Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey Book 5) Read online

  Dave starts to laugh. “After all that, you gave in anyway?”

  “Sue me.”

  “You’re getting soft in your old age.” He tilts his head to the side and cracks his neck, making me cringe. “Tell you what … next time you see Westly around, send him my way.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You blind? That man is …” Dave makes a drooling noise.

  And as much as I don’t want to, I can see his point. He’s basically textbook handsome. Black hair, green eyes that look dangerous when he’s angry, tall, fit, and has the kind of cocky strut that comes built in with years of being worshipped. Everything that Westly is … is everything I actively work to avoid.

  “What does Greg think of your opinion on Westly Dalton?”

  “He agrees with me.” Dave sighs wistfully. “If we were twenty years younger …”

  “Either way, it’s done. I won’t need to see him again.”

  “But he owes you one.”

  I shake my head. “He owes me nothing. I’m not bribing people for a chance at passing my class.”

  “It’s not bribery when you’ve already given out the assignment. This is taking him up on his gratitude.”

  “He has nothing to be grateful for. Asher either does the assignment, or he doesn’t.”

  “Man, you’re a stubborn prick sometimes.” Dave’s insult is heavy with affection as he rubs his beard, clearly thinking. His eyes suddenly light up, and it puts me on my guard. “I’ve got it.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No, no, hear me out. Actually, this could be perfect.”

  “If you think it’s perfect, it definitely isn’t.”

  “You need a date to the reunion, right?”

  I’m regretting asking, in a moment of pathetic drunkenness, whether his husband would let me borrow him for the night. “Not going.”

  “What? You have to go. This is your Pretty Woman moment. Only, instead of shopping bitches, it’ll be your old bullies, and instead of spending a lot of money, you’ll be showing them how hot and successful you are.”

  “I don’t think a bunch of former jocks are going to care about how hot I am.”

  “That’s where Westly comes in.”

  “Oh no.” There is no way in hell I’m asking Westly Dalton to be my date, I don’t care how many IOUs he’s throwing about. “I’m not asking him to go with me. It’s bad enough that he knows about the bullying.”

  “You told him about that?”

  “It slipped out.”

  Dave bats the comment away. “Not him, but imagine the look on those fuckers’ faces if you can show up with an actual NHL star? Surely West would have some buddies.”

  “Why the hell would an NHL player want to help me out?”

  “Maybe he could call in a favor.”

  “It wouldn’t work,” I point out. “No NHL player would want speculation about their sexuality getting out.”

  “Ezra Palaszczuk wouldn’t care. He’s openly out, and he and Westly are supposedly tight. If the media is to be believed.”

  Well, that’s something I didn’t know. Following sports isn’t my thing, but this Ezra being out gives me a fraction more respect for the sport.

  Considering the respect was previously at zero, it doesn’t say much though.

  “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

  “No way. Could you imagine? None of those guys made it in hockey, and then here’s little Jasper Dickstain—”

  “Fuckstain?”

  “—and his hot NHL player date. They’ll be falling at your feet.”

  The picture he’s painting is so close to the one I’ve been toying with for a while that I don’t immediately say no.

  I’m a petty man.

  But I’m also practical, and I know that even if this Ezra is out, and even if he and Westly are the best of friends, there is no way he’d say yes.

  A night with me versus a night out in his usual glamorous life?

  Dave drapes himself over the table. “Come on, Jas. Get on my level.”

  5

  Westly

  When the tech guy in Burlington tells me he was able to get all the files off Hazel’s computer, I almost jump over his desk and kiss him. I rush home with a hard drive full of Hazel’s photos and a brand-new laptop for her.

  When I get there, the lack of smoke and noise is a miracle.

  Asher’s cooking dinner, the twins are playing quietly on whatever video game they’re into now, Rhys and Zoe are at the dining table doing their homework, but Hazel’s not with them like she should be.

  “Where’s Hazel?” I ask.

  “Bedroom,” Asher says. “There’s something going on, but I can’t get it out of her.”

  “It’s probably the photos.” I lift the hard drive. “This will cheer her up.”

  I turn on my heel to run upstairs, but Rhys catches my eye. His lips are parted like he wants to say something, his gaze like a deer caught in headlights, and when he sees I’ve noticed it, he quickly looks away.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” His eyes don’t leave the worksheet in front of him.

  “That’s his lying tone,” Asher says from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, even I picked up on that.” I sometimes hate how Asher can read the others so well and I struggle. Maybe it’s because I’m so much older than everyone else, or maybe I haven’t been present in their lives enough after I left for college and then the NHL.

  Rhys sighs. “I heard some shit at school.”

  I don’t even call him on his language. “What?”

  Rhys’s mouth opens again, just a tiny bit, but no sound comes out. His gaze ping-pongs between me and the kitchen and back to me again. He lowers his voice. “That Hazel’s a … lesbian. But … that’s definitely not the word they used.”

  “What in the f—udge? She’s eleven. Eleven.” It’s too early for this, right? Right?

