Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(41)

Okay. Maybe that isn’t quite the truth. I’m glad I broke the proverbial ice with the media, but I do wish I’d gone about it a little differently. Not because I give a shit how Spencer feels. No, my only concern is with how this whole thing will play out for Ellie and Bianca.

After parking in Spencer’s driveway, I hop out of my truck and head to the door. I know he’s expecting me, but I ring the doorbell anyway rather than walk in.

“What’s up?” Spencer greets as though he hadn’t read me the riot act not half an hour ago.

No two ways about it, Spencer was a bit of a dick to me on the phone. And though I’ve got a few choice words I want to say to him right now, I keep my thoughts to myself. In my current frame of mind, it won’t end well. For either of us.

“Here.” I hold out his sister’s keys and wait for him to take them.

Spencer grabs them. “You wanna come in?”

I lift one eyebrow. “Why? So you can rip me a new one? I think I’ll pass.”

He sighs. “Why’d you pick tonight of all nights to bring it up?”

A muscle clenches in my jaw, and I do my best to hold on to my temper. It doesn’t help that Spencer sounds like my f*cking parent and not my teammate. I get that he didn’t like hearing that Ellie and Bianca had been ambushed by f*cking reporters, but he should’ve given me a little credit. I would never let anything happen to them. Ever. But I’m not in a good place to talk about it right now, so I steer the conversation. “You need me to help get her car?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No. I’m good. By the way, great job on the shutout. You kicked ass out there.”

I manage a nod but don’t say anything.

As I turn around, ready to leave, Spencer’s voice sounds from behind me. “Look, man. I’m—”

“You know what?” I interrupt, turning back toward him. “I really don’t want to hear it right now. You’ve said your piece. You don’t appreciate my tactics, and maybe I did f*ck it up, but it wasn’t on purpose.”

Spencer sighs again. “You’re right, man. I shouldn’t’ve said anything. Amber told you to get the word out and you did. That was the right thing to do. I just wish we’d all had a heads-up. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

My eyes narrow as I process his words. “Trust me when I say I would never let anything happen to Ellie or Bianca. I would lay down my life for them.”

“I know that.”

Well, he sure isn’t acting like he knows it.

Spencer lifts his hand in a wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”

Without looking back, I head for my truck, more than ready to be anywhere but here. Shitty f*cking way to end the night after a huge f*cking win, but that’s the way it goes, I guess.

By the time I make it home, I’m about ready to lose my shit. The high from the game has worn off, and that in itself pisses me off. But there are several more reasons I’m ready to unleash hell on anything that crosses my path.

One, I’m angry at Spencer for insisting that I had done enough for the night and that he would gladly get his sister’s car. Two, I’m pissed at myself for not explaining things to Ellie when she pointedly asked me about them. Three, I’m irked that I didn’t have the nerve to kiss Ellie tonight the way I wanted to.

I’m too keyed up to sleep, so I grab a beer and head for the back porch. Dropping into one of the cushioned chairs, I stare out at the infinity pool that leads to an impressive view of the lake. I’ve always loved this view, but tonight it isn’t doing a damn thing to ease the tension in my shoulders.

My cell phone vibrates, signaling a text. Not sure I want to chat with anyone, I reluctantly pick it up off the table and glance at the screen. It’s a text from my younger brother, Heath.

Heath: Congrats on the win tonight. We’re still gonna crush you on Tuesday.

I smile. My brother is always saying shit like that. Heath plays for Colorado, and rumor is they have an unstoppable team this year. I don’t know about all that, but I definitely look forward to the game.

I tap out a response.

Kingston: Thanks, but I think you’re dreaming.

Heath: Don’t let the win go to your head. We’re seriously going to stomp your ass.

Kingston: I think I’ve heard that before.

Heath: I suggest you get some sleep the night before the game. You’re going to need it.

This could go on all night if I let it. The three of us are competitive, always have been. Both Heath and Scott are younger than me, and both were drafted into the NHL in college the same as I was. Heath plays right wing for Colorado, and Scott is a goalie for Boston. At thirty-three, Heath’s telling everyone he’s nearing retirement, and I can’t necessarily blame him. The moment I lose my edge, I’ll likely do the same, but I can’t bring myself to give it up just yet, even though I’m getting up there in hockey years. As for Scott, he’s still a baby at thirty and says he fully intends to make the record of the oldest player in the league one day.

Like I said … competitive.

As though my brother knows I’m thinking about him, my phone buzzes, and this time it’s Scott.

Scott: Congrats on the shutout. It’s about damn time.

That makes me smile. It’s true. My lackluster performance last year has worried more than just me.