Trina

  Rushing through Chase’s home with an aching heart, I stave off a torrent of tears as I grab my lotion and toothpaste, then send a quick text.

  This is so ridiculous, the way I feel. It was nine days. I shouldn’t feel a thing, and yet my throat is terribly tight from fighting off all these emotions.

  I call a Lyft, then beeline into Chase’s gigantic room, squinting so I don’t have to see every single corner of the place that feels like my new home. I grab the few shirts I left here, then I hightail it back to the guest room I never used. I toss my clothes into my duffel bag, then a few books, and I stop, frozen as I stare at all these gifts.

  What do I do with these dresses they bought me the other night? I hold up a red one with pockets. Ugh. I want to bury my face in it and use it as a handkerchief to soak up all the waterworks I’m holding back.

  “Take them. They’re yours,” Chase says from the door behind him.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I want more than dresses, you idiot.

  “But you don’t have to leave tonight,” Chase adds, perhaps trying to lessen the blow.

  Good luck with that, buddy.

  “It’s fine,” I chirp.

  “Trina, I didn’t mean to suggest you had to go now,” he says, trying again.

  But I do. I really do. I stuff the dresses into the bag. “It’s no problem.”

  He sighs, then asks, “Can I help you with anything?”

  This is who he is. The helper. Giving me a place to stay, helping with my sex woes, and then offering to sort out this new mess.

  It’s hard to be mad at him for not wanting me the way I want him. For not falling for me the way I fell for him.

  His heart is in the right place, but I still shake my head, squeaking out an “I’m fine” as I shove the rest of the clothes into my duffel.

  I shouldn’t be upset because no one made any promises. No one offered me a single thing. Both of these guys were totally upfront from the get-go. This was just sex. This was just a week of fun. This was just a to-do list, and we did it all and more.

  I’m the idiot who got caught up. I’m the one who saw a happy ending that was definitely never on the list. And I won’t overstay my welcome ever again.

  After I zip the bag, I rush back to the living room, scoop up my dog and snap on his harness, then hunt for his leash as he tilts his head, as if asking what’s up.

  I stop to pat him for a sec. It’s not his fault I was rejected. “I love you,” I whisper to my trusty companion.

  From the kitchen, the too-familiar voice of Ryker says, “Let me drive you. It’s safer that way.”

  Nope. Don’t need it. Don’t want it. He’ll see me cry then. They can’t know that I was about to put my foolish, silly, anything-goes heart on the line for both of them. “My Lyft will be here soon,” I say, as breezy as I can.

  But as I hook on a leash to my pup, Ryker comes to my side, the remnants of his forest scent tugging on my aching heart.

  “I’ll carry out your stuff,” he says as Chase returns to the kitchen and Ryker shoots him a damning look.

  I shake my head adamantly as my phone pings, telling me my Lyft is pulling up. “I’ve got it.”

  I don’t need an escort to this relationship execution. I won’t let him play the part he wants to play. The protector. Like he’s protecting me from Chase now. They are exactly who I thought they would be and I can’t fault them.

  “It’s all fine,” I add, then press my lips together so I don’t let other words fall out like I fell in love with both of you.

  With my loyal dog by my side, I march to the door, my life packed up in a matter of minutes. In the entryway, Chase gives me a pleading look. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that you had to leave tonight,” he says, trying once more.

  “It’s all fine,” I say brightly, as brightly as I possibly can. “I have things to do. It won’t be a problem.”

  A second later, my hand is on the knob, my heart is in my throat, and the most wonderful week is circling down the drain. This is over. It’s over exactly how it was supposed to be—with me leaving. But in a flash, I know if I walk out the door like this, it’ll be as if these nine, eye-opening, earth-shattering, heart-expanding days never happened.

  An hour ago, I was ready to put my heart on the line. Now I know they don’t feel the same way. There was never a future.

  I’m not going to walk out that door denying what I learned about myself with the two of them. Yes, I found a Golden Retriever and a grump. But I found myself too.

