Page 18 of Frosty the Biker
Not that he couldn’t pick up the damn phone or even send her a text, but she’d cut him loose and should be the one to reach out first. He’d told her he didn’t want to play her games, but fucking hell, he thought she would’ve come to her senses already.
“Hey, Pookie, you with us?” Baz called out, and Jake jerked his head up at the nickname.
Fucking hell. That name would always remind him of Darcy, and the guys would never let it go.
“Yeah. Of course,” Jake yelled back, hoping his mental spiral wasn’t obvious. Baz’s eyes narrowed, but he gave Jake a quick head tip and went back to busting on Timmy. The man was relentless, but Jake breathed a sigh of relief that Baz wasn’t pressing for more.
“How about we try that again?” Harty sat down next to Jake and fixed the tape on his socks.
“What?” Jake asked casually, then polished off the rest of his sports drink. The clock in the upper corner of the locker room showed they had four minutes left before they had to head back to the ice.
Jake rolled his shoulders and waited.
“What the hell is going on with you? You’re moody as fuck. Everything okay?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.
“Is it Darcy?”
“Did Ally say something?” Jake asked.
“Uh, no. What the hell happened?” Harty asked.
“I don’t really want to get into it. Especially when we have a game to win, but we broke up. And before you accuse me of breaking her heart, she’s the one who ended it. I didn’t do a damn thing wrong except stupidly fall in love with her,” he gritted out, surprised that he hadn’t tried to brush it off with a quick we ended it, everything’s fine.
“Wow. Okay. Definitely need to unpack all of that after the game. I don’t think it was stupid to fall in love with her. I’ve never seen you happier, and I’d put good money on you two figuring your shit out.” Harty sounded sincere.
Jake let out a harsh laugh. “Doubtful. I’ve never been this twisted up about a girl.” The last part he muttered softly. But Darcy wasn’t just a girl. She meant so much more, and he’d thought they were finally on the same page. And this solo pity party was getting on his damn nerves.
He was finally getting what he wanted. Management was extremely happy with him, he had a couple endorsements lined up, and he was playing some of the best hockey of his life—well, he had been before this mess had happened.
He had to focus on that. On beating Vegas and moving onto the next round. Darcy was going to be stubborn as hell about how they didn’t belong together, and right now, he had to let her believe that.
“We’ll figure it out,” Harty said, nudging Jake’s shoulder. “And I’ve been through it with Penny. Darcy probably got scared that you were going to hurt her, right?”
“Maybe,” Jake muttered. But he’d never thought that he’d be the one to hurt her. Then he pushed his shoulders back. “I wasn’t going to hurt her. I fucking fell in love with her, and I thought we were on the same page.”
“We’ve all been there, and we’ll figure it out. Everything will work out in the end.”
“We’ll see. But right now, I need to focus on the rest of tonight’s game. We all do.”
“Damn straight, we do. So push that funk aside and let’s do this,” Harty said, standing up and shaking out his arms.
“What funk? I knew something smelled off,” Baz said, butting his head in as usual.
Jake stood up and playfully shoved the defenseman aside. “The smell is you. Probably that beard.”
“Always hating on my hair. One might think you’re jealous, Pookie.”
Jake refused to stiffen at the name, so he scoffed instead. “Definitely not jealous. Now, you boys ready to do this?” he asked, pushing everything but tonight’s game out of his head. Or at least trying to.
“Fuck yeah,” Baz yelled before he turned and headed down the hallway and to the ice.
For the next hour, Jake focused on the game. Vegas was a tough team, and he ended up pressed against the boards more than once while he battled for the puck. He did manage to score another goal—but so did Vegas. In the end, the Strikers lost five to three and were heading home down three to two. Game six was in two days, and they had to win.
When they boarded the chartered plane that night for the quick flight back to San Francisco, spirits weren’t great. So when Jake reclined his seat and closed his eyes, Harty didn’t press him for more answers about Darcy. Talking about Darcy with Harty had always been awkward, and Jake wasn’t in the mood to have that conversation anytime soon.
A few hours later, he walked into his empty condo. He’d had a glimmer of hope that she’d be in his bed—in one of his favorite shirts—but the bed was empty, the covers pulled tight by the housekeeper who came in once a week.