Rebound (Seattle Steelheads #1)(83)

“Dude, no.” Wilson shook his head. “You literally just told us you played through a broken rib without any of us knowing. That might make you a stubborn motherfucker, and maybe an idiot, but a pussy? No way.”

The rest of the team grunted in agreement.

I laughed. “I, uh, hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Yeah, well.” Grady elbowed me. “You know us better than that. Even if you hadn’t played on a busted rib, we’re not going to tell you to suck it up when your man’s beating you up.”

“Hell, he’s lucky we didn’t know,” Bruiser growled. “He’d still be pulling my skate out of his ass.”

The protectiveness threatened to get me choked up again. “Well, he’s gone now.”

“Thank God,” the team said in unison.

“Stick with that cop,” Bruiser said. “He seems like good people.” He paused, eyeing me. “Right?”

Oh, fuck. I forced a smile and managed to nod. “Yeah. He’s good people.” And dear God, I miss him. But if I told the team Geoff and I had split up, then I really would end up crying into my beer tonight, so I kept that part to myself. “Thanks, guys. I…definitely should’ve told you about Nathan sooner.”

“Damn right you should’ve.” Grady put an arm around my shoulders. “Now someone get this man another beer.”

“Uh…” I gestured at the glasses in front of me. “I haven’t even touched—”

“Then start drinking.” Grady took one of the glasses and pounded better than half of it in one go. “Get him another beer!”

I laughed and picked up the other glass.

And even as we all got drunk and loud, my boys stayed close, hovering around me like we were on the ice and I was the goalie. Anything that came my way—a puck, an unwelcome ex—was going to have to get through them. There was still plenty in my world that wasn’t right, but telling my team the truth about Nathan took a bigger weight off my shoulders than I’d imagined. Everything else would be waiting when I sobered up tomorrow.

For tonight, I clinked my glass against Grady’s, and the Seattle Steelheads kept right on drinking.





Chapter 25


Geoff



Any day now, I would start getting over Asher. I might even start sleeping, but between lying in bed thinking about Asher and being shaken awake by nightmares, there wasn’t a lot of sleeping going on.

I’d finally done what I should have with both Valerie and Marcus—I’d dropped the hammer and gotten it over with instead of dragging it out and leading him on. Ripped off the bandage so we could both move forward. I hadn’t been able to justify staying, and I hadn’t been able to justify leading him on, so why the hell wasn’t I feeling any better now than I had the morning I’d left? Why the hell did I feel worse?

Over and over I told myself I’d felt like shit for a while after both Valerie and Marcus. Maybe that was what was happening here. It had only been a few days, after all. Then again, I hadn’t been with him all that long. Valerie and I had been married for thirteen years. Marcus and I had lived together for five, dated for six. My relationship with Asher could be measured in months and weeks, and not very many of them, especially considering he was traveling half the time. What the hell was my problem?

“Dad?” Claire’s voice startled me.

I shook myself, pulled my gaze away from the TV I wasn’t watching, and turned to her. “Hmm?”

“You’re spacing out again.” Her brow creased. “This isn’t from the concussion, is it?”

I wish.

Somehow that sounded a lot less painful. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes. “No. It’s not from the concussion.”

She was quiet for a second. “Did you and Asher really break up?”

Was there any point in denying it? I hadn’t told the kids, but they weren’t stupid. Hell, by now it might have even made it into the press.

I let my shoulders sink under an invisible weight. “Yeah. We did.”

“Was it because you talked to Marcus?”

“It’s not quite that simple, but…” I hesitated, then met her gaze. Before I could finish the thought, though, her expression brought me up short. Something in her wide eyes and creased forehead. “What?”

Claire chewed her lip. Then, hugging herself, she sat on the couch, a cushion dividing us. “I didn’t think you’d end up breaking up with Asher. When I told you about what Marcus said.”

The pieces fell together. “Claire.” I shook my head and twisted toward her. “This isn’t your fault.”

She met my gaze, the creases in her forehead deepening.

“It’s not your fault, kiddo.” I reached across the cushion and squeezed her arm. “You did the right thing, coming and telling me what Marcus said to you.”

“But…you and Asher…”

“It wasn’t because you told me about talking to Marcus. I’ve… I guess I’ve got some things I need to work out on my own, and it’s just not a good time to be with someone else.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” I drew my hand back but held her gaze. “I hate to put you and your brother through another breakup so close after the other one.”