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“All of it. For the huge mistakes I made when I left. For not being the man you needed, one you could trust to tell everything to. I haven’t been that even since coming back. I’m working on it though.” His hand finds my hip again.
Trust is a rare find. Hard to come by, easy to lose. So impossibly difficult to regain. Cillian can fill the hole he made in my heart with all the pretty words he wants, but with no foundation to hold them together, they sift right back out.
So where do we go? What’s our next step?
“I know this is your bed, and we’re in your room. But get out, Cillian. This was the equivalent of a bootie call, nothing more.”
16
CILLIAN
The first game of the season always feels like a birthday or Christmas as a kid. All excitement and anticipation. Someday, I imagine that will fade, but it hasn’t yet. The world of professional hockey hasn’t jaded me, I still love it as much as I did the first time I laced up my skates.
My only qualms about tonight’s game are that it’s away and it’s in Vancouver. Which means I don’t have my best gal, Sadie, with me and I’ll be playing against the guy whose company Isla prefers.
Sadie gave me a stuffed octopus to pack with me, a reminder of her because she thought I’d be lonely on our one-night out-of-towner. The Blade’s home opener is only a couple of days away and we’re all excited for it. The breaking in of a new team at a new arena, plus the first game I’ll get to play with my daughter in attendance. I want that more than I can say. If you’d have asked me a few years back if I thought fatherhood was in my near future, I’d have laughed. But now, I know I was born for it.
I was meant to be Sadie’s daddy, and one day, I want more. A brood of Wylder children with my dirty blonde hair and Isla’s curls.
The thought comes unbidden. Like always, the future I see for myself includes her. Even though she unceremoniously tossed me out of my own bed and hasn’t been receptive to any of my antics to get her back in it. We’re still walking that line between hate and love. Or at least I am. Most days she’s still solidly in the hate category. Which, yeah, okay fine. I’m perfectly willing to hate fuck her all she wants.
Isla Cole gagging on and spitting out my cum was the sexiest damned thing I’ve ever seen.
I only need to figure out how to convince her to let me do it again.
“Grand gesture,” Hugo reminds me. “I keep telling you, that’s what the birds like. Now get your head right, Wild, or Coach will lob it off.”
“I’m good.” We march through the tunnel to an array of boos and cheers. Being this close to home has made our team’s natural rivals, but also garners a lot of our own fans in the stands. The feigned rivalry only fuels us players, though. After we take our spots, the lights dim and the music changes while their team takes the ice for introduction.
Murphy is a crowd favorite; the applause near deafening. The asshole skates by looking directly at me.
It’s going to be that kind of night.
Even during the singing of the country’s national anthem, the asshole mad dogs me. I’m not a chippy player. Usually. But this fucker has me white knuckled.
“Ty treats me good.”
Fuck that. If he treated Isla so good, they’d be more than two people who only hook up when they happen to be in the same city together. They would be a couple. But they aren’t because Isla isn’t meant for Murphy, and that shitbag is never going to be stepdaddy to my kid.
Am I rational about it? No. Do I give a fuck? Also, no.
Hugo gives me a light shove before he heads off to protect our net.
“Get that puck in the net for me, Wild.”
“Will do, Bloomy!”
Six and half minutes later, I haven’t fulfilled my promise to our goaltender. Neither have any of our other guys. Though, Vancouver hasn’t scored either. We’re beating them with shots on the net; their goalie must be getting tired. But he’s damn good.
My line hops the board to get back on the ice while Wallin has the puck behind our own net. Seeing me open, he passes it off to me and in no time at all Murphy is there, tangling up with me for control.
“You be sure to tell my girls I said hi, Wylder.”
“Find your own fucking family,” I say, shoving him off against the boards with my shoulder and swatting the puck to Vaughn as Murphy laughs.
I skate clear, Vaughn passes it back, and I one-time it at Vancouver’s net. It’s a lucky shot, ricocheting off the bar and bouncing in behind Lindholm, their goalie, before he can swat it away. Lucky shots count though and not only have I scored the first point of the game, but also the first point for the Blades’ franchise.
Suck on that, Murphy.
