Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance by Jami Davenport (shoe dog free ebook txt) 📗

put my head in my hands and groaned. I had a splitting headache to go with my broken heart.

“Ah, man, I’m sorry. That’s brutal.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I wonder if Kaitlyn knows anything.”

“I’d prefer you not ask her. It’s over. I saw Naomi and Patrick together.”

“Together?”

“Not fucking, if that’s what you’re thinking. They were hugging and staring into each other’s eyes. It was pretty obvious.”

“That sucks on all kinds of levels.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ve been screwed by my brother and my girlfriend, taken for a fool.”

“Did you ask them about it?”

“Nah. She dumped me before I had a chance. Seems like a moot point. Her dad saw them, too, and talked to me. She’s torn between my brother and me, and I don’t want to be jerked around for God knows how long until she figures out which one of us she wants. From where I’m standing, Patrick’s looking like the winner of this game.”

I took a long gulp of tequila, hoping the liquor would dull my pain a little. Not that it’d worked well before, but right now it was all I had.

36

Already Gone

Naomi

I was inconsolable. I hid out in my dorm room all weekend and didn’t travel with the team to their last weekend of away games before Christmas break, claiming to have the flu.

I hadn’t planned on watching Pax play, but I tuned in anyway for a good torture session, reminding me of what I’d lost.

Paxton’s play on Friday night was unremarkable. What glimpses I saw of his face revealed frustration and futility. In the second period, Coach Keller moved him to the second line. Without Patrick scowling at him, he settled down and played decently. On Saturday night, Pax came out red-hot. I saw the determination on his face, as if during the last twenty-four hours, he’d had an attitude adjustment. He was everywhere on the ice, with power and gutty resolve. He took a few brutal hits and didn’t back down. He scored one goal on Friday and two on Saturday, while Patrick had one on Friday and none on Saturday.

Several times, I punched out a text to Pax and didn’t send it. We’d vowed to remain friends, yet we weren’t communicating. I’d hurt him when I’d broken it off, thinking I was doing the best thing for him. Now I wasn’t so sure. Perhaps I’d made a rash decision based on pride rather than logic. Maybe I hadn’t been protecting him but protecting myself.

Kaitlyn was with the team that weekend, so I wasn’t able to get her unfiltered opinion. Instead, I was a pathetic hot mess. I barely got out of bed and hadn’t taken a shower since Friday morning. Finally, Sunday afternoon, I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, took a shower, and washed my hair. I felt a little better. Even tried to study, but I couldn’t concentrate.

Instead, I did something completely out of the ordinary. I called my dad. If anyone knew about juggling hockey and a relationship, he did, even if he hadn’t done it well. He’d met my mom in the minors and married her his first year in the league.

He might be able to shed some light on what was going on in Paxton’s head. My dad didn’t pick up, so I left a message. He usually called back within a few hours.

Still restless and unable to crack the books, I called Kaitlyn. She also didn’t pick up, but she texted me within ten seconds.

Kaitlyn: At Biscuit. Join us. Pax is here.

I resisted the urge to ask if he was with anyone, but she read my mind.

Kaitlyn: He’s alone and looking like a whipped puppy. Really pathetic. What’s going on?

Me: I’ll explain later.

Kaitlyn: Are you coming to the Biscuit?

Me: I can’t tonight. Catch up with you later.

Kaitlyn: Later.

She didn’t know about Pax and me?

Or she had a more nefarious plot in mind, such as pushing us back together? Imagining Kaitlyn as a matchmaker made me laugh. That wasn’t her style. She didn’t get involved in others’ problems to that extent.

I went to the dining hall and had a salad from the salad bar, content in the knowledge I wouldn’t run into Pax. I slumped down in one of the plastic chairs in the mostly deserted area and toyed with my food.

“Hey, want some company?”

I looked up and sighed. I should’ve found a more private place so I’d be able to eat in peace. Patrick approached with a tray filled with food. He didn’t wait for an answer but sat down across from me.

“I heard you broke up with my brother.”

“Who told you that?”

“Actually, he did.”

“Oh. Are you two friendly again?”

“No.” Patrick scowled, but pain flashed in his blue eyes.

“Maybe it’s time you cleared the air and discussed what’s bothering both of you.” My suggestion was merely as a good friend. I cared about both of them and hated to see them hurting like this.

He shrugged and bit into his burger.

“Your differences are hurting the team.”

“We won, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but I watched, and I’m not Gene Smith’s daughter for nothing. I saw the rift between you two before Coach moved Paxton to the second line. Your team had to be feeling it. As captain, isn’t it your responsibility to seek solutions to grievances among team members? Even if it’s you and your brother?”

Patrick stopped in mid-chew. I’d hit a sore spot, and he didn’t like me pointing out where he might’ve failed as a captain.

He finished chewing and put down the burger, methodically wiping his hands with a napkin and taking a drink of water as he considered my words.

“You know I’m right,” I prodded. “You two were so close. This has to be eating you up inside. It’s too late for Paxton and me, but it’s not too late for the two of you.”

Patrick scrubbed his face with his hands. “I guess so,” he admitted grudgingly. “He was my best friend.”

“He can be again. This is a minor setback based on pressures in your