  Our time will fade into the past, but I’m going to own who I am. Chin up, I turn around and look them both in the eyes, and I say, “Goodbye. I was falling for both of you.”

  Before anyone can say another word, I leave, slamming the door behind me. As I walk down the front stoop to the car that’s cruising down the block to save me, the tears start to come. They sting the back of my eyes first, prepping to slide down my face. But the door creaks from behind me.

  I hold my breath.

  A voice calls out, “You forgot his toy.”

  Oh. My shoulders sag.

  Ryker’s bringing me a dog toy. That’s all. I don’t even turn around. When he reaches me, he hands me the stuffed monkey. When I finally raise my face, he’s holding my gaze like he’s trying to say something without words. Something important. But the only word that comes out of his mouth is a sad, broken “Trina.”

  I shouldn’t say anything. Truly, I shouldn’t, but I do anyway. “Was this as good as I thought?”

  His gaze is as intense as his voice when he says, “Best week of my life.”

  Somehow my heart hurts even more. “And now it’s over.”

  He says nothing as I grab the door and get in the car with Nacho. We head into the night, away from my two loves.

  Away from my best friend too. Aubrey’s out of town for the night, and I have no other choice but to go to my sister’s place.

  When I arrive, I am a mess in every sense of the word. Tears are streaming down my face, my makeup is ruined, and my heart is broken as I set my dog down on Cassie’s perfectly polished hardwood floors.

  To her credit, she doesn’t flinch at the sight of a pet in her home.

  One hand on her giant belly, Cassie lets me in, with an I knew you’d wind up here look on her face. “I’m glad you texted. You know you always have a place with me,” she says.

  And the sad thing is, I do know that. She is constant.

  “It’s only one night. I’m moving into my place tomorrow,” I say, since this is just a stop gap.

  “Stay as long as you want,” she says, perhaps wanting to save me from me.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine,” I say, but my voice is breaking.

  She ushers me into the living room and hands me a tissue. “You don’t look fine. What happened? I knew that guy would break your heart. I knew it was a bad idea. I just knew it,” she says, like she’s going to beat up those jerks on the playground.

  Only, she doesn’t know there were two jerks who did this to me. With a sigh that breaks me, I just let out a raw, “I know.”

  “Let me give you a hug,” she says.

  I let her because she’s here with an open door and at least in her own bossy, annoying, judging way, she’s fighting for me.

  The men I fell in love with did not.

  37

  I’M THE DICK

  Ryker

  In the kitchen, I glare at my best friend. Right now, he feels like my enemy. “You’re a fucking dick,” I say.

  Chase is ice as he stares right back at me. “Oh, I’m the dick?”

  “How could you do that to her?”

  “Do what? Try to fix things? Try to solve the problem?”

  I stab the kitchen counter with my finger. “Make her feel like she’s nothing.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. How did you try to make her feel like she was everything? I didn’t see you doing anything. You fucking stood there and grunted.”

  A plume of anger rises inside me. “Because you’d already decided how it was going to be,” I say, seething. “Like you did before.”

  “We’re still on that? We’re still negotiating that fucking issue?” he asks, shaking his head, then wheeling around and yanking open a cupboard like he’ll rip it off the hinges.

  “Because you’re still doing the same shit,” I say.

  Shaking his head, Chase grabs a bottle and a cup, pours a few fingers, then knocks it all back. He sets down the glass with an angry clink. “And you’re one to talk. What did you do? You were just Grumpy Ryker. Angry Ryker. Growly Ryker.” He holds his arms out wide. “Well, Growly Ryker didn’t solve the problem.”

  I clench my fists. “And you didn’t either, Mister Fix-It,” I bite out, then turn around and stalk down the hall.

  He’s seconds after me. “It’s easy to get mad at me, isn’t it? It’s easy to wrap yourself in this whole persona you’ve created. The guy who’s unfazed. The guy who’s so tough, he just grunts. That’s what you do. You create this whole illusion. And then you use it when it suits you. When it’s fucking convenient.”

