Chapter 11 "Do you ever get tired of having everyone, you know ... follow you around and stuff?" Cash says, sitting beside me on the team bench. "Like, what if you're having a bad day, but people won't leave you alone for an autograph? How do you deal with it?" For being ten years old, he's an insanely deep thinker. Most boys his age would just think I had it made because I'm an NHL player and would probably even believe that the fame is the best part. The truth is, there's a lot to this job that I love, but there's a lot that I fucking hate too. And at the top of the list is having people treat me differently just because I'm a professional athlete. "Well ... I give them a quick autograph and act as polite as I can but let them know I'm limited on time," I tell him honestly. "Lucky for me, everyone thinks I'm grumpy anyway. So, they don't think anything of it either way." "Dang, that must be hard," he says considerately. "To have to just pretend like everything is okay all the time." Because of my hectic schedule right now, this is only our third session together in three weeks. I like this kid, but I feel bad that I'm helping him and not his older brother. But Cane made it clear he's not interested in playing hockey anymore, so I don't want to push it on him. I haven't seen Freya for more than a few minutes at pickup and drop-off, and during those times, she takes off quickly like her ass is on fire, and it really seems like she's avoiding the hell out of me. "Nah, you get used to it, I suppose," I utter, even though it's sort of a lie because half the time, I'm not even used to it. "So, tell me, has your love for playing goalie grown? Or are you still bent out of shape over it?" "I'm not bent out of shape over it," he says quickly. "I'd play anywhere I had to, just to have time on the ice." He looks me over for a moment before sighing. "The truth is, I love playing goalie, Tripp. It's my favorite position so far." I can't even act like I'm surprised by his answer because I knew something was off about the whole situation weeks ago, when he was complaining that his coach wanted him to play the position, but he seemed disconnected from what was actually coming out of his mouth. He kept glancing nervously over at where his brother was standing, and that was a dead giveaway that it had to do with Cane. "So, go on. What is it?" I shrug, and when he's silent, I decide to take a guess. "You're afraid that you playing goalie will make Cane upset? Is that it?" His eyes stare at the floor now, and his shoulders sag a bit lower. "My brother started playing hockey before he was five. By the time he was six, he became obsessed with being a goalie. My dad-well, I've heard Mom talk about him taking Cane to hockey; it was kind of their thing." He pauses. "I guess my dad really loved hockey too. He didn't play, but I've heard he loved to watch it." I'm not the guy you want to have a heart-to-heart with because I don't know what to even say. I'm not sensitive, and I'm not even that good of a listener because other people's problems make me uncomfortable, and I usually suggest to rub some dirt on it because that's what I've always had to do. But this kid, I can feel the pain in his voice as he talks. I want to help him, but I don't even know how. Losing my dad at a young age fucked me up. I'm in no position to give anyone advice. I've run from facing my feelings from that loss and worked myself to death instead of dealing with the pain. But for whatever reason, I want to say something, anything, to make Cash feel better right now. "So, you don't want to be a goalie because Cane was one before your old man passed away?" I say, acting like I'm guessing but I know that's his reasoning. "And you feel like you'd be betraying your brother if you see this thing through?" "I guess," he whispers. "Cane is the only one who really remembers our dad. He spent the most time with him. He was seven when Dad died. I just don't want to make my brother sad. He gave up hockey because it makes him think of our dad. I'm sure he doesn't want me throwing it in his face by playing his favorite position too." From the outside, looking in, I know he's being crazy. This is a small problem, and to be honest, Cane probably wouldn't even think that way about it. I don't want to downplay his feelings though because he's a kid worried about his brother. "What if ..." I stop, trying to figure out how the hell to word this without sounding like I'm pushing aside his fears. "What if he isn't mad at all? What if he's happy for you?" He keeps his eyes on the ground without answering. "Cash, you're good. You've got a ton of talent." I breathe out a laugh. "You're probably better than I was at your age, if you want to know the truth." I sigh, patting his knee. "I think you should talk to your brother. Or maybe your mom. I'm sure she'd know what to say." "I guess," he utters. "Thanks, Tripp." "For what?" "For being my friend," he answers, taking me by surprise and making me feel this weird sensation in my chest that I've honest-to-fuck never felt. "I know it doesn't seem like much-what you've done for me, but I know you helping me has made my mom really happy