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Gang targeting all the guys on the team . . . .
Instantly, Bennett knew. He knew and all of the sounds around them—the hum of the overhead lights, the soft noise from the equipment room—receded and distorted in his head, as if he were underwater. The pressure in his lungs, a hysterical madness, strangled his insides and made it impossible to breathe. This wasn’t a gang of thieves. This was Nico, breaking into certain players’ homes and scaring the shit out of everyone. Motherfucker.
Nico and Bennett hadn’t spoken or texted since the night of the double jerk. Stupidly, Bennett assumed it meant Nico was letting him handle this, but he should’ve known better.
Jesus Christ. Lucas’s family had been home at the time.
“Benny, you okay?” Lucas’s hand landed on Bennett’s shoulder and gave a gentle shake, so Bennett refocused his attention on his left winger.
“I should be asking you that. Are you and Kendall really okay? The kids?”
“The kids don’t know anything, and Kendall called an alarm company, so we’re spending a fortune to upgrade the existing system. Until that happens, they’ll stay at the hotel and my parents are coming up tomorrow.”
“That sucks. Odds are the thieves won’t come back.”
“That’s what I keep telling Kendall, but that doesn’t make her feel any better right now. Man, I just hate being away from them. I keep thinking about what would’ve fucking happened if I woke up or went downstairs.”
“You can’t think about that. You’re all safe, and that’s what matters right now.” He thought about their upcoming road trip. “You should take tomorrow morning off. Skip morning skate. I’ll tell Coach.”
Lucas’s face sagged in hopeful relief, like he’d just received a gift he hadn’t dared ask for because it was too rare. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. Be with your family, Bells.”
“Thanks, Benny.”
They stared at each other awkwardly for a beat, so Bennett added lightheartedly, “But you’re still not forgiven for being out of position on that power play.”
“Fuck off.” Lucas shook his head, but he was chuckling. “Dick.”
Bennett checked the clock on the wall. Three minutes before they needed to line up to get back out on the ice for the third period. He hurried to his stall and grabbed his phone, opening the text thread between him and Nico. It had been silent for days.
He wrote, What the actual fuck? Breaking into houses?
He waited, heart pounding in his ears, for a response. Nothing appeared—no dots, no angry Italian. Just silence.
The guys were getting up and grabbing their gear. Bennett was out of time. He had to get back on the ice and finish this shit show of a game. Before he could overthink it, he typed one last message.
Bennett: We need to talk
Bennett: Come by the apartment or tell me where to meet you
Then he put his phone down and got into the back of the line, as was his duty as captain.
As soon as the game ended, Bennett raced down the tunnel and into the locker room. He didn’t even take off his gear before he lunged for his phone.
Nothing. No response from Nico. No text message, no missed call. No voicemail. Bennett typed angrily, thumbs pressing into the glass.
Bennett: I know you are seeing these messages
Bennett: You owe me answers asshole
With his stomach in knots, Bennett strode into his apartment ninety minutes later. Nico hadn’t responded once tonight. Still, Bennett expected to open his door and find Nico waiting in the same chair, the same drink in his hand. The same I want you to take off your clothes look in his eye while offering up a tiny smirk because he knew Bennett wouldn’t say no.
Except the apartment was empty. Totally and completely devoid of another person. And there was no evidence anyone had stopped by, either. Not a single hint, no note, not an empty glass. No lingering trail of expensive Italian cologne.
He’s ignoring me. Bennett couldn’t believe Nico would dare. What, were they teenagers? Couldn’t he act like a fucking adult and explain himself?
A burst of anger overshadowed the anxiety inside him and Bennett nurtured it, let it bloom in his chest until his skin burned. Nico had gone too far. And now the boys were so freaked out that they’d lost 1–8 tonight to fucking Nashville, who were at the bottom of the Western conference. It was embarrassing.
