Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4) (17 page)

 I’m still feeling conflicted when the Uber drops me off in front of my apartment. I like Sebastian Deveau. There’s no denying that anymore. There’s just not. To myself or anyone else if they ask—and Audrey will ask. But…I’m still grappling with the anxiety and fear that realization gave me this morning as he pressed his warm, wet body into mine in the shower and kissed me slow and deep as he washed my back. I’m on the brink of dating a hockey player. It’s a complete impossibility. It’s my worst nightmare and yet…I want it. I want to date Sebastian Deveau.

I have no reason not to believe that it was his sister and his ex who showed up on his doorstep this morning and that the whole thing was a weird, badly timed commitment he forgot about. In fact, he was brutally honest about it. He didn’t sugarcoat it. He didn’t lie. And he was right: everyone has exes. I had a few, but being that the last one was years ago in a different state, he is not about to show up on my doorstep.

As I open my front door and kick off my shoes, my stomach grumbles and my cell phone rings. I see my sister-in-law’s name on the call display as I wander into my kitchen. “Hey, Sash.”

“Are you at the gym?”

“No. I’m not working today. Why?”

“Because Trey said he was going to work this morning but I called over there and Sara says it’s his day off,” she replies, and her voice is tight with worry.

“It is his day off,” I reply and open my fridge, looking at the contents for something quick and easy I can consume. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I do, but this morning he said he was going in anyway.” Sasha sighed and I hear a slight quiver in her voice as she continues. “He’s been stressed lately. The new business and the pregnancy and it’s a lot of stress. He barely sleeps and he’s been…on edge.”

Sasha sounds so upset it rattles me, but I hope it’s just the pregnancy that has her emotional. I grab a single-serve bottle of chocolate coconut milk out of the fridge and press the phone between my ear and shoulder as I twist it open. “Sara is a bit of a flake. Trey could be locked in his office and she didn’t notice.”

“He’s not answering his cell either.”

Okay. I have to admit that’s weird. He’s got a pregnant wife at home: he should always answer his cell. “Are you okay? Do you need something? I can swing by.”

“No. I just…I just want to see my husband.”

The angst in her voice is heartbreaking. I put down my coconut milk. “I’m going to head over there this afternoon and I’ll send him home. He knows he has to keep his stress in check and it doesn’t sound like he’s doing that.”

“I hope he takes your advice and comes home.”

I smile into the phone. “Sasha, you forget I’ve had a lifetime of berating my brother and telling him what to do. He’ll tell me I’m being my usual overbearing, bitchy self, but he’ll do what I say.”

She laughs a little at that. I tell her I’ll call her later and hang up. I finish my milk, put the empty milk container in the recycling bin and head into my bedroom to change.

Twenty-five minutes later I walk into the gym slightly annoyed. I hate going to work on my day off. I’m pleased to see that the place is pretty busy. The gym’s membership has been steadily climbing, but I know Trey is still concerned. The rent on this building is high and he’s invested a ton in the renovations to make it as sleek and modern as it is. I worry still that he took on too much and I hate the added pressure he took on by borrowing money from our father. Dad is never one to let you forget when he helps you.

I know I spend more time than the average sister worrying about Trey. But I’ve been front row center to all the stress my father placed on him when it came to hockey. Trey’s injury—no fault of his own—devastated our father more than it did Trey, and no matter how much he has denied it, I know in my heart that it was Dad’s constant pressure to “get back at it” that caused Trey to down painkillers instead of giving up on hockey, which is what the doctors said he had to do.

I was the one who first noticed something was up, when I visited him at school after the injury and he vacillated between sluggish and agitated the entire weekend. And I was the one his roommate confided to, about thinking Trey was stealing money from him. And I was the one his college coach called when Trey vomited all over the ice in the middle of practice and then was found unconscious in the showers. I’m the one who got to the hospital first after draining my savings on a flight. I’m the one the doctor first told of his oxycodone addiction. I’m the one Trey cried to. When my father showed up he argued viciously with the doctor and even his own son, who was ready to admit he had a problem.

And even though that was years ago, I still feel like it was just yesterday. Almost losing my only brother, watching him hit bottom, all over a stupid sport and my father’s ridiculous pressure, it left a scar on my soul. One that sometimes feels like it still hasn’t healed. But I don’t micromanage Trey. I don’t. I just worry more than most.

