Flying straight past us both, Tristan rejoins the ice on a changeover from Coach, and my captain watches him as he gets into position.
“I see the talk we had at Riley’s had the desired effect,” he points out sarcastically.
I look over my shoulder toward the benches and see Pittsburg’s coach asking the ref a question, which buys us a few additional seconds before the restart.
“I apologized for the post. What more can I do?”
Silas chews on the corner of his mouth guard. “Nothing. It’s down to him to push past whatever issue he has with you. So long as you’re scoring goals and killing it on the ice, I’d say that you’re doing your job.”
I glance at Tristan again as he starts stretching out his left adductor while we wait for the ref to finish up talking. He still hasn’t told anyone about what happened with Hallie, and a part of me wonders if he’s deliberately staying silent so he can threaten to drag me with our teammates should he need to gain the moral high ground later.
Another part of me thinks he simply likes getting under my skin, or more specifically, a chance at taking my publicist to bed.
Jealousy burns through me when Silas skates off, and I see Coach motion for me to switch out for the final time.
“Nice work out there,” Mason croons, shifting along the bench when I step off the ice and bump fists with Coach.
I take a seat next to him and pull out my mouth guard. The game still hasn’t restarted, and there’s no chance I’m getting back on the ice tonight.
I’m good with that. I came here to do a job—score and help the team secure another shutout. Mission accomplished.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
Since the day he broke the news about his marriage, I’ve not been sure of what to say. The guy is going through a tough time, and from what I know of him so far, he doesn’t deserve any of it. Why does shitty stuff happen to good people?
“How’s, um … how are things with Eloise?” I finally ask.
I can tell he’s hurting, even if he’s doing his best to hide it in a packed arena.
“You don’t have to answer,” I quickly tag on. “This probably wasn’t the best time to ask you something like that.”
Mason leans forward, resting his upper weight on his stick. He sighs deeply, and Drew’s face flashes in front of me. It’s been a week since she climbed out of my car. If her grand plan of us giving each other space was to somehow curb my attraction to her, then it hasn’t fucking worked.
The only time I’m not thinking about the dark-haired beauty who likes to boss me around is when the puck is on the end of my stick.
“She flew back to France when we left for Pittsburg.” Mason’s voice is low and heavy. “I think we’re over for good because this time, I have no clue how to fix us. Plus …” He swallows and gazes absent-mindedly over the ice as the game restarts. “It’s not like I can fly halfway across the world so we can talk. The hockey season is too congested.”
I nod without any personal experience to draw on. “You know if you ever need to shoot the shit with me, I’m here. I promise not to post any of our conversation on social media.”
Mason’s head snaps to me before he bursts out laughing, and the game ends.
We both stand, and Coach appreciatively taps our helmets before we make our way down the tunnel.
“I bet you were really fucking popular with your publicist over that one.” He pushes through the locker room door and heads for the benches, where we’re stationed next to each other. “You’re long-term friends, aren’t you?”
The rest of the team starts trickling into the room, distracted with their own conversations about the game.
And as I take a seat on the bench and immediately pull my phone from my bag, checking it for any kind of message from Drew beyond a fucking calendar invite, I consider sharing what went down in my car the other week.
It’s driving me fucking crazy, keeping it to myself. Ordinarily, I’d call my sister since we share everything with each other, but she’d probably just laugh at me and definitely think that I was fucking around. Not that I could fault her for that. Drew and I are the most unlikely pairing.
To everyone but me.
“When you’re silent, you make me nervous.”
I bite on my bottom lip as Mason takes a seat beside me and starts unlacing his skates.
“Why?” I ask.
