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He was right. I’d let this go on too long. It was time to start living again.

“Alright, I’m in, but only if you’re sure she won’t show up.”

Tonight I would enjoy myself and my team. It would be the start of a new chapter.

THREE

DALTON

BOOBS: THEY’RE WORTH MENTIONING TWICE

For being packed with people, the bar felt comfortable. The murmur of conversations mixed with the sound of televisions playing various sports. I could see it becoming the new spot for the boys, especially since it was only down the road from the arena.

“I told you going out with us was the cure to all your troubles. Boobs, booze, and boobs,” Jimenez slurred, his arm draped across my shoulders. I rolled my eyes at the goofy grin plastered on his face. He got it every time he drank.

“You said boobs twice.”

“They’re worth mentioning twice, jefe.” He slapped my back before socializing with someone on his other side, giving me a chance to scan the place. No one had given me a moment to breathe since the locker room.

Jimenez had practically poured alcohol down my throat, figuring I’d be less likely to bolt if I was buzzed, and then he’d plastered himself to my side like my personal handler. They were all afraid I’d bail.

Fair assumption, really.

In true Christian Jimenez fashion, he’d failed to mention that his long-time buddy owned the bar we were going to, and that tonight was their soft opening. He’d apparently promised we’d make an appearance at Goaltender so they could take pictures of the team for marketing.

They’d offered us free drinks in exchange, but there was no way in hell I’d let them do that. Clearly, the owner had no idea how many beers a hockey team could put away in one sitting.

The place reminded me of the dive bar we’d gone to in college after our games—minus the dive part. Goaltender managed to straddle the line between a high-end restaurant and comfort bar with its polished concrete floors and elegant light fixtures accented with some of the most iconic sports jerseys and memorabilia.

This is like the adult version of our college escapades.

The thought soured when I remembered who else had been there to celebrate our wins. I sipped my beer, hiding my frown with the rim, the cold liquid quenching my drying throat.

“They did great with the place, huh?” Jimenez’s attention was back on me, oblivious to my mood. “You should hire someone for your place once you’re done wallowing,” he said, waving at someone across the room.

I might’ve been the team captain, but Christian was essentially the team representative. People fucking loved the guy, and he loved the attention. We’d been friends long enough for me to know the signs of how badly he wanted to be out there schmoozing it up with the owner, Carlos.

The tapping fingers, his ass hanging halfway off the barstool, the way he practically pouted every time he looked over there. All of it was a clear indication that he hated the role of babysitter.

I nodded toward where a crowd milled around in the center. “Go.”

“You sure, Cap? I don’t mind being your wingman.”

I snorted into my glass at his bullshit line. “I’d have to be trying to pick up women to need a wingman, Jimenez. I mean it. Get out of here. I’m fine to sit at the bar all by myself.”

He held my gaze a beat longer, dark eyes searching for a reason to stay by my side. “Alright, but if you need me, wave me over,” he said, already halfway out of his stool.

I shook my head at the loud cheer he got before going back to scanning the crowd. Most of the people in the new bar ran in the same circle as us—athletes, agents, and marketing people in the business.

I’d spent the first hour giving out head nods like candy while shooting daggers at the back of Jimenez’s head since he’d promised me a “low-key and chill” night.

It made me slightly uneasy. This crowd was the same one Emma ran in. Thinking about our breakup and the following weeks left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Dating a sports reporter was all fun and games until they broke up with you. She’d loved the spotlight, and unfortunately for me, that meant that when she broke things off, my name was dragged into the press to keep hers relevant.

An infectious sound pulled me from my darkening thoughts. The woman to my right flung her head back, laughing, causing the corners of my mouth to tip upward involuntarily. Something about the laugh’s carefree nature gave me the same warm feeling as when sunshine hit my face.

The happiness was quickly chased away, though, my bad mood crashing down like a rogue wave, reminding me of how trapped I’d felt lately. When had I last felt open and free anywhere besides the ice?