  I can see why Rhys is hesitant. Asher has made no secret of his sexuality, and as for me, I don’t know if the kids are aware of mine or not. I don’t hide it, but I don’t flaunt it either. If any of them have googled me, they’d get a fairly good picture, and if Rhys being unable to look me in the eye is any indicator, I guess he probably suspects or knows.

  “Thank you for telling me,” I say.

  But how do I handle this?

  “If I heard anyone say it, I told them to shut the fuck up, but—”

  “You can’t talk that way at school, Rhys.” I’m totally going to get a phone call from the principal.

  “I can when they’re talking about Hazel. The girls are jealous because Hazel’s friends with the boys she plays hockey with, so they’re saying shit about her.”

  “I’ll handle it.” I go to walk away but pause. “Thank you for having her back.”

  “Eww, don’t tell her I stood up for her or anything.”

  I sigh. He’s so much like the smaller version of Asher, it’s not even funny.

  I bound up the stairs but hesitate outside Hazel’s door. Another day, another teen drama.

  I’d like to say Asher and I were different when we were their age, but I can remember monumental blowups of epic proportions. Asher resented how he was always compared to me and my achievements, and back then I did nothing to help him realize he’s better than me at almost everything. Of course I rubbed hockey in his face. I was a first-round draft pick, and he was sixth. I played for one of the top teams in the league, and he was picked up by a team that’s never won a Stanley Cup and hasn’t even seen the finals since the ’90s. But that’s just it—I might have him beat when it comes to hockey, but behind Asher’s surly exterior and fifty-foot walls, he knows how to handle life better than I do, and now that the NHL is over for me, what do I have to give this family?

  Sweet fuck all.

  But I need to try.

  I lift my hand and knock on Hazel’s door.

  “Go away.”

  My heart hurts for her. Out of all
the kids, Hazel’s my good one. She’s quiet, she does her homework without asking, and she’s so talented at hockey I have no doubt she’ll go far if she wanted to pursue it. Though, the salary for women hockey players is criminally low.

  “It’s West. I have your computer. And your photos.”

  “Hang on.” She sniffs, and when she comes to the door, her eyes are all puffy and red.

  “Can I come in?”

  She looks like she wants to protest but steps aside.

  I put the brand-new laptop down on her desk with the hard drive on top and then sit on her desk chair. “Are you okay?”

  She sits on the edge of her bed. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  “Rhys said some kids were being mean to you at school.”

  “Rhys has a big mouth.”

  “Do … do you want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  Part of me wants to say Thank God, but the other part of me knows that I can’t ignore this.

  “Apparently, they called you a slur,” I hedge.

  “Yep. Because I’m best friends with Jonah, who’s all hot and cute and a hockey player, the girls would prefer I was a lesbian so they think they have a shot with him. Spoiler alert, he thinks girls are gross. Well, except me. Because I’m practically a boy. His words, not mine.”

  “Are … are you … hmm, actually nope, I’m not going to ask because if you were … a … uh—”

  Hazel lets out a giggle. “I’m not. That I know of. I like Jonah just like the rest of the girls do. But … I also might like girls? It’s hard to tell because all the girls at my school are bitches.”

  “Hazel!”

  She pales, and I realize she might not know what I’m yelling at her for.

  “Uh, don’t say bitches. But, I mean, that’s cool if you do like girls. And boys. Or neither. Or both.” My neck heats. “I’m sorry. I suck at this.”

  She smiles. “No, you don’t.”

  “I wish I could give you some good advice, but I have none. When I was in junior high and high school, it was easy for me to be with girls and pretend to not be interested in boys.” I suck in a sharp breath because I think I just came out to my little sister? “And because I played hockey, no one questioned anything. It wasn’t until I was older and in the NHL I was comfortable enough to date men, and even then it was on the down low. So, I kind of know how you feel? But also I don’t, because I didn’t have assholes—”

  “Don’t say assholes.” She grins.

  “Sorry. I didn’t have bullies calling me names over who I liked and didn’t. Do you want me to talk to the school?”

  “No! Please don’t. I just … I want to ignore it.”

  “I have a feeling that’s not what you’re supposed to do in these situations.”

  “Can we please ignore it and hope it will go away? I don’t want to make it a big deal. Then I’ll become a bigger target, and—” She’s panicking now, so I drop to my knees on the carpet to bring me down to her eye level.

  “Okay. Okay, I won’t say anything.”

  Tears fill her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “On one condition.”

  “What?” she croaks.

  “If it gets worse or something else happens, please come and tell me?”

  She nods, but I don’t believe her.

  “Promise me,” I say.

  “I promise.”

  But even with that, I leave her room feeling completely helpless.

  I want to fix everything for her but can’t. And that’s definitely becoming a running theme in this family.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures, and that’s how I find myself in Burlington at a bookstore, trying to find books on parenting kids who are being bullied for possibly, maybe being LGBTQIA. And I had no idea there would be so many books on this topic. Much like everything else in my life, it’s all overwhelming.

  I grab a stack of them and head for the register, but I can’t even manage that. The top one slips, and in my attempt to catch it, the whole pile of books lands on the floor.

  “Of course.”