Sara is at the juice bar; she’s flushed and I’m guessing she just finished teaching one of her Pilates classes. She gives me a tight but professional smile. Sara and I used to get along great when she was first hired and we were prepping the gym for opening, but ever since the laundry room incident, she has been chilly, to say the least.

“Have you seen Trey?”

“It’s his day off.”

“And he hasn’t come in?”

Sara shrugs. “Not that I know of.”

Jessie walks out of the women’s changing room dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She must have just finished a shift. She grins at the sight of me, and I feel my face heat up as I return her grin with a sheepish one of my own. “Didn’t think you’d be out and about so early after last night.”

“What was last night?” Sara wants to know.

“We were out with a…friend…or dare I say boyfriend?” Jessie asks, her green eyes bright with hope. I feel a wave of panic ripple through me at that word.

“Not ready for that word,” I reply swiftly, and I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear. “At least not yet.”

“But maybe one day?” When I don’t answer, her grin deepens.

“Is this about Sebastian Deveau?” Sara says, a bite to her voice. “Are you
dating
him?”

“We need to change the subject before I freak out, okay?” Jessie simply nods, but she’s still grinning. “Have you seen Trey?”

“I told you he’s not here,” Sara huffs.

“He was here this morning when I started,” Jessie replies, and I try not to give Sara a glare. “I talked to him briefly. He was in his office.”

I glance over my shoulder down the hall to my brother’s closed office door. “How did he seem? What time was it? Did you see him leave?”

“It was early. I got here at eight. He was upbeat. Way more upbeat than I was at that hour.” She laughs a little.

I walk to his office. Jessie follows me as I dig my keys out from my purse. I have the only other full set that locks and unlocks every door in this place. I’m not officially the assistant manager, but unofficially I am. I just never asked for the title. I knock. No answer, so I try the handle. It’s not locked. I push it open. Trey is slumped over his desk, eyes closed, mouth open, a puddle of drool next to his laptop.

I freeze and my stomach and heart seem to switch places. Is he…is he passed out or, oh my God, or…Jessie doesn’t see what I think I see and she’s smiling as she fights a laugh. “Sleeping on the job,” she says and walks into the room. “Trey!”

At the sound of his name he startles and sits up. Thank freaking God. He blinks a few times and wipes his mouth on his sleeve as his eyes focus on us. He turns red—blushing easily is a family trait—and grabs a Kleenex to wipe up the drool. “Well, this is unprofessional.”

Jessie smiles sympathetically. “Don’t worry about it. You’re the boss and it’s your day off.”

She turns to me and gives me a quick hug. “I’ll leave you to talk, but Jordy and I are having people over tonight. Just an informal get-together. I’m cooking chili. You should come. It’s the last real day for Jordan to do anything social before playoffs.”

“I would love to! But I have plans tonight. A date.”

“You do?” Trey interjects, so shocked it’s kind of embarrassing.

Jessie grins because she knows exactly who my date is probably with. “Oh. Okay, well…the invite is for you and Seb, so maybe swing by beforehand and say hi. We’d love to see you.”

I smile back and nod. “I’ll tell him we should swing by.”

She gives me another quick hug and waves good-bye to my brother. When I turn back to face him, I am more than ready for the look of disbelief on his face. He crosses his arms over his wide chest and quirks an eyebrow. “Just one time, huh?”

“I didn’t come here to talk about my love life.”

“It’s a
love
life now?” he retorts. “I thought it was a one-time thing. A mistake. I thought you didn’t associate with hockey players let alone have a love life with them.”

“Why are you leaving your very pregnant wife at home on your day off to sleep at your desk?” I demand, ignoring his questioning completely. “Why are you so tired? Jessie said you were downright perky when you got here—and then you crash?”

He knows where I am going with this. He knows I know the signs and the symptoms of prescription drug abuse. Euphoric highs and uncontrollable drowsiness and mood swings and withdrawal from social activities and…

“Relax, Shayne,” he spits out, annoyed. “I had a meeting with Avery this morning.”

“Avery Westwood?”

“Yup.” He’s frowning.

“About the endorsement?” I ask, and I know the answer before he gives it, because I can see the disappointment and anger on his face.

“About how he won’t be giving us one,” Trey explains, when I could already deduce. He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “His management doesn’t think it’s a good fit for his image.”

“Are you done now?” I ask, not even trying to hide the frustration in my voice. “Are you done trying to be friends with this asshole? Can you finally admit he’s a jerk?”

“He’s not in charge of his own life,” Trey counters, and it angers the fuck out of me. “You don’t know what it’s like to be the number one hockey player in the world. He’s not just an athlete; he’s a brand.”