  I whirl around, fuming now. “And you’re better? You just stand there and take over. You try to fix everything before you even think about what it means. Before you even consider how anything comes across.”

  “I didn’t see you trying to fix it,” he says, missing the point entirely.

  “You don’t give anyone else a chance,” I roar.

  “So what did you want to say that I didn’t let you say?” he asks, sweeping out a hand. “The floor is yours.”

  Fuck him and his empty gestures. “How magnanimous of you.”

  “Magnanimous. So typical. You say that stuff to just cover up how you really feel.”

  With narrowed eyes, and righteous rage in my heart, I step closer, poking his chest. “And I know what you do. You try to make everything right to cover up how you really feel.”

  He pushes my finger off his chest. “Well, Mister Expert. Tell me how I feel then? Or hey, better yet. How do you feel?”

  I didn’t tell Trina that I was falling in love with her. No way am I going to tell him. No way am I going to say I wanted to make a go of this crazy thing we built. Because no matter how angry I am at Chase right now, I made a deal with him. He’s not interested in a relationship. So what am I going to do? Go after her and confess my dumb heart? Ask her to be with just me? Not an option. I promised that I wouldn’t let a woman come between us and I won’t, even though he’s a world-class fuck-face right now.

  “Forget it,” I say, because I’m not giving him the satisfaction.

  I head into the room I didn’t use and grab my shit. Three minutes later, I’m out the door too and in my car. My floors are fixed. They’ve been fixed since Thursday. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell Trina. I didn’t need to stay here any longer.

  I chose to.

  But I’m leaving because I’m not only mad at him, I’m mad at myself. Chase is one hundred percent right.

  I hid behind the image I’ve created, not the new one Trina helped shape. I didn’t stand up for her.

  The next day in Seattle, I’m stepping off the plane with Dev, debating whether we should get Korean barbecue or check out some cool new sushi spot in Capitol Hill. The argument is better than being alone with my incessant thoughts of the woman I can’t have and the friend who I don’t want to talk to.

  “Apparently, the sushi is so spicy your mouth will be on fire,” Dev says, making his pitch.

  “Please. Sushi has nothing on Korean barbecue,” I say, but mostly I don’t want fish and rice since it reminds me of the first gift we gave Trina.

  “Sushi’s closer to the hotel,” Dev adds when Oliver catches up to me on the jetway.

  “Got a sec, buddy?” he asks in his upbeat tone.

  He’s always upbeat. That’s the job. He’s chipper when he gives you bad news and when he delivers good news. The last twenty-four hours, though, have been all bad. My agent, Josh, called this morning when I boarded the flight, wanting to know what the hell had happened. “This podcast episode is everywhere,” he said, sounding like he wanted to track down Bryce and my ex and give them a piece of or else.

  “That’s great news,” I’d deadpanned.

  To his credit, Josh also asked if there was anything he could do. But since muzzling Selena was not a viable answer, I said, “Nothing, man. But I appreciate the check-in.”

  What else could I say? In one podcast episode, all the work Trina did for me during the last week crumbled to dust. If the team didn’t like my rep before, they’ll hate it now. Oliver’s probably about to let me know I’m on the shit list.

  “Sure,” I say to him, since what’s the alternative? I’ve got to own my mistakes.

  Dev laughs. “If the debate’s over, that means sushi after the game.”

  “Nope. Sushi is not the answer,” I say.

  But Dev shoots me a cocky grin. “Fish it is,” he says, then continues on his way. Un-reprimanded. Lucky fucker. But at least he didn’t mention my clusterfuck of a reputation on the flight. Or ask for any details about what went down with Trina.

  I’ll chalk that up as a small victory.

  I turn to Oliver as we continue down the jetway, bracing myself. “What’s up? Nothing good, I presume.”

