“Sure. You and Angie think alike, maybe you two should date,” he snaps and sips his coffee again.
“Well, we both know that’s not gonna happen,” I snark. He turns to glare at me. Sure, being snide isn’t helpful, but fuck. He’s been a total asshole to me since I told him I found a place. “I didn’t think it was truly over between you two. I thought she would come back and that it would be a lot easier for you two to work stuff out without me around.”
The street lights we pass as the bus coasts toward the arena dance on Landon’s cheek. “You were there when her sister showed up, handed me a dear fucking John letter, and packed up Angie’s things. You knew she wasn’t coming back. And two days later, you told me you were bailing, too. So fuck you with the ‘I did it to save your relationship shit.’”
“In my defense, I had already signed the lease on the place. My furniture in L.A. was already on a truck on its way here. I didn’t fucking know she was going to do that. I regret the timing of it.”
“Whatever.” Landon sinks deep in his seat.
We say nothing until the bus takes its final turn onto the long, wide boulevard where the Quake arena is located. There’s maybe three minutes left on this bus, and I feel like this conversation achieved nothing. So I make one last attempt. “You and I were… playing with fire. Every day we were in that house together, without Angie, our… tension for each other got higher and higher. It was becoming risky because I wasn’t that strong. And then after it was clear she wasn’t coming back and you two were done, I still didn’t cancel my lease because… well then if I stayed, the biggest thing keeping me in line was gone and it would have gotten… messier.”
“Messier, how?” he snaps. “What are you talking about?”
“If you were truly single, there was no reason for me not to do things…” I drop my voice. “With you. And you needed time to… deal with what happened. You don’t just end a decade-long relationship and start fucking someone else right away.”
He stares at me as the bus slowly chugs its way into the covered parking zone for the opposing team, a side of the Quake arena I was the least familiar with. Finally, as the bus pulls to a stop, Landon leans into me and hisses. “You’re really good at running from what you want and pretending it’s for the greater good.” He moves to stand but presses a firm palm into the front of my pants seconds before he stands up. My eyes snap to his face. “You didn’t help me. You left me alone when I needed a friend the most. So that’s why I’m still pissed at you.”
Chapter 17
Landon
The tribute video to Grady and me comes in the first, during the first TV timeout. As the ice crew shovels snow off the ice, the announcer says, “Last year our Cup run ended in victory in part because of two players who now sit on the visiting bench. Let’s take a look at all Grady Garrison and Landon Casco gave the Quake.”
People cheer, mostly, as the video starts. There are always a couple of idiots who have decided to hate us and are booing, but it’s very faint. The video starts with a picture of me arriving at the rink ten years ago. Holy crap, I looked like a newborn baby. Grady’s clips are cooler. He looks like an adult because he was one when he joined the Quake. He looks fucking hot in every clip, even the ones where he’s making saves like he’s made of elastic bands, arms and legs twisting and flailing in the right way to stop whatever shot is flying at him. And then, the clips slip into off-ice stuff, and that’s when I start to freak out.
Because there are clips of us visiting sick kids at a children’s hospital and pictures of us huddled together in suits, holding cocktails, at one of the season ticket holder events. We’ve got our heads tipped toward each other, and we’re both smiling secretively, like we’re sharing gossip. And then there are some clips during practices and warm-ups where we’re doing our little rituals, stick taps and head nods, and mouthed words. “I got you.”
It all feels deep, emotional, and it would be moving if I didn’t feel so exposed. Because now I see those moments for more than what they appear on the surface. We were flirting. We were bonding. It was… hot. The last clip, which I watch as I move my feet, skating down the front of the bench, through all the guys waiting for the timeout to be over, is of Grady doing his lap with the Stanley Cup high above his head and then handing it over to me as he whispers in my ear. I can still feel the tingle that shot down my spine as his sweaty beard rubbed against my ear and neck.
The crowd roars as the screen flashes with the words Thank You 71 and 58. I come up next to Grady and use my stick to tap his ass. He looks at me, stunned, and I wink before I skate away.
I don’t know if it’s the energy of the crowd or the feeling that video left me with, but for the first time in months, I’ve lost that imaginary weight that feels like it’s strapped to my chest. It shows in my speed on the ice and the quickness in my shots, and I end up breaking my six-week dry spell and scoring. Even more encouraging, I’m not on the ice for a goal against us, which is epic for my struggling stats. I’ve been on the ice, as sportscasters are quick to point out, for every goal against us for the last two and a half weeks. But not tonight. Of course, thanks to Grady, there is only one goal by the Quake. We score four on them. My goal, one by Conner, and two by our captain, Abbott.
I’m in such a good mood when we get back to the locker room that even Coach’s announcement doesn’t bring me down. “The snowstorm in Maine is so bad that we’ve been advised to ride it out here. We likely wouldn’t be allowed to land anywhere in New England,” he says as he stands in the middle of the locker room. “The buses are taking us to a hotel in Beverly Hills.”
“Oohh, swanky,” someone catcalls.
“Don’t order the room service, assholes, it’ll cost you a month’s salary,” Coach calls out as he leaves the room.
I look over at Grady, who is pulling off his pads. “Wanna grab Mexican at that place you liked by your old house?”
“No. I’m good.” He goes back to the tiresome job of removing all his equipment.
I remove my Kevlar neck guard and stare at him, but he doesn’t look at me or say another word. On the bus, he sits with Conner, and I sit right behind them. I listen to them talk about the game and then Christmas gift ideas for Conner’s foster daughter.
At the hotel, we get our keys and Grady saunters off to his room, which happens to be across the hall and three doors down from mine. I go into mine and stew for a good half hour before I just can’t handle it anymore, and I head to his room. The door opens as soon as I knock, but it’s Abbott standing there in sweats and a t-shirt, barefoot, not Grady. He smiles. “Hey! I was coming to see you next.”
“You were?” I sputter and catch a glimpse of Grady stretched out on his bed. He’s wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else.
“Yeah, I have failed in my hospitality duties as a captain. I’ve been meaning to invite you two to dinner at my place. Grady is free Thursday,” Abbott says. “How about you?”
“Ummm… yeah. Sure. Thursday works.”
He looks pleased and turns back to Grady. “I’m heading to the snack room. See you guys later.”
I move so Abbott can exit, and then I step inside the room without an invitation and let the door close behind me. Grady doesn’t say anything. He just picks up his remote, turns on the TV, and starts flipping channels. “So that tribute was nice, huh?”
He nods. The TV lands on a station showing Friends, and he stops clicking. “Can you talk to me, please?”