too." Before I answer-or even have time to digest his words-he stands up and nods up at the clock. "We still have fifteen more minutes till my mom gets here." Inside, it makes me glad that I'm not just making Cash happy, but his mom too. That woman has been through hell and works her ass off, and she deserves to have a little help with her kids. But I grin because, of course, this kid is worried about getting every second in of this practice. That's what makes me like working with him so much. I was him at that age. Hungry for more playing time and ready to soak in any extra time on the ice that I could. I stand, swatting him on the arm before taking a step back toward the ice. "Well then, we'd best get back to work, huh, Moneybags?" He rolls his eyes but laughs. "You gotta stop calling me that." "Your parents named you Cash. No chance in hell, kid. Sorry." I rush through the sliding glass doors, absolutely panicked because I'm fifteen minutes late to get Cash and I'm never late. Ever. It's actually an annoying trait of mine to be on time for everything and be organized too. It's not completely my fault though because Cane had to be dropped off at basketball, and then Aviana failed to mention she had a kid's birthday party tonight until an hour prior, which also meant we needed to stop at the store and get a gift on the way there. Rushing into the arena, I see Tripp standing down at the bottom of the stands, leaning against the plexiglass. I've done well, avoiding him, but I feel the need to explain that I didn't forget about Cash, that something just came up. When Tripp joined us for dinner after Cash's game, I realized how incredibly nervous he made me, and I knew I needed to put some distance between us. I'm not dumb. I know someone like Tripp Talmage would never be into a widowed mother with stretch marks, a flabby tummy, and three kids-one who is almost a teen. But the point is ... I enjoy talking to him way too much. And it makes me feel guilty, so I can't do it. No way am I taking this opportunity away from my son though, so I've chosen just to politely stay back. It became even more obvious that I needed to keep him at arm's length when my seven-year-old noticed how he made me react. And while, in her head, she thinks we should date, she doesn't understand that I'm not ready for that. I don't think I ever will be. I have my kids and my work, and I don't think I need to add in anything else. I mean, when would I even find the time? When I finally reach him, I'm out of breath. I ran from the parking lot and into the building, and that was probably the most running I've done in years. "I am so sorry I'm late," I huff out, and he turns toward me. Putting my hands on my hips, I drag in a breath. "I had to get Cane to practice and then Avy-well, she suddenly had a birthday party she'd failed to tell me about." I throw my hand on top of my head. "I swear, I'm not the mom who is late and leaves my kids with strangers." Once I'm done ranting, I look out at the ice, where I see Cash in the center with Walker James, and I smile. "Wow, ... he's ... he got to work with him too?" "He just got here a few minutes ago and offered to take Cash out and show him a few things." He grins at me, giving my side the slightest nudge. "It worked out for him that you were late, Freya. You can take a breath now." I'm caught off guard by his playfulness, but I'm also flattered that he's trying to make me feel better for being late. He watches the ice again as Walker and Cash make their way farther away from us. Tripp's body turns slightly toward me, and when I glance up at him, he's swallowing nervously. "I don't know if this is my place or not, so I'm sorry if this comes out the wrong way." He reaches up, gripping the back of his neck with his hand. "Cash sort of ... well, he said why he's hesitant to play goalie, despite him loving it. Anyway, I told him he should talk to you, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up." He pauses, cringing. "I'm not trying to get in the middle of anything. I'm sorry. I just ... I see his potential, and I want him to follow through with this dream if it's something he wants." My first instinct is to narrow my eyes because I'm instantly irked that this man is telling me something about my kid that I don't even know. When it comes to my children, I am a bit of a control freak who feels the need to know every single detail. But then, when it sets in, I realize that this meant Cash opened up to him, and that's something I've struggled to have him do for years. Inhaling, I relax. "Why is he hesitant to play goalie?" I ask, even though I think I may know, but I've never pushed the issue with Cash. He glances back out at the ice. "He's worried it'll hurt his big brother," he says honestly. "Because hockey was your husband and Cane's thing and he was a goalie." He looks down at me, tilting his head slightly. "To him, Cash is doing something wrong." For a moment, I'm speechless. It's incredibly hard for Cash to open up-to anyone. Same with both of my boys, to be honest. He's been around Tripp a handful of times, and now, Cash is telling him things that he won't even talk to me about. Part