Page 13 of For Pucking Keeps

“Oh, big boy, it looks like you do now.” Ridley pats him on the back and gives Bast a wink before hurrying behind the wide eyed, anxious looking PR intern. I guess the poor kid is expecting Bast to throw a tantrum.

Bast’s shoulders slump in defeat as he follows behind Ridley, but he doesn’t say anything else as we all walk into a room full waiting press.

I give him a pat of encouragement as we take our seats at the table in front of the room. “It will be over before you know it. Keep it generic and try to smile,” I say, but Bast just grunts in response, then he turns to face me and forces a smile that looks more like a grimace. I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, Bast, just like that.” I chuckle and lean into the mic as a female reporter leaps to her feet. Eager much.

“Torrance! Can you tell us about your relationship with Jazminne Starr? New girlfriend?” she asks, going straight for the jugular with this one. I can see our communications manager stepping forward to comment, but I hold my hand up to stop him.

“I don’t think my relationship status has anything to do with our win tonight. So, no comment. Next question.” Several hands go flying into the air and I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that no one in this room is interested in how well we performed tonight.

Yeah, apparently, my gut was right, none of them wanted to talk much about the game, the questions about Jaz kept coming, and they barely addressed Bast or Ridley at all. By the time we were done, Bast was the one patting me on the back sympathetically. I was furious, and it showed near the end, their questions were getting to me. I never waiver, I never let them get to me, but tonight, fuck, they did.

Flying between time zones is both a blessing and a curse. But tonight, it’s a godsend. I love it when we play early games because it means I am not crawling into bed literally in the early hours. It gives the entire team time to get home to their families or go out and actually celebrate our win in the comfort of our own city.

The cold autumn breeze greets me as I exit the plane and make my way down the steps toward the waiting coach that will take us back to the arena and our waiting cars. Climbing the steps two at a time I take my usual spot in the middle of the bus, sliding into the window seat as Ridley sits opposite me across the aisle. Everyone is either on their phones or making plans to go out, but my mood hasn’t improved since we left Chicago.

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re coming out with us tonight. I already know the answer,” Ridley states, his brows raised in both question and concern. I glance at Ridley, not in the mood for conversation, even though I know it’s coming.

“You’re correct,” I reply, as Devan climbs into the seat in front of me, talking animatedly on his phone. By the sound of things, he is about to go out and get into trouble, possibly dragging Ridley right along with him. Usually, on nights where we have the next day off, I’d join them, but not tonight. I turn my attention to the window, feeling Ridley’s eyes on me as the bus pulls away. I settle in and watch the Seattle skyline come into view. My thoughts turn to Jaz. She is the one person I want to reachout to, but now I’m unsure. I shouldn’t let what happened during the press conference deter me but of course I do. Nothing has happened between Jaz and me, yet the way the press was questioning me, I was practically engaged to the woman. The reporters were relentless, going so far as to ask me about Jaz’s ex-fiancé. I gave them nothing, but I allowed myself to get angry enough for them to speculate. I don’t know her, yet they questioned me about her being an author, her books, her life. It infuriated me, because I want to get to know her, hell, at this point Devan knows more about Jaz than I do. He’s been singing her praises for the past few days. He’s been posting about her books on his social media platforms while we’ve been on the road. I’m almost jealous. Almost.

“Tor,” Ridley calls my name, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“What’s up?” I ask, gesturing with a lift of my chin for him to speak.

“So, are we going to talk about why you were bombarded by the press about your author?” he asks, his voice teasing, lips lifting up in a smirk.

My author. Saying it felt right, a surge of possessive protectiveness hit me square in the chest. The feeling felt foreign, but I don’t dismiss it. I rub my chest as I cough to clear my throat. Maybe Lia was right, my inner caveman has come out to play. I won’t admitit to Ridley, not yet at least. I don’t know if I am ready for that admission.

