Page 64 of The Player's Club

“Yes. I mean, I guess. Things have gotten more complicated.”

Hannah made a noise. “Aw, shit, did you catch feelings for him?”

Now, I was annoyed. “It’s not a joke.”

“No, but be careful. That’s all I’m going to say. You had an arrangement—don’t think it’s going to change. Mac might not want anything more than sex. I just don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

I knew she was right, even as I resented her words. Mac had never alluded to us making our relationship official. I’d be wise to guard my heart in the meantime. The thought of us never being anything more than sex partners really hurt. I wanted him to fall in love with me. I wanted to heal the hurt from his past and grow along with him. But what I wanted didn’t matter. Mac had so much going on in his mind right now that I doubted there was truly room to be falling in love with me on top of working through his regrets about the past.

I just hoped that someday I wouldn’t become his biggest regret.

MAC

“What the hell is the matter with you, Mackenzie?” Coach nearly roared when I missed another pass from Brady.

Coach Dallas was still an imposing presence despite being close to sixty, balding, and with a dad bod. He’d once been one of the best hockey players in the NHL, and he’d gone on to have an impressive career as a coach after an injury had derailed him.

I’d respected Coach since he never played favorites. If you fucked up, he’d tell you. If you did well—he might give you a shoulder slap paired with his famous lopsided grin. Once, when I’d scored a winning goal at the very last second, he’d even hugged me.

Today, though, Coach wasn’t going to hug me. He might actually throttle me. He was beet red and beyond frustrated to the point that my teammates gave him a wide berth.

“Mac! You hear me? When are you going to get your head on straight? Did you fall and break your skull when you got punched or what?” Coach yelled as I skated past.

I scowled. Everybody had been ribbing me since that stupid video had been posted online. Coach had taken me aside to ask me what the hell was going on, but I’d lied and said it was just a misunderstanding.

“What? Did you screw another guy’s wife?” Coach had demanded.

“No.” Not recently, at any rate.

I thought about the irony that I’d been accused of sleeping with a married woman this year. While that allegation was false, it certainly wasn’t unfamiliar territory for me, was it? Except the actual situation was far more scandalous than anyone could’ve ever imagined. I forced myself to try to concentrate. I couldn’t keep letting thoughts of Caroline dying distract me. Or worse, the look on Elodie’s face when I told her how old I’d been when Caroline and I had first started sleeping together.

She’d looked at me with pity. Pity! I didn’t want her pity. I didn’t want her judgment either. I tried to convince myself that she didn’t understand, that the only people who truly understood were Caroline and me. I didn’t need anyone telling me how I should feel about my own goddamn life. But Elodie’s reaction to my age at the time of my affair with Caroline affected me. It made me doubt my own judgment. It made me think I should’ve been more traumatized, even if I’d never felt that way. At sixteen, I’d felt like a man, even if looking back now that seemed like a joke. And I’d never considered my parents’ opinion to mean much because they were biased. But Elodie’s shocked reaction was probably the first time I realized I wasn’t a man back then at all.

I passed the puck to Brady, but I hit it so hard that it went up and then bounded off the side of the rink. Brady shot me an annoyed look.

“Dude, I didn’t do anything,” Brady joked. “Try not to break my face, okay?”

“Sorry,” I grumbled.

I’d just managed to get back into Coach’s good graces at the end of practice when our last scrimmage showed off our newest play to its advantage. Coach looked at me with narrowed eyes as I went to the locker room, but he didn’t say a word. I would take that as a win for now.

I didn’t want to go home, though. I also didn’t want to go out with the guys or even go to the club. I texted Elodie, asking if she wanted to do something, but there was no reply.

Annoyed, I drove to her place without a second thought. I told myself I was just worried about her. She was always prompt in replying to my texts.

Didn’t you just ignore her calls and texts when you were in Idaho?

I told myself that this was different. I even called her twice on my way to her place, but there was no answer.

Her car was in the driveway. I knocked, but once again, there was no answer. I peered through her windows, feeling like a total creep.

I was about to let myself in when the door opened. To my shock, it wasn’t Elodie: it was a man I’d never seen before.

“Yes?” he asked me like he owned the place.

The guy was of average height and build. He wore glasses and looked like your average pencil pusher.

But why the hell was this guy at Elodie’s house?