of that makes me sad, but on the other hand, I'm thankful he has someone he can talk to about his feelings. "I kind of thought that maybe Cash was worried about that," I whisper. "But the truth is, I don't think Cane would ever feel that way." I can't stop the tears that threaten to spring into my eyes as I look back out at my son, completely in his element on the ice. "Hockey is painful for Cane now because it was something he and Jamie did. But he's such a supportive big brother. I really don't believe Cane would be angry. I think he just wants his brother to be happy." Bringing my hand to my face, I wipe my eyes as the tears well up. Turning toward him, I try to keep it together. "Thank you for telling me. I'm glad my son feels comfortable talking to you." When his hand reaches for me and he pats my shoulder, I can't help but flinch when the sensation of a million electric shocks hit my body, instantly making him pull his hand away, and I can tell he feels like he did something wrong. He didn't. It was me and my messed-up brain and my weird little crush I have on this man who is one thousand percent out of my league-even if I was available. He's clearly uncomfortable because of my response, making me feel like a jerk, but he brushes it off quickly and nods. "He's a good kid, Freya. You've done well." "Thank you," I whisper just as Cash skates to the entrance beside us, making us look away from each other and toward him. It's like I'm playing with fire, but I'm not actually doing anything wrong. But the way my body reacted to the simple pat on my shoulder shows just how careful I need to be. I shouldn't be fantasizing about anyone other than my husband, and yet ... I've caught myself thinking about the man beside me more than once. "Hey, bud!" I say, plastering on the worriless smile I've mastered so well. "You looked great out there." "Thanks, Mom," he says with a grin and steps off the ice, walking to the bench and plopping down. "Did you see? Walker James even worked with me." "I sure did." I smile. "How awesome was that?" "What am I, second choice?" Tripp says grumpily, but I know he means it in a playful way. And when Walker skates beside us, Tripp jerks his chin up at him. "Oh, sure, you come in for ten minutes, and suddenly, you're the favorite." Walker shrugs, smirking at him. "What can I say? Kids actually like me. I'm cool, and I sometimes even like to smile." He looks over at me. "You've got a great kid." "Thanks." I blush because this man, like so many of the other Sharks, is painfully attractive. "I think he's pretty awesome." Walker says goodbye to all of us before taking off toward the other exit, and I walk over toward Cash. As he takes his skates and gear off, I begin to pack up his duffel bag. Pulling his sneakers on, he stands and takes the few steps toward Tripp. "Thanks, Tripp." They do some weird handshake thing, and Cash turns toward me to leave, but before we head up the steps, Tripp stops us. "Friday night, we've got a home game against the Bruins. It should be a good game, and I just so happen to have six tickets I need to give away." He looks a little nervous, but brushes it off with a shrug. "In case you and a few others want to come watch. It's okay if not. I just figured-" "Can we go, Mom?" Cash shamelessly blurts out before I have time to think of an excuse as to why we can't go. "We're supposed to go to dinner with Mimi and Papa on Friday. And there are six tickets, so they could go too!" My mind spins as I try to think of what the hell I'm going to say without looking like an asshole. I can't imagine what I'd tell my parents about this random hockey player-who has gone to dinner with us and even come to one of Cash's games-now inviting us to watch him play. I know it's harmless, but my mom knows me better than anyone. What if she senses that I have a little crush on Tripp Talmage, and then she thinks I'm ready to move on? She's brought it up a few times-that I should get out there again-and it's always ended in me storming off. I love her, but I don't want her to think she's right. I'm not ready to move on. This crush ... it's mild-barely there, in fact. Completely harmless, I'm sure. I just think he's hot. That's it. But still, he makes me feel things that I know I shouldn't be feeling. And so does a good percentage of the country. Because he's a famous athlete! "Mom?" Cash says, interrupting my trance-thankfully. "You good?" I give my head a slight shake to wake myself up and look around. "I'm fine. Let's get going, Cash," I say, nodding quickly. "We'll let you know, okay?" I tell Tripp. "Thank you, Tripp. For the lesson." Cash looks bummed, glancing around me at Tripp, but eventually, he sighs and starts up the stairs. I know I can't pass up an opportunity like this game for my kids, but something in my gut is telling me that we're all spending too much time around this man. It's starting to feel ... wrong. We rush up the stairs, and I can feel his eyes melting into my back. I know I left too abruptly and that it was rude, but, goddammit, Tripp had put me on the spot with those tickets. It's a kind gesture, and I'm sure it's harmless. It just ... doesn't feel right