I sigh. “The damn picture,” I say, throwing my hands up in frustration. “I assume having my PR team take it down so fast has only added fuel to the gossip, hence the questions.” I rub a hand down my face, angling my body to face him, keeping our conversation as private as I can with a bus full of hockey players.

“I don’t know her, Rid. She lives next door to Lia, so it will be hard to ignore her now that I’ve met her. I want to help her, and by helping her, get to know her better. Not going to lie and say I’m not interested, because fuck, I am. But I don’t want this to pull focus from the team and our goals for this season. If my reactions to their questions about her now are to go by, I will be absolutely feral if this goes any further. She is sort of a public figure in her own right. Which means they will always want to know more. We come from two different worlds, she is a writer, and I am a hockey player. I don’t see how— Am I being ridiculous and over thinking all of this?”

Ridley chuckles. “Well, Torrance Bailey, I never thought I would see the day.”

My eyes widen as I give him the ‘I know, right’ look. “The way things are going; I will be my own worst enemy. It will be no one’s fault but my own if I don’t get out of my head.” I’ve been solely focused on onegoal for so long, I don’t know how to give my time to anything else. Offering Jaz my help, I realize now, was my futile attempt at trying. I’m already failing.

Ridley frowns and nods his head in understanding, getting a faraway look on his face. “Listen, if you have a chance at something, if you feel it in your gut, then try. You won’t know the outcome until you give of yourself a little. So what if she’s her own person with her own career goals. You should want that in a partner. Fuck the press and whoever else has anything else to say about what you do with your life. As far as hockey goes, you are the most dedicated player I know. You won’t lose your steam on the ice because you are spending time with someone in your spare time. If that was the case, this entire team, the entire bus, would be single. Don’t brush her off out of fear if there is something there to explore.”

“But—

“Real talk here, Tor. I should have never given Brea an ultimatum. I knew her goals and aspirations to be a musician. We had two distinctively different career paths and look where she is now. She’s soaring, Tor. She’s more talked about around town than I am. I let her go because I thought it was either me or music, I made her choose when I should have held us both up. I would have dealt with whatever the press and crazy ass paparazzi threw at me to have her back. I let her walk away. I didn’t fight for us. Fuck, I barely recognize myself in the mirror. I lost the love of my life because I put hockey first. Don’t lose your chance if there is one. If I could go back. . .” He blows out a harsh breath, and I know this conversation is over by the anguished look on his face.

I know his speech was full of his own pain and regret. There’s so much conviction in his voice, the sadness, but there was hope there for me. He hides his heartbreak, losing himself in meaningless sexcapades and random hookups. For the first time in months I can see how very broken Ridley still is, and I wish things were different for him. I don’t want this opportunity with Jaz to pass me by. Who knows, she may be completely opposed to anything other than a professional relationship. If that’s the case, then we can both walk away while being all the better for getting to know one another. I’m the one making this more than what it is. Taking Ridley’s advice, I will take this one step at a time and let my instincts guide me.

“Thank you, old wise one,” I say, trying to make light of the situation, but Ridley just nods, lost in thought, mirroring me from moments ago, turning his attention to the window. I immediately pull my phone out of my jacket pocket and do what I’ve been aching to do for days.

ME: I dedicated my last goal to you tonight. Like my bow?

I watch the dots dance along the screen, my knee bounces nervously as I desperately wait for her reply.

SUPERNOVA: I saw the press conference.

ME: So are you saying you missed my goal?

The dots move up and down inside the little bubble and stop, then start again, and I can only imagine what’s going on in her head. Maybe we’re both having the same doubts. Is this worth it? I may have been thinking along those lines as the plane took off in Chicago but now, I am letting it all go.

SUPERNOVA: I didn’t miss your goal. Lia and I screamed the house down. But. . .Tor, is this too much? I am grateful for your help, but at what cost to you? That was just one picture.

ME: Fuck em’ Supernova. Put all those thoughts out of your head. You have a book to write, and I want to help.

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