The Play (Briar U, #3)(72)

I remember the game Fitz and I watched in our living room last night. Edmonton versus Vancouver. Jake Connelly scored one of the most beautiful goals I’d ever seen. And I remember the longing I felt, an ache that actually tightened my throat, because while college hockey is great, it’s nowhere near as fast and competitive as professional hockey.

And if the pros were simply about being out there on the ice, I’d sign up in a heartbeat. But that life comes with strings I’m not interested in. It comes with women and glamour and press conferences and constant travel. Constant temptation. And Davenport men don’t fare well in the face of temptation.

So I’ll just have to content myself with this, right now, skating out on the ice with my friends, kicking ass. Because this is what it’s all about.





The bus drops us off on campus around eleven, and from there I hop into my Rover and drive myself and a few teammates back to Hastings. I deliver them to Matt and Con’s house, then head home to park my car. I’m planning on walking back to Matt’s. That way I can drink more than a couple of beers.

At home, I change out of my dress clothes—we’re required to wear jackets, ties, and trousers for all away games. It’s almost a shame to strip out of my suit, because I rock it like nobody’s business. I can thank my father for that. He pulls off the CEO look better than anyone. Probably why he’s so popular with the ladies.

A little too popular.

“Hunter, you heading out?” Brenna pokes her head into my bedroom. As usual, there was no knocking involved.

“Yeah, I’m going to Matty’s. Want to come?”

“I might pop over later. I’m Skyping with Jake first.”

“Tell him I said hey. Oh, and tell him I’m jealous of that goal he scored yesterday. It was a beauty.”

“Right? I’ve never been more turned on in my life.”

“I honestly think Edmonton has a shot of winning the Cup this year.”

“Same. They’re unstoppable.”

I zip up my hoodie. “When I was in Boston last month, Garrett was saying he hopes they don’t have to face each other in a playoffs series.” Christ, I don’t even know who I’d be rooting for in that scenario. Garrett, I guess. No. Jake. Or maybe Garrett. Fuck, it’s an impossible choice. Like picking between the gym and your girlfriend.

Brenna wanders off, and I go downstairs to put on my coat and boots. I’m about to slide my phone in my pocket when it beeps in my hand. I check it and find a text from Tara, a girl I hooked up with last year.

TARA: Hey, sorry for texting out of the blue like this—random, right? Nice win tonight. Just wanted to give you a heads up, tho. Some guy was asking about you.





ME: I might need more details than that LOL





HER: After the game, some guys came over and one of them was grilling me and my girls about where you were. I said probably on the team bus.





ME: Wait, this happened in the city?





HER: Yeah, outside the BC arena.





ME: OK, that’s weird. Thanks for the heads up.





HER: No prob, hon.





She punctuates that with three hearts. Red hearts. Every guy on the planet is aware that red hearts mean business. An invitation to start something up if I want to. But I don’t.

I walk out the front door, and I’m nearing the sidewalk when my phone beeps again. This time I find a message from Grady, the little brother of one of my teammates.

GRADY: Hey. Hunter. Got your # from Dan. He told me to text about this—some dude was looking for you at BC.





ME: Yeah, I just heard. Any idea who it was?





HIM: Never seen any of them before. The main guy kinda looked like a young Johnny Depp?





ME: Doesn’t ring a bell.





HIM: Anyway, I heard someone mention to them that you might be at Matt Anderson’s house tonight. Wanted to let you know in case he tracks you down.





ME: Thanks. I appreciate it, man.





Okay. I don’t like this at all. Two different warnings that a bunch of strangers were asking about me? Strangers who raised enough alarms that Tara and Grady both felt the need to reach out to me.

And fuck, I’m glad they did, because when I reach Matt and Con’s street, I immediately notice the group twenty feet ahead, loitering by the curb. If I hadn’t been forewarned, I might’ve waltzed right up to them thinking they were partygoers.

Instead, I slow my gait, giving myself time to scope out the guys. There are five of them. They’re not particularly huge in terms of height, but they’re all pretty beefy. One is bald and stocky and appears vaguely familiar. The tallest one has his back to me, but he turns around when he hears my footsteps.

“Nico,” I say guardedly. “Hey.”

I haven’t seen or spoken to Demi’s ex since the night she went all Carrie Underwood on his stuff. And on closer examination, he kind of does resemble a young Johnny Depp, but with a darker complexion.

“What’s going on?” I ask when he doesn’t return the greeting.