that I'm allowing my son to look at another man like he hung the moon. A man who isn't his dad. Once we get out the doors, Cash looks over at me. I expect him to be upset or to at least seem bummed that I didn't say yes to the game. Instead, he pats my arm. "Are you okay, Mom? You seemed kinda nervous in there." My steps slow until I'm completely stopped, and I look at my son. "How the heck did I get so fortunate with you, kid?" I say, shaking my head. "I figured you'd be mad at me for not saying yes to Tripp. Instead, you're making sure I'm okay." He flashes me a bashful grin and surprises me by throwing his arm around me as we finish walking toward the car. "You're just lucky, I guess." He grins. "Buuut ... for what it's worth, I do hope you'll change your mind and say yes. To ... you know, the game." I roll my eyes, but I can't be mad or annoyed when the kid is saying it as politely as he can. "I'll give it some thought. Deal?" He bobs his head up and down sharply. "Deal." Freya and Cash are long gone, and yet I sit in the arena, feeling like a fucking loser. I knew I should have waited to offer tickets to my game. I'm already doing too much between showing up at Cash's game a few weeks ago, going to dinner with them, and then giving him private lessons. It's more than obvious Freya doesn't want to get to know me. She keeps me at arm's length, and yet there I went, trying to get her to come to my damn game. "Private lessons? Free tickets to the game against the Bruins?" Walker says, coming out of nowhere behind me. "What gives, Trippy? You must really like that kid, huh?" Once he finishes walking down the arena stairs, he plops down in the seat next to me. "How'd you hear the ticket thing?" I grumble, thinking he was long gone. "Oh, I heard. Trust me, I wasn't far away," he says playfully. "What's going on, Talmage?" I don't answer because what the fuck would I even say? Tell him the truth-that I really do like the kid, but I also can't stop thinking about the kid's mother? Or do I lie and say that I just want to be nice to them because they've lost enough? Which is true, but I can't lie-most of what I'm doing is for my own benefit. I'm intrigued by Freya, and I enjoy spending time with her kids. And admitting both of those things would make me sound fucking crazy-because that's a complicated situation. And I'd sound like a pussy too. "Talk to me, buddy," he says, leaning forward in his seat. "It's just you and me, and it won't make you sound like less of a badass if you actually admit you have a heart, you know." "There's nothing to talk about," I mutter, turning back into my normal self. When she and her kids aren't around, this guy-the one who doesn't want to have long talks or feel things-takes over. "The kid lost his dad at a young age, and I just want to help out. And he's talented. Really talented." "And the way you're looking at his mama?" he says. Even though it comes out lightly, it doesn't seem like he's teasing me. Even so, it's annoying, and it pisses me off. "Is that you helping out too?" "Fuck is it to you?" I mumble, standing up. "Does it affect you in any single way, James?" He stands, too, leaning against the plexiglass. "Not really, but I've never seen you care so much about anyone else before, other than your mom and sister." "Do I not care about my team?" I say, narrowing my eyes. "Is that why I put my body through hell day in and day out for this team?" "That's not what I meant, and you know it," Walker snaps back. "You care about the team more than anyone else-including yourself. But that's my point. You only care about the team and your mom and sister." He pushes off the glass, stepping in front of me. "I've never seen you put so much time into someone else, and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, Talmage. Okay?" His lips turn up at the side, and he smacks my shoulder. "Don't get all worked up, man. All right? I was just checking in with you, is all." Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ Findηovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Suddenly, I feel like a prick, but this right here is why I'm known as the grumpy hockey player in most online sources. I don't exactly give off cute and cuddly vibes. I had no right to get defensive, but I guess I did because whatever I'm feeling for Freya ... I need to cut it out. She's clearly not interested. "Sorry, James," I utter, looking away. "Just on edge, I guess." "It's all good," he says, unaffected, before throwing his arm around me and turning my body toward the stairs. "You can make up for it by taking me out to lunch. Deal?" I roll my eyes, but the smallest smile pulls at my lips. "Fine. But no asking me about Freya or her kids. Deal?" "Ooh-Freya, h-" He snaps his mouth shut when I give him a piercing stare. "All right. All right." He holds his hands up. "No talk of ... that woman and her kids. You have my word." "Good," I grumble. "Let's go. I'm hungry." The guys on this team may drive me crazy with their oversharing, big feelings, and overtalking, but I wouldn't trade any of them for anything. They are my brothers, even if they are annoying as hell. Especially Walker fucking James.