Page 86 of Daring the Defender

Shitty move? Maybe. But she deserves the truth, and I need to walk away before I get in any deeper. Darla fucked me up. No, my whole goddamn life fucked me up. For once I’m walking away first.

Even though it’s early, when I get downstairs, Axel is already down there, pacing, phone in hand. I head straight for the coffee, which thankfully is already brewed and waiting.

“What do you mean you’re at the airport?”

I fill my cup and frown, gaze sliding over to the porch. The door is ajar. He walks over to it and opens it wide, making a silent gesture. It’s immediately obvious that all of Shelby’s things, her suitcase and other belongings, are gone.

The hit to the chest lands harder than taking a direct hit from a puck Reese fires off at ninety-miles an hour.

“She’s gone?” I ask, feeling the world tilt. I knew it was coming, I just thought we’d have a few more days. Maybe everything I said last night nudged her to follow her heart.

Or maybe it was telling her that I loved her.

“Okay. Fine. Call me when you land.” He hangs up. “Yeah, she’s gone.”

“When?” I ask, mind spinning. “The middle of the night?”

“Beats me. I got down here and her door was open. I went to check on her and everything was gone. She changed her ticket, deciding to go home a few days early.” His gaze flits over to the flowers, just like mine had a minute before. “Fucking David. Messing with her head.”

He’s not wrong. David’s flowers sparked this, but not in the way he thinks. This one is squarely on me. I can’t help but think it’s for the better–before either of us went deeper than we already had.

“I know you guys think we’ll miss it,” Jefferson says, ambling down the stairs. His hair sticks up in the back from sleepingtoo hard, and he rubs his face, “but I’m not going to miss these morning practices.”

“You think you’re not going to have morning practice in the NHL?” I ask.

“It’ll come with a paycheck,” he replies, heading straight to the freezer for a bag of frozen fruit for his smoothie. “What are you two doing anyway?”

“Shelby left,” Axel says. “Packed up and went home.”

“Didn’t she have a few days left?”

“Yeah.”

He grabs the blender and starts tossing things in. Almond milk, fruit, ice. “What did you do?”

I open my mouth to defend myself but he’s looking at Axel.

“Nothing,” he says, but there’s a hint of defensiveness. “Fine. I went to pick her up from work last night and confronted her about Reid.”

I gag on my coffee. “Me? What?”

“Chill out. You got busted hanging out with her on campus yesterday but she told me the truth.” He makes a sympathetic face, and says, “Darla,” as if that explains everything. “But we also talked about a few other things, like handling everything back home. She wasn’t going to be able to run forever. I guess she decided to deal with our mother sooner than later.”

“Sucks, because she was cool and made a mean casserole, but we’ve got to focus on the game tonight.” He sets the lid on the blender. “I’m with Reese. Let’s lock in the division so we can skip straight to the playoffs.”

He slams his finger on the button, the whirring of his smoothie blending filling the air.

Shelby left, I think, and we’ve got a game to play.

Life moves on.

“I don’t wantto see one smile. Not one congratulations.Not onecelebration.” Coach Bryant is seething, his eyeballs bulging in a way that can’t be healthy. “Not after the shit show I just witnessed out there!”

The locker room is hot. Sweaty. Not one of us has taken off a pad, a skate, or jersey. I’ve got an ice pack held against my rib where I got slammed into the boards in the third period about fifteen seconds before I got tossed in the bin.

Sure, we came out of the match up as the victor, but barely. And it was supposed to be an easy win.

“It doesn’t matter how many shots Cain or the other forwards get, if the defense isn’t doing their job, it’s pointless.”

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