trying to savor each moment of this — being on the ice, the comradery, the atmosphere — all of it. I’ve managed to push most negative thoughts of Lyla James aside for this, but I have no doubt that when I step off the plane in Chicago, the resentment will grow.
“Look, you need a break? Fine. It’s off-season anyway,” Fitz says. “But don’t fucking retire.”
“Have you considered that maybe finding her isn’t a possibility?” Nolan adds.
I grit my teeth. “It’s not a possibility.”
“What are you gonna do if she’s moved on?” Fitz asks, brows shooting up in reaction to whatever he sees on my face.
“She hasn’t.” I grip the stick tighter.
