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I read the labels from the stack closest to where I’m standing:Trophies—box 3;Pucks; andPhotos.That’s the box I’m itching to get into.
“Can I look?”
Vaughn nods, pushing off the doorframe to stand beside me as I carefully withdraw the top photo and unwrap the packing paper. It’s Vaughn and Jesse Garcia helmet to helmet, sweat dripping from their wide, grinning faces.
I brush my thumb over his face and feel my heart taking another little leap in his direction.
“Playoffs two years ago,” Vaughn offers, smiling down beside me. “We were on fire that night.”
I remember. “You guys have such incredible chemistry. Is it hard playing for different teams after being paired up for so long?”
“Fucking weird. Took me a while to get used to looking back on the ice and not finding him where I expected him to be. And then not having him to shoot the shit with after a game. Yeah, it was hard.”
I get the feeling it still is. He’s syncing up with Quinn, but it isn’t the same. Though I can’t help but wonder… if they had the time, if it could be.
“What do you think it is with Garcia that’s so different? I mean, I know when I played, there were a couple of girls over the years where it just clicked in a way it didn’t with others. But for you?”
Vaughn picks up the box and nods me back out of the room. I think maybe he isn’t going to answer but when he sets the load down on the coffee table in the living room, he sits back with a sigh. Shoots me a sidelong look that’s almost silly. “I know this is going to be hard to believe, but I don’t make friends that easy.”
I huff out a little laugh and roll my eyes. “You? Shocking.”
“Well it’s true. And it’s not just with the Slayers.” Stretching his arm along the back of the couch, he toys with a curl at my shoulder. “I guess, even when I was little, there was something about how I skated that set me apart. Gave my old man ideas about the kind of player he wanted me to be.”
“You don’t talk about your dad.” I know he passed away a few years ago, but in the time we’ve spent together, he’s never come up. Not even when we talked about my parents.
“Not a lot of good memories there. The guy was an asshole. Didn’t want to raise a soft kid, so he set the bar for being hard. Lots of consequences if I didn’t perform.”
Consequences.My stomach turns, but Vaughn just keeps playing with my hair, winding it around his finger and then letting it go.
“He wanted me to be the best. Made sure I had a reason to see the other kids on the team as competition and not buddies. I never rode with the other kids to the games. Caught hell if he busted me screwing off with them before we played. Couldn’t go over to their houses after the games. Pretty soon they weren’t asking.”
“That must have been hard.” I can barely say the word.Hardwouldn’t begin to cover it. He would have been a year-round player. Hockey would have been his whole life. I was that kind of player. But while my teammates became the only family I could count on, taking care of me and being there for me when my own parents weren’t, Vaughn’s teammates were the competition.
“It’s just how it was.” He laughs a little and gives that curl a light tug. “It’s why your brother was such a fucking problem for me. I couldn’t beat him. And damn, that pissed my old man off. Year after year.”
“I’m sorry, Vaughn.”
“Don’t be. I was as much of an asshole as he was. I could have been different. Stood up to him. But I didn’t. Not through high school. Not through college. But then I got called up.” He looks into the distance and I wonder what part of that he’s seeing. “I was still acting like a dick, looking at everyone like they were trying to take this thing I’d worked for my whole life away from me. One day Garcia skates up to me, throws his arm around my shoulders like I hadn’t been the world’s biggest prick. He leans in and says, ‘Look around, man. You made it. So let’splay.’ I guess it clicked. He was the first guy I played with that I didn’t see as a threat. And the relief in that—hell, it was a big deal for me. If I’m being honest, the guy probably saved my sanity along with my hockey career.”
My throat is tight, and I can feel the burn of tears threatening behind my eyes. “He’s your friend.”
He nods and, leaning forward, starts pulling out more pictures. “One of the few.”
Chapter 15
Vaughn
We slam into the boards, fighting for the puck in a clash of sticks, pads, and sheer fucking will. The fans are losing their minds because this isn’t the first time Mikovanic and I have mixed it up tonight, and with every scuffle, it gets more intense. We both want it. Bad. But I get possession and fire off a pass to O’Brian, shoving clear.
Mik is on me fast, but I’m faster. My quads burn as I give everything I have and a second later I’m there, intercepting O’Brian’s return with a one-timer aimed at the six-inch gap making up the path to the net. Their goalie is good, but he’s not fast enough and we score.
Satisfaction burns through my veins. My fist pumps and everything fades except the rush and the one face in the crowd I care about.
Allie.
She’s on her feet, jumping up and down like a lunatic. For me. I crack a grin she won’t be able to see past my mouthguard, but it’s there and it’s for her. O’Brian and Popov collide with me, clapping my helmet and back and then falling into line as I pass the bench, knocking gloves with everyone.
Her smile is wide. And it feels like the only thing that matters.