  “Need a hand?” a deep voice asks. The guy, probably in his late forties or so, helps me pick them up.

  “Thanks,” I say when we stand.

  “No problem, Westly.”

  I look him over, and he obviously picks up on my confusion.

  “I’m Dave. Dave Matthews.”

  I narrow my gaze. “Dave … Matthews.”

  “The art professor, not the band.”

  Recognition finally hits, and I shake my head. “Sorry. Of course. We met on campus.”

  “We did.” He glances at all the titles I’m buying. “Ah. Looks like you might have your hands full at home.”

  I huff a humorless laugh as I think about just how much of a mess things are at the moment. “Understatement.”

  “You know who you could talk to about all this stuff? Jasper Eckstein.”

  “That’s, uh, probably not a good idea. We didn’t exactly hit it off.”

  Dave’s smile widens. “Yeah, I heard, but this … he knows this.” He points to the books.

  “He has kids who were bullied?”

  “No, he is the kid who was bullied. For being gay.”

  The story of the hockey team breaking Jasper’s face flickers in my mind. “Oh. Right. He told me about that.”

  “He mentioned.” Dave nods. “That’s surprising, but good for him.”

  “Well, he told me hockey players broke his face. He didn’t say it was because he’s gay. But, yeah, that makes sense—why he hates hockey players so much.” I stare down at the books. “Shit. What if Hazel grows up to be bitter and angry at the world because I didn’t do the right thing?”

  Dave’s eyebrows jump up. “You think Jas is bitter and angry at the world? Jasper Eckstein is tough on his students, especially jocks, but beneath that, he’s one of the most caring men I’ve ever known.”

  Ah. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend your partner or—”

  Dave bursts out laughing. “Hell no. Oh, I mean, yes, he’s very caring, but no. No. I’m married.” He holds up his hand with a shiny gold ring on his finger. “Happily. Greg’s around here somewhere. He can spend hours in a bookstore, and I have to send out a search party. But Jas … he’s a good friend, and he might have issues when it comes to athletes, but it’s only been made worse because his high school reunion is coming up, so he’s dreading facing all those people again. And who could blame him? My point is he’s not usually as uptight as he’s been lately.”

  “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the relaxed type though.”

  “Oh, he’s high-strung and has a need for control, don’t get me wrong, but he’s usually not this bad. Fuck, I’m totally selling you on asking him for help, aren’t I?”

  “Thanks for the advice, but I might just try these instead.” I hold up the books.

  “Okay, but if that doesn’t work, I think you two could help each other out.”

  “How so?”

  “He needs a date to his reunion, you need help with your kids …”

  “Yeah. Never going to happen. Thanks though. I’ll see you around campus.”

  As I walk away from Dave, I can’t help the pang of sympathy I get for Jasper Eckstein. That still doesn’t mean asking him for help is a good idea.

  He’d probably scoff in my face and call CPS, telling them I can’t handle my siblings. He wouldn’t be wrong, but I don’t want to draw attention to that.

  No, this is something I need to do on my own.

  6

  Jasper

  Dave’s a bad influence. I spend all weekend trying to run from the idea he’s planted in my head, but it’s no use. Logically, I know the request is pointless, but would it hurt to make it anyway?

  Yes, actually. It probably would.

  Asking for something puts you in a vulnerable position and gives the other person the chance to say no.

  The last thing I want is to give a hockey playe
r the upper hand.

  But the idea keeps eating at me.

  All through my five-mile run.

  During visiting my aunt in Burlington.

  And during scrolling, with morbid curiosity, through Thomas Harvey’s social media profile. He follows a few hockey pages, including Boston’s team. The team Westly used to play for before he retired.

  I shake my head and click out of it. It’s fun to imagine, but there’s no way I could ever actually ask.

  The image is still tormenting me when I walk into Bean There on Monday morning though. I order my coffee and step aside just as a familiar face walks in. Westly notices me at the same time as I see him, and we exchange those awkward, polite smiles people do. Normally I’d be content to ignore him, but after assuming the worst of his brother, I figure I can at least spare that.

  Unfortunately, Westly takes that as an opening and joins me after ordering. “Hey, Ekst—”

  “Jasper. Please.”

  “Jasper. What’s up?”

  I shake my head. “We don’t need to do this. I’m perfectly content with you going back to ignoring my existence.”

  “I’ve never ignored you.”

  “Trust me when I say this isn’t the first time we’ve both been in this coffee shop at the same time.” It hasn’t been often, but it was clear he didn’t recognize me.

  “Huh. Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  He thinks about it for a moment. “I … don’t know.”

  I almost laugh. “It’s fine. You don’t owe me anything. Let’s get our coffees and go on with our day like this blip never happened.”

  “Sure.”

  A thick, awkward silence fills the space between us.

  “I have nothing against you, you know,” he says like he can’t stop himself.

  “Good to know.”

  “That whole thing, it was like we had our wires crossed, that’s all.”

  I hum, hoping if I don’t engage, he’ll go away.

  “And I really am sorry hockey players broke your face. That’s not me though. Like, I would never.”