  “Well, it’s not great,” he says, diplomatically. “There was a lot of coverage of that podcast. But,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a here’s the but coming my way. “I get—and the Avengers’ front office does too—that it’s not your fault.”

  What? I jerk my gaze to him. “They do?”

  “You didn’t cause this problem,” he adds.

  “But that piece. It was grist to the sports news mill.”

  “It was. But like I said, not your fault. It’s not Trina’s fault either,” he says, and the sound of her name rips at my tattered heart. “We don’t blame you, or Chase, or the VIP guest,” he says, and she’s so much more than a VIP guest, but I shut my mouth about that. “It’s just a situation that got out of hand. We do appreciate what you did to work on your socials. We appreciate, too, that she helped you out.” He shrugs, but it’s not a helpless one. “You can’t control what others say.”

  True. But still. “I thought you guys wanted the whole good guy image,” I say, doubtful.

  He laughs lightly. “Of course we want positive press. We want our players to present well online. You did all that. And then this happened, but there’s nothing you can do. We’ll just keep on moving forward. How does that sound?”

  Like I don’t buy it.

  “Sus,” I admit as we head into the airport.

  He chuckles. “Love your ‘trust no one’ attitude. It’s great for a hockey player. But seriously, it’s fine, Ryker. I swear.”

  “What was the point then?”

  He stops and I do too. Oliver’s young, but in this moment, he seems wise beyond his years as he meets my gaze straight on. “The point was to let your fans know who you are.” He takes a beat, still intensely serious. “Someone who loves his family, who cares about his sisters, his mom, his grandmother. Someone who gives books to a library. Who gets a jersey signed by teammates and helps donate it to rescue dogs. That’s who. The rest? You can’t control it. Sometimes you let it go and focus on what you can control.”

  I didn’t have get good life advice from the PR guy on my bingo card today, but I’ll take it. I ease up on my doubt. “I appreciate all that. Thank you, Oliver,” I say genuinely.

  “If you want to sit out of any press conferences, that’s fine with me.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  But mostly, I spend the day thinking about all the things I don’t think I can control. And trying to figure out if I can control any of them.

  Then I get on the ice, and I play my best, blocking passes, rattling the other team, not letting up even an inch, and doing everything I can for the Avengers for all three periods.

  It’s a tight game, and it comes down to the wire as they attack in the final few seconds. But I’m all focus as the Seattle center flies down the ice like he’s hellbent on tying it up and forcing overtime.

  Nope. Not today.

  I’m there, blocking the shot before he even reaches Dev, and the buzzer sounds, signaling our victory.

  Later, I don’t take the easy way out. I retreated last night. I won’t do it again. I talk to the press after the game and I don’t grunt. I don’t swear either.

  I do say we played hard against a tough opponent. “But I’m glad we won,” I add, even though I still feel empty.

  But I keep that part all to myself.

  38

  DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING

  Chase

  Here’s the thing about New York fans. They don’t just hate you. They really fucking hate you.

  Which is why it’s that much sweeter that I’m finally in the zone again with, count ’em not one, but two goals over the New York Rogues in their famed arena on Wednesday night. And the rabid fans have not let up with their chants of bad luck charm.

  Yeah, real creative.

  Pisses me off. But makes me play even harder. Trina wasn’t a bad luck charm. Not one bit. She is fucking incredible, but nope.

  Can’t think about her on the ice.

  Not during the game. Not at all. And I won’t get cocky even with our three-goal lead.

  With only a few minutes left, I’m skating hard. Ledger has the puck, and he’s racing to the net. He takes aim, and then it comes: a mighty shot that smashes into the net’s twine and pads the lead.

  The boos are deafening but still crystal clear.

  Bad luck charm.

  A few minutes later, when the horn sounds, signaling the end of the game, the jeers intensify, the brand-new insult rising in volume.

  It’s not even apropos given we won, but that’s beside the point. I knew someone would say it. It started online a few days ago and picked up steam. But at least we’re winning again, and that’s all that matters.