Page 96 of Delayed Offsides

He says nothing.

Callie chuckles. “You’re so inappropriate.”

I pull back, cupping her cheek in my hand. “I’ll call you every day, or you call me if you need anything. Ami is coming over in a bit.”

She nods, but her teary eyes say it all.

“I promise I’ll call.”

“I’m not crying because I’m going to miss you, jerk. I’m crying because I’m terrified to be alone with him.”

“Oh.” I laugh, kissing her forehead. “I’d be terrified too.”

I kiss Caleb, to which he starts crying, and I leave. Just like that. I hate this part. Look at the way she’s looking at me. Like she’s jealous, pissed, and sad all in one.

Don’t tell her, but I’m excited to get out of the house for a bit.

Does that make me an asshole?

* * *

Training campin the NHL isn’t easy by any means. Every year you have to prove you’re worthy of wearing the jersey. Most of the time, cuts take place a week into practice, but they can happen at any time during those two practices a day. And they do. Sometimes even that first game of the season, guys are gone.

Why do they do that?

You only have twenty-three spots on your roster.

Who will play center on the bottom two lines? I, for one, am busting my ass to make sure that starting line is mine. O’Brien makes it known I’m on the top line, but I see how every interaction I’ve had with Ed so far has been exceptionally shitty.

Do you remember who the other center is? Well, there are a few on the team. I’m certainly not the only one. But I’m referring to the one I have a past with. Walker. Yep. He’s here in all his douchy glory.

Also, since Caleb was born, Ed hasn’t spoken to me. Probably won’t. He’s seen Caleb once since he was born and handed Callie five grand. That was his way of being a grandfather. What the fuck the five grand was for, we don’t know. Callie still hasn’t cashed the check. Can’t say I blame her.

Back to Walker, he’s watching me during that first practice. Of course he is. I’m his competition. We’re completely different kinds of players. Sure, he can be creative. Get in an opposing teams’ head and make ’em think, but he can’t stuff that motherfucker down their throats and say swallow.

I do that. Quite literally sometimes.

“Hey, man,” he says, skating beside me, out of breath and looking like he’s trying to open a conversation with me. I’m assuming, because this is the first we’ve seen each other since the bar incident, he wants to talk. I don’t. So being the bitch I can be at times, I ignore him completely.

I hold grudges. Fucking sue me.

He looks over at me, his cheeks red, eyes sincere. “I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t know you two were together. And you know, I don’t want any bad blood between us.”

Still, I ignore him.Bad Blood?Ha.

“So you’re going to fuckin’ ignore me?” he asks, being persistent and following me when I skate away from him.

“I’m trying to.” I laugh. “You’re making it hard.”

At the boards where Mase and Remy are, they laugh. Mase smirks, shaking his head. “I see you’re still best friends.”

I snort. “Little prick can suck my left nut.”

“Why not the right?” Remy asks, stifling his laughter with his glove. “Something wrong with that one?”

“Yeah.” I hold my stick and make a jerking-off motion. “That one’s for your mama.”

Remy doesn’t even hesitate before he takes the end of his stick and nails me right in the ribs.

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