Rick Miller’s never been an expert on any type of relationship, but it took me a while to figure that out.
We listen to the sounds of the elevator changing floors, and Streicher nods. “I’m happy you’re here, too, man. So is Pippa.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, the grumpy fucker’s version of a full-blown smile, and something eases inside me.
Maybe this captain thing is the kick in the ass I need. Maybe this is what finally fixes whatever’s broken in my head. A new challenge.
“I thought you just took the trade so you could bug Hartley all year,” he adds.
I crook a playful grin at him, thinking about the way she yawned tonight. What a fucking brat. “Maybe a little.”
I think about playing for another team and not having someone to tease, and I get that flat, uninspired feeling I had after I scored the goal tonight.
“I can see it. You being captain.” He hits the button on the elevator panel again, impatient.
I know I’m not the right guy, but it lit that flare of competition and challenge in my blood again. I have to try.
Our phones both chirp.
“That’ll be the announcement,” I tell him as he pulls his phone out.
“Yep.” He scrolls, reading the email. “Rory Miller, new captain of the Vancouver Storm.”
The elevator finally arrives and we step in, Streicher still reading as I hit the button to bring us to the parking garage.
“There’s a new trade,” he mutters.
“Who is it?” Between the juniors and our years in the league, we’ve played with or against almost everyone.
“Connor McKinnon.”
I freeze, gaze snapping to Streicher’s as a bad feeling moves through my gut. “That’s—”
“Yep.” He glares at his phone, rereading. “Hazel’s ex.”
My shoulders tense. I fucking hate that prick.
Yes, I’m a cocky, antagonistic asshole who needs to be the center of attention. But McKinnon? McKinnon is fucking scum. He went to our high school. For two years, I watched Hazel make goddamned heart eyes at him while he barely cared. He talked down to her. Dismissed her. On and off the ice, he’s aggressive and entitled.
Pippa said they broke up sometime toward the end of Hazel’s first year at university. I don’t know what happened, but Hazel doesn’t date hockey players anymore.
Protective instincts rage through me. I don’t want him anywhere near her.
“Who’s his physio?” I ask, clearing my throat and trying to keep my voice casual.
Streicher sighs, and I’m already shaking my head.
“Hazel,” he says.
Fuck. I need to do something about this.
Tomorrow, at Streicher and Pippa’s engagement party, I’ll talk to her.
CHAPTER 2
HAZEL
“Congratulations,” I say into Pippa’s hair as we hug at her engagement party the next evening. “I love you and I’m so happy for you two, but if he breaks your heart, I’ll photoshop pictures of him in diapers with a dominatrix and release them on the internet.”
We pull back and she grins. The intimate restaurant I booked for the event is filled with our family, Vancouver Storm players and their partners, and a few friends from the tour Pippa opened for this summer as a singer-songwriter while she promoted her new album.
“I’m just kidding,” I tell her, tugging on a lock of her long, wavy, honey-blond hair.
She laughs. “I know.”
Under the soft, dim lighting in the restaurant, she’s glowing. Maybe that’s what happens to people when they fall head over heels like my sister did. Jamie needed an assistant when he moved to Vancouver; little did he know it would be his high school crush who he’d end up engaged to.
Behind her, Jamie looks on with a small smile, leaning down to give me a big hug.
“I’m not kidding,” I whisper, and he snorts.
“Thanks for organizing this.” His eyes go to Pippa, who’s deep in conversation with our parents and Jamie’s mom. “It means a lot to us.”
Emotion rises up my throat. “You’re welcome. I really am thrilled for you two.” I give him a tentative smile. “I know she’s everything to you and you’ll take care of her, and I’m happy you’re going to be my brother-in-law.”
He arches an eyebrow, but there’s a teasing spark in his eyes. “Even if I’m a hockey player?”
I huff a laugh. At the beginning of their relationship, I made my thoughts on hockey players—that they’re treated like gods and feel entitled to whatever and whoever they want—very clear to Pippa. “You’re the exception. I wouldn’t let just anyone marry my little sister.”