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She deserves someone willing to fight for her.
I'm willing.
It's killing me that she ran off, thinking the worst, and I can't fix it because I have to be on the goddamn ice in five minutes.
"I just meant she deserves better than for you to be sneaking around behind his back, trying to hide what you're doing. If you care about her, she deserves better than to be torn between the two of you when this goes badly."
I know that's what he meant because I know him. Theo isn't a dick, as much as some people would like to believe he is. He just tells it like it is, even when it's not what you want to hear. But Parker doesn't know him like I do. She probably thinks he was calling me an idiot for being with her.
"We're cool, Theo." I finish lacing up my skate and lift my gaze to him. "We're cool, man."
He scrutinizes my expression and then gives me a chin lift.
"You going to tell him?"
"That was always the plan," I mutter, grabbing my helmet from the bench. "But she wanted to wait until after the Playoffs."I shoot him a look. "What would you do if the only way you could be with Charlotte was by playing by her rules?"
"I'd play the best goddamn game of my life," he says without hesitation.
"Yeah, exactly."
"You're in love with her."
I don't answer him. She'll be the first one to hear those words leave my lips, not this asshole. But he can read between the lines.
He smirks at me, shaking his head. "I'll say something nice at your funeral."
I flip him off, shoving my helmet down on my head for the skate out.
"Where the fuck is my lucky glove?" Wes shouts from the opposite side of the locker room as Coach MacAthie pops his head into the locker room to wave us out.
"It's under the bench where you dropped it." Gray points.
Organized chaos erupts in the locker room as we all grab our shit and head out. All except Jonas, anyway. He's still on the bench, fucking with his phone.
"You coming?" I ask, stopping beside him.
"What?" He glances up and then frowns. "Oh, shit. Yeah." He tosses his phone in his bag and grabs his helmet, hauling himself to his feet. We exit the locker room together. He's oddly quiet. Usually, he's driving everyone fucking nuts before a game.
"What's up with you?"
"Parker isn't coming," he mutters. "She said she isn't feeling well." The groove between his brows deepens. "She's been acting weird as fuck lately. I think she's still pissed at me."
I barely hear the last part. All I can focus on is the fact that she won't be here tonight. She ran. Fuck.
Fuck.
"What do you think?" Jonas asks.
"About what?"
"Parker? Think she's still pissed at me?"
No, I think she's terrified she's going to lose you.
I don't say that, though. I'm too busy worrying that I may loseher.
Itake out myfrustrations on the ice. Our first line—Kris, Theo, Wes, Jonas, and Gray—are untouchable. So is the second line. We didn't come here to lose in our own house. We came to win.
