Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(83)
“Respectful,” he says mockingly. “Right.”
“Yes. Anything she and I are doing or not doing is fully mutual. Whether or not you believe it, I care about her. A lot. She’s one of my friends.”
“A friend you happen to be fucking, because you don’t believe in dating.”
“That isn’t…” I suppose technically that isn’t false. But it sounds bad when he puts it that way.
“In other words, you’re using her.”
Everything in my body recoils.
“Not the fucking case, Carter.” My response verges on a snarl. His assumptions regarding my motives are wearing on my last nerve. I think the world of Seraphina and she knows it, which is ultimately all that matters.
He huffs. “How is it not? You’re sleeping together and you supposedly care about her, but you won’t commit? The math doesn’t add up. Nothing could keep me from being with Bailey. And don’t give me that whiny ‘it’s different because I’m a goalie’ bullshit.”
I’ll give Chase credit, he’s great at pushing people’s buttons. World fucking class. While I’m technically in the wrong here and I’m trying to defuse the situation, he isn’t making it easy for me to stay calm.
“It is different. The pressure you and I face isn’t the same. It just isn’t. I’m fighting for one of thirty-two spots in the entire league.”
“So what? You’re going to let that rule your life off the ice, too? Boo-fucking-hoo, it’s ‘too stressful’ so let’s compound that by making hockey the center of my universe and refusing to get close to anyone.”
Harsh, but not surprising. If there’s anyone who sucks more than I do at empathy and tact, it’s the guy sitting across the table.
“That’s some nice logic there, bro.” Chase snorts, pointing at me with the neck of his half-full beer. “That way you’ll have nothing left during the shitty times with your sport. Real smart.”
A dull throb forms in my temples. “Has it occurred to you that Sera might not want to be with me?”
“What?”
“Like I said. She’s an adult. This isn’t some evil scheme I masterminded all on my own.”
His jaw slackens. “Holy shit.”
“Huh?” I glance around the pub, searching for the cause of his sudden change in demeanor, but he’s looking at me. Staring at me, actually, and he isn’t blinking.
“You sad sonofabitch,” he murmurs.
“I’m not following,” I admit.
Chase was frustrating when he was tearing into me, but this is almost more unsettling.
“The karma bus hit you good, didn’t it?”
“Er… no?”
I watch warily as he reaches across the table. Instead of hitting me—which I’m halfway expecting—he pats my hand, almost like I’m a small child. It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever experienced.
“You know what?” Chase crosses his arms and leans back in his seat with a smirk. “Nah. You and I are good.”
Chuckling, he waves to get Dallas’s attention and motions for him to come join us. I’m still trying to figure out how we went from Chase wanting to tear my head off to him being amused with the situation.
“All sorted?” Dallas sinks into the seat next to me, his gaze darting back and forth between us.
“Yeah.” Chase picks up a menu and flips it open. “Let’s get some food.”
I have no idea what the fuck just happened.
CHAPTER 30
SUDDEN STOP
TYLER
My father making “dropping by” on his way home from New Jersey is setting off all kinds of alarm bells in my brain. Ever since he texted this morning to tell me, I’ve been in a tailspin.
It doesn’t help that I’ve lost the last four games in a row, starting with the one Seraphina attended. The EnduraFuel tournament this weekend and going into that on a losing streak is one of the worst possible scenarios.
“How many left?” I grunt, trying to ignore the searing fatigue throughout my abs. I’m so distracted, I can’t even count my fucking sit-ups today.
“Two more,” Mark urges.
My heart feels like it’s going to explode in my chest. To say I’ve been overdoing coffee would be an understatement. But without it, I would be horizontal. I’ve been trying to get extra sleep to compensate for all the stress, and the irony is I’m sleeping less than ever. It’s turned into a vicious cycle of caffeine and fatigue that I can’t seem to break.
A knock at the training room door interrupts us, and the door beeps as someone enters the keycode. When my father steps inside, there’s something across his face I can’t read—or maybe I don’t want to, because then I’d have to admit it’s bad.
“Can I talk to Mark for a second, son?”
They step out into the hallway and have a hushed discussion that drags on for longer than I expect. I make a halfhearted attempt to eavesdrop, but their voices are low, and the metal door is thick. It’s impossible to make out what they’re saying.
Breath heavy, I reach for my phone, navigating back into the text Seraphina sent me earlier today.