Page 73 of Second Shot

He stops, his back still to me, and for a moment I think he might actually turn around. Might give me the thirty seconds of his time.

Instead, he turns his head just enough for me to see his profile.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Jacobs,” he says.

“You’re wrong,” I grate out, trying not to notice he’s half naked. “That was a fucking shit-show out there. Jesus, aren’t you embarrassed at how we played? We need to talk, if only so we can work through this thing between us and get back to playing great hockey.” Obviously, I’m hoping for more than just that, but now is not the time to share that with him. He already looks like he wants to put his fist through a wall.

“Talking isn’t going to help anything,” he snarls, turning to face me.

I wince at his raw anger. “Ryan.” My tone is borderline pleading. “Please, justtalkto me. I’mnot your enemy. I fucking swear I’m on your side.”

“Fuck off, Jacobs. You’re a backstabbing piece of shit, and I want nothing to do with you.”

“Well, too bad,” I clap back, my own anger growing. “Because we’re on the same team and we need to learn to work together. Coach isn’t going to put up with this, and I don’t blame him.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure your spot is safe. Thanks to you and you’re pal, Freddy, I probably won’t be around much longer though.” He walks away without looking back.

“Ryan,” I shout after him.

He ignores me.

Short of following him into his shower cubicle, I have to let him go. I sit in my stall for a long time, still in my gear, listening to the sound of showers running and equipment being packed away. Around me, my teammates move through their post-game routines. Everyone is very careful not to make eye contact.

I need to get through to Ryan somehow. Maybe when he’s cooled down a little. We did just lose a game and we both played like fucking rookies. We have a flight and a bus ride ahead of us. Hopefully, when we reach the Seadragon’s arena, he’ll be in a better head space to listen to me. Because I’m not just going to give up. I love Ryan too much to do that.

****

The team bus pulls into the Seadragon Center parking lot at 2:47 a.m., and I’ve never been more grateful for the cover of darkness. I canfeelmy eyes are bloodshot and I probably look like a zombie. I feel like one. The loss to Great Lakes sits heavy in my chest, made worse by the three-hour flight where Ryan sat two seats away from me, but didn’t say a single word.

I’m gathering my gear bag from the overhead compartment when through the bus window, I notice a guy waiting by Ryan’s new SUV. I take him in, gut churning. He’s medium height, slender, leaning against the black vehicle with casual confidence. The parking lot lights catch his golden blond hair. He looks like he belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine.

I get off the bus, my chest tight as I watch the blond guy. He’s obviously been waiting for us to pull into the parking lot. There aren’t usually a lot of people waiting for the bus at almost 3:00 a.m. There’s definitely no one waiting for me.

“Looks like Caldwell’s got a welcoming committee,” Foster says from beside me, and I follow his gaze just in time to see Ryan’s reaction to the mystery visitor.

Ryan’s face transforms the moment he spots the guy. The tight, controlled mask he’s been wearing for days cracks, replaced by somethingthat looks like relief. Maybe even happiness. It’s the first non-surly expression I’ve seen from him since the media ambush. And it makes me want to puke that it’s for that stranger, and not me.

“Who’s that by Ryan’s car?” D’Angelo asks, craning his neck to get a better look as he jumps off the bus.

“No idea,” Kincaid replies, but there’s curiosity in his voice.

I want to look away, want to focus on getting my suitcase. I don’t want to watch Ryan and that guy grinning at each other. Yet I can’t stop staring as Ryan walks toward the stranger, his shoulders relaxed, his gait quick, like he can’t wait to reach him.

The guy pushes off from the SUV and meets Ryan halfway across the parking lot. They hug, but they don’t kiss, thank god. There is, however, an obvious intimacy in the way they stand close together, the way the stranger’s hand rests on Ryan’s arm. I happen to know Ryan has no siblings, so it’s not his brother. So, who the hell is this guy?

My chest feels like it’s being crushed in a vise.

“You’re home,” the guy says, and even from twenty feet away I can hear the warmth in his voice. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now,” Ryan replies, and the honesty in those two words hits me like a physical blow.

Better now. Because of this stranger.

The guy’s handsome in a way that makes my jealousy spike. He has classic features, perfect white smile, and a kind of effortless attractiveness. He’s wearing trendy clothes that fit him perfectly, and when he moves, it’s with the fluid confidence.

“Thanks for letting me use your car while you were gone,” the guys says, looking up at Ryan with affection.

“No problem,” Ryan says, his voice is softer than I’ve heard it in days. “It’s good to be back.”

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