“And he doesn’t think we’re good enough to be associated with his
brand
?” I question, and Trey kind of shrugs. “Then fuck him.”

He rubs his neck again. “Yeah. I guess fuck him. But in the meantime, I paid for the radio spots and bought the online media and I don’t have an endorsement to fill it.”

“We’ll find something,” I say, but I’m not convinced. I know nothing about marketing and advertising and I’m pretty sure that there’s nothing that can compete with what would have been an endorsement from the biggest athlete in town. “When do the ads start running?”

“Two weeks but creative is due next week.”

“Okay. Let me think about it,” I reply and walk over and give him a shove. “In the meantime go home and nap with your wife. Who misses you and is worried about you.”

“She called you?”

“Yeah, and she was almost in tears.”

“Pregnancy makes women weepy,” he explains and sighs. “Seriously, she cried over a cell phone commercial last night.”

“So suck it up and comfort her,” I demand with a smile. “Your sperm did this to her.”

“Please do not talk about my sperm,” he replies and shivers in disgust.

“If you stay out of my love life,” I counter and walk to the door, dragging him with me. I wait as he locks his office and we both start toward the exit.

“Shayne Augusta Beckford has a love life. With a hockey player.” Trey shakes his head as step out into the warm spring day. He glances up, shielding his eyes as he looks up at the sky.

“What are you looking for?”

“Falling locusts,” he jokes and turns to wink at me. “I mean clearly if you’re dating an NHL player the apocalypse is on its way.”

“Go home to your wife, butthead.” I roll my eyes but I’m laughing.

“After I drive your ass home,” he replies and grabs the back of my shirt like the annoying kid brother he is. “And will you please buy a damn car already.”

I throw my car keys in the general direction of the basket on the console table in my living room as I walk into the house and head straight to the kitchen for a beer. I’m not going to be able to drink once playoffs start and so I thank the hockey gods that this stupid charity golf thing happened this weekend and not next. Because I’ve never needed a drink more.

Stephanie wanders in after me and goes directly to the fridge, but instead of grabbing a beer, she takes one of those Starbucks drinks I keep here for her. She’s moved her addictions to caffeine and chocolate over booze and drugs, and I’m completely okay with that. She jumps up on the island and twists the cap. It makes a loud pop.

“
Cauchemar
,” I finally say.

“
Oui
,” Stephanie agrees and reiterates when I say, “
Total
nightmare.”

I had bowed out of playing in the tournament because I didn’t want to aggravate my wrist, which pissed off an already pissed-off Dawn. She said it would make her look bad to her boss. Her boss, a tall, lanky older man with thick gray hair named Robert Voakes, didn’t seem to mind in the least. He followed hockey and knew I’d sat a few games with an injury so he was sympathetic and just happy I showed up anyway. And even happier when I made a sizable donation. I spent the day in his cart going from hole to hole watching him and the others play and getting pouty death glares from Dawn. The day ended with a cocktail party at the clubhouse in which Dawn cornered me and asked me questions about Shay.

“So what? You’re sleeping around now?” she had pouted. “God, Sebastian, we barely ended things.”

“We very much terminated things,” I replied calmly.

“So she’s…what? Your new girlfriend?” Dawn’s eyes had filled with tears and I wanted nothing more than to run out the door.

“It’s heading that way, yes,” I’d replied quietly. “Look, whether I met someone else or not, we were not going to work out. I’m sorry. You’re a great girl, but it just wasn’t working.”

Thankfully, before Dawn could fully melt down, my sister interrupted. “Dawn, Mr. Voakes is asking for you. He wants to congratulate you on all your hard work putting this together. You should collect yourself and go see him.”

Dawn blinked as if coming out of a trance and stepped away from me. She took a deep cleansing breath, wiped at her eyes and said, “I’ll be back.” Then she walked away.

“I’m getting the hell out of here,” I had told Stephanie. She nodded and followed as we almost ran for the parking lot.

And now here we were after our successful escape. Stephanie’s eyes, a darker blue than my own, narrowed in judgment. “Can you never do something like that again, okay?”

“What?” I question after a long swig from my beer bottle. “Date one of your coworkers? Forget to cancel obligations with an ex? Drag you into the middle of my drama?”

“All of the above.”

I give her a sad, soft smile, like a lost puppy dog. She’s never been able to stay angry when I give her that look. She rolls her eyes but smiles back. “I don’t intend to have another ex-girlfriend, so don’t worry.”

