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HUDSON
“You do realize staring at it isn’t going to make her text back, right?” I say, nodding toward the phone in Chaney’s hand, which he’s been staring at for the past fifteen minutes while everyone around us is celebrating our hard-earned Stanley Cup win.
The win I should also be celebrating, but instead, I’ve been at this table with the rookie, nursing the same beer for far too long.
He hesitates before dragging his eyes to meet mine. “I believe in manifestation, okay?Power of the mind.” Tapping his finger along his temple, he smirks, then glances back down at his phone. “Fuck, you’re right. Sheisghosting me. How the fuck does this keep happening to me?”
“I dunno, maybe you’re trying too hard? Too clingy? You know, you really are like a younger version of Adams,” I say, mentioning my best friend, Graham, who once was the rookie but is now retired and living in Tennessee. “Of course,Iget stuck babysitting the rookie. Not once, but twice. History repeating itself,” I groan, then take another pull of my lukewarm beer.
“Yeah, well, we’re the last men standing, so it’s me or daddy daycare. Take your pick, Rome.”
Annoying as he is, and surprisingly charming too… he’s also right. Even if I won’t ever be admitting that to him. I glance around the crowded room and find my friends and teammates throughout the swarm of people.
Reed and Briggs are gleefully chasing the youngest kids around the room while Holland, Reed’s wife, watches and sips her sparkling water with a small smirk on her red lips. Maddison, Briggs’ wife, clinks her glass against Holland’s, and they both laugh while watching the fiasco unfold. Asher and Auden are in deep conversation with Coach Evans while their son, Alex, has his head bent with Evan, Reed’s nephew, looking at the glowing game held between them.
Man, everything has changed. Shit is so different now, and I think there’s a little part of me that wishes that things stayed the same. We used to spend our nights in the bar, getting into whatever trouble we could find. Young, freshly drafted to one of the best hockey teams in the country with the world at our fingertips—Chicago wasour playground.
Now, we spend our days at aliteralplayground, keeping their kids out of trouble instead of making our own. The guys joke all the time that when everyone retires from hockey, they’ll just open a daddy daycare since these fuckers have enough kids to fill their own.
I mean, honestly, what the fuck is my life?
Reed, Briggs, and Asher are my best friends and my teammates on the Avalanches, Chicago’s reigning Stanley Cup champions. But they’re more than that—they’re family. Mybrothers. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but as much as I love my nieces and nephews, I’d rather not be stuck home on a Saturday night changing diapers and spoon-feeding toddlers. I’m the cool uncle that lets them stay up way past their bedtime and then sends them back home on a sugar overload for their parents to deal with. Other than that, I’m out.
So, Chaney’s right. It’s just us left. The only two of our crew that don’t have a ball and chain in the form of wives and children. We’re the last standing bachelors.
He’s the rookie of the team, the last to join our tight-knit circle, and even though I give him shit, I actuallydolike the kid. But I wasn’t just saying that when I said heisa mini version of Adams. He might be worse, and none of us can handle not one but two of those dramatic fuckers. Not that Graham is really around anyway right now. He went and fell in love with Reed’s younger sister, Emery, and they had twin girls. Now they live in his hometown, and we only see them on holidays.
“What’s your deal tonight, anyway?” Chaney asks, his brows bunching together as he finally glances up from his phone again. “We’re supposed to be celebrating. We won the fucking Stanley Cup, and you’re being grumpy as fuck, ruining my vibe.”
I narrow my eyes at him, starting to feel slightly claustrophobic in the bow tie and tux I have on. The truth is, I don’t know what my deal is.
Hell, he’s right.
We won the Stanley fucking Cup.
Some people wait their entire lives to be able to say that. Most never even get to hold that cup above their head. And we did it.
I played the best season of my entire career, and yet… I don’t know. Something still feels off. Maybe I’m just in a mood tonight, and I don’t feel like being in a room full of people, plastering on a fake smile for the cameras. But it seems like I’ve been in a mood for a while now, if I’m being honest.
“Just not feeling it, I guess. I think I’m going to head out.” I set my beer down on the table beside us, standing straighter to adjust the button of my tux jacket.
Chaney shakes his head, “Don’t be lame, Rome. I know you’re old and shit, but stay, man. Enjoy the party. You more than earned it.”
“I’m only fucking thirty-three, you dick. I’m notold. Not my fault I’ve got hair on my balls older than you.”
He looks offended for a moment before a smug grin spreads on his face, “Yeah, well, you’ve got some wrinkles right there, dude. I know this girl who specializes in Botox…”
“Fuck you.”
The asshole only grins harder, then tosses back the amber liquid in his clear plastic cup, draining it in one quick gulp. “Well, since you’re dipping out because you’re lame and my Tinder date hasofficiallyghosted me, my night’s now wide open, and there are plenty of beauties right here that require my very undivided attention.” He straightens his tie and winks, gesturing to the crowd of women who are staring at us from across the room.
Puck bunnies who want nothing more than one night with any of us, and any other time, I might have been game, but tonight?
I’m not feeling it.
And I don’t blame the rookie for not wanting to stick around to listen to me being a grumpy asshole. Hell, I can hardly stand to be around myself right now. I should be celebrating with my friends, yet all I want to do is head home and sit on my couch with a six-pack and game highlights.Alone.
