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“Alright,” Graham surmises, finally coming to my rescue because he must sense that I’m seconds away from flipping this whole table. “Lay off him. The dude’s had enough of your shit to last him the rest of the week.”
“He’s losing his touch,” Wells retorts, almost sounding saddened by it, leaning underneath the table to rub at the place I hit him. “I bug him all the time.”
“He’s been gone a week.” Graham lifts his beer to his lips. “And it doesn’t appear that she gives him any shit.”
“She needs to. I don’t want him going soft on me.”
“I’m right here,” I leer, ready to throw the bowl of peanuts at his head. “And Sullivan is doing just fine with letting her do her thing.”
And he’s the only dude on the team that I’d trust with her while not trying to mack his way into her panties.
Byron Sullivan—our goalie—is on my level when it comes to our love for the game. We don’t chase women. We don’t create headlines. And we certainly don’t fuck around with other females whom their teammates brought with them.
It’s a degree of respect that Wells has never had, and Graham is too private to lay into me about bringing someone random to a game. He starts his shit; he’ll know I’ll gun for him in places he doesn’t want me searching for.
“How’s the suspension going?” Graham asks me. “Coach said that Dylan hooked you up at a place where no media is going to find you.”
“Then I don’t know the point of doing all this,” I reply flatly. “These kids are…” Annoying, infuriating, not my cup of tea. “Spoiled.”
“They’re kids.”
“I wasn’t like that.”
Graham pushes his cheek out with his tongue and nods. “Not everyone was raised without parents either, man. You had it rough.”
And I don’t wanna talk or think about it either.
However, he has a point. I’m hardened while they’re not, and I shouldn’t hold that against them. If their parents overindulge their kids, who the hell am I to say anything about it?
“People have been askin’ about you, dude,” Wells provides. “Wondering if you’re holed up at your place up north.”
“I’m sure they have a whole camera crew stalking my premises. I should get dogs.”
Graham and Wells laugh even though I’m serious.
“You’re back in a couple weeks, right?”
I nod at Graham and can’t help but count the days. However, it’s stuck in my head about how I’ll be leaving Hollyn alone with no backup. Maybe it’ll help her see what kind of dude Weston really is, which is worthless and not worthy of her time.
“We can’t wait to have you back, man. Especially when we’re playoff-bound.”
“You’ve been doing good,” I supply wholeheartedly. “Even though Preston could use some work at my job.”
Wells snickers. “Shit, Preston is tryin’ to take your position, dude. The little fucker has been practicing nonstop to show the coach what he’s been missing.”
Is that so?
I figured that shit was going to happen once he got out to play on the ice for real. The kid is younger than me and hungry. It would only take one of my fuckups to get him riled up and starving for my position.
“I’m not worried about it,” I impart. “It’ll teach him to work harder.”
“Might want to go check on your girl, Reid,” Graham drones over the rim of his glass. “Looks like Sullivan may have found something else to focus on besides the puck in his net.”
My focus instantly shifts over to the pool table where he and Hollyn are, and the edges of my vision turn red.
He has her bent over the pool table, standing directly behind her while he leans over her spine and helps her with her pool stick.
Is there no line that can’t be crossed when it comes to women?