She stares at me over the top of the bottle of her coffee drink. “You’re that serious about the yoga instructor?”

“I am,” I reply firmly, and my mind fills with images of Shay’s face.

“She’s that great?”

“She’s stubborn, opinionated, sarcastic and competitive,” I tell her with a smile.

Stephanie laughs. “Only you would find those qualities a turn-on.”

I grin and sip my beer again. “I’m taking her on a real date tonight. To make up for that little disaster scene this morning.”

My cell phone chimes from my pocket and I see Avery’s number. I’d love to ignore it, but there are three calls you never ignore in hockey: the captain, the coach and the management. I answer it with a jovial hello.

“Hey,” Avery says back, his voice all business as always. “So can you bring that cornbread you brought two years ago? Not the cornbread muffins you brought last year. The loaf from two years ago.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“To Jordan’s. For the annual chili night.” He replies like he’s talking about something as ingrained into society as Christmas or Memorial Day. It takes me a minute of staring blankly at my refrigerator but then I remember. For the last couple of years a bunch of us have been going to Jordan’s for our last meal before playoffs start. It started as a lark. We wanted one last night of beers and junk food before the crunch began. Jordan was single at the time and had just bought his big house so he hosted.

We won the Stanley Cup that year. Then we did it again last year but lost in the conference finals. A lot of athletes are superstitious, but Avery takes it to a ridiculous level. He follows the same strict routine every game day. He eats the same thing every game day. He listens to the same music. He won’t even replace his jock, which is a totally disgusting thing he’s had since he was nineteen. It’s barely in one piece. And because we won the Stanley Cup the year we did the first chili night, he’s insisted it’s an annual event. And clearly he blames my missing cornbread for the loss last year.

I try not to smile at his craziness. “I’m not going tonight.”

“Yeah, you are,” he dismisses my statement. “And bring the bread, not the muffins, okay?”

“Seriously, Avery, I have a date. I can’t make it.”

“You have to make it,” he argues back, and his voice is firm. “It’s a tradition.”

“Do it without me.” I know this answer isn’t acceptable to him, but there is no way I’m fucking up my date with Shayne because he believes in magic. “We have to do it without Larue since he got traded.”

“I have no control over that,” Avery replies tersely, his voice dripping in that hard, bullheaded quality it gets when he’s frustrated because he’s not getting what he wants. In his defense, no one has ever really said no to him, so it’s not like he knows how to deal with it. “And that’s fucking with the mojo enough, Deveau. I’m not going to let your dick ruin our odds completely.”

“My dick is not going to cost us the Cup, Avs.” Stephanie has no idea what we’re talking about because she can only hear my side of the conversation, but when I say that, she bursts out laughing, covering her mouth to keep her chilled mocha from coming out all over my kitchen. “But thanks for giving it so much power.”

“Sebastian. I need you to come.” The tone of his voice is morphing from frustrated to desperate. “It’ll set the course for us. I know you don’t get it, but it will. Just fucking show up. Bring her if you want, but come. Don’t fucking screw me.”

“I won’t screw you.” I sigh because I know I have no choice. Avery has more power than any other captain in the league. When he butted heads with the coach the first year he started, they fired the coach. There have been rookies sent back down to the minors because he didn’t like them, and he’s had people traded who didn’t get along with him. He runs the damn league, even though I’m not completely sure he knows that. But I do. So I’ll go to the stupid chili night, at least for a few minutes, to quell his anxiety and keep him from blaming me for our playoff fate if it’s disastrous.

“What time does it start?”

He heaves a loud sigh of relief, not even caring how fucking insane he comes across. “Seven. See you then, and bring your sister. She was there two years ago.”

“Yeah.” He hangs up and then I add, “See you then, Captain Crazy-pants.”

Stephanie is still laughing but she’s managed not to bring her drink through her nose, which I thought she might. “What the hell was that about?”

“I have to go to Jordan’s to eat chili and so do you because my captain is certifiable.” I scrub a hand over my face, which reminds me I have to shave for the last time tonight. Injuries, playoff beards, superstitious rituals: fuck, this is the absolute worst time to try and woo a woman who hates hockey.

Stephanie must see the worry on my face because she pats my shoulder. “Well, she’ll either sink or swim.”

“She can’t sink,” I murmur back. “I really like her, Steph.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Make cornbread.”

Stephanie looks confused but shrugs and immediately starts rummaging through my pantry for ingredients. I sigh. Damn it. This has disaster written all over it.