Power Play: A Second Chance Hockey Romance (Sinners on the Ice)
Power Play: A Second Chance Hockey Romance: Chapter 32

Now, November

“Hey.” I wave at Michael. The kid knits his eyebrows together, halting in his tracks. Then a wide grin splits his lips, and he races over to me. His sports bag swings back and forth, his hockey stick in his hand.

“Hi, Clay.” He slams into me and wraps his arms around my middle. “Mom and Dad didn’t tell me you’d be picking me up.”

“It was a spontaneous decision.” I smile at him, patting him on his back.

The real reason I’m here is definitely not for him to know. Colt is currently with Roman at the hospital; he was called there as his emergency contact. Our friend crashed his motorcycle, and now the doctors are running tests to make sure he’s all right and nothing is broken. With how optimistic Colt sounded on the phone a few minutes ago, I think Roman is okay. At least, I hope so. He’s a great guy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Michael tells me. “Maybe next time you can play with us.”

I consider his words for a second, then say, “Is your coach here?”

Michael nods.

“Let’s go. I’ll talk to him. Maybe we can figure out a good day for me to come to practice.”

“Really?” He seems so hopeful with his eyes bulging out of his sockets and a radiant smile on his face. “You’re the best,” Michael murmurs with delight. Then he turns around, ready to go back into the arena.

“Where are you going?” I catch his sports bag and pull him back to my car. “Let’s put your stuff in the back seat first. I’m sure you won’t need it.”

His cheeks redden, and he nods. “Thanks, Clay.”

Shaking my head, I open the back door and put Michael’s sports bag and hockey stick inside. Once I lock my car, I pocket my hands and stroll with Michael into the arena. At this point, I’ll do absolutely anything to avoid being at home.

This loneliness is fucking eating me alive.

I want a way out.

I park my car in the driveway of my house and jump out of it. It’s almost 9:00 p.m., and my brain is wired. I’m tired, but I don’t think I can go to bed anytime soon. I’ve been in a weird headspace for three weeks already, and I’m not sure what I can do to make it better.

Only games are bringing me joy. Even the ones we lose. I simply enjoy being needed.

My phone dings with new texts. I pull it out of my pocket and read them. A smile grows on my face as I do.

The guy was miserable when he came to crash at my place last night. Something happened between them, but I think he was ready to make amends. He was heading straight home today when he got into the accident.

Colton Thompson and his love language, what can be better? I laugh to myself, ready to hide my phone back in my pocket, when I notice another new text, one I didn’t notice earlier. It’s from Layla.

I walk to my porch and sit down on the second stair. My phone is in my hand, and I stare at the screen, hesitant to open her text. I’m not sure how many more hits my broken heart can take. Confusion and hurt are all I feel when I think about Layla these days.

Locking my phone, I look ahead of me, not seeing anything. The late November night air is a bit cold for California, but it helps me stay focused, keeps me from getting lost in my memories and thoughts. I haven’t seen her in person for three weeks, since I walked out of her house that night.

Hell, I was so pissed at her that I thought it was the end. I ignored her texts, didn’t answer her calls. But then she sent me Maya’s picture, with that bright pink unicorn pressed to her chest and the biggest smile on her face, and I caved. Melted like a fucking marshmallow. Because the reality is simple: I’d do absolutely anything for that little girl. She’s my little Princess too.

After that, Layla and I started talking again, but it wasn’t the same. Something in me broke that night. Anger, disappointment, hurt all mixed together, and I stopped seeing clearly. The words just spilled out of my mouth, and now I don’t know what needs to happen to get things back to how they were. Or maybe I do…and that pains me even more because I don’t think she’s ready.

Will she ever be, though?

She sent it two hours ago, when I was with Michael, eating his favorite ice cream at his favorite spot. For what it’s worth, I still send her a reply, even if she’s probably already home.

Her taking the initiative feels nice.

Standing up from the porch, I slip my phone back into my pocket. I’m hungry. Maybe I can cook something quick for myself. And for Maya and Layla, if they come.

The sound of a car slowing down reaches my ears. I halt in my tracks as a blue SUV stops in Dylan’s driveway. The back seat door opens, and my neighbor literally falls facedown on the ground. I frown.

What’s going on?

Some man in his fifties jumps out of the car, skirts it, and stops beside Dylan. He puts his hands on his hips, clearly not knowing what to do. Exactly what I fucking need. Maybe I should go inside? But I’m a good guy, and she looks like she needs my help.

I head toward her house. The man notices me, and I swear he appears relieved.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” I ask, stopping in front of him.

“Hi. Um, I guess it depends.” He smiles awkwardly. His thick gray mustache moves as he speaks. “I’m good, but this lady isn’t. Her friend put her in my car, told me where to take her, gave me some money, and then left. She talked to someone—I assume her friend—the whole ride, and then when I announced that she was home, she opened the door and fell out.”

Wow, Dylan knows how to choose her friends.

“Thank you so much for bringing her home safely.” I extend my hand to him. “She’s my neighbor. I’ll take it from here.”

“Thank you.” The man shakes my hand. Then he narrows his eyes at me, studying me intently. “I’m sorry…Are you Clay Rodgers? Do you play for the Thunders?”

“Yes and yes. That’s me.”

The man yelps. “Oh my God! None of my friends are going to believe me.” I smile, amazed at his enthusiasm. “I’m a big fan—I hope the team can pull it off this season. I believe in you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I take a step back. “I better help her. Should probably get her off the ground. It’s cold out.”

“Oh God, yes! So sorry!” He retreats back to the driver’s side and quickly slips inside his car. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The car drives away, and I’m left with an out-cold Dylan. I crouch to her, realizing with a surprise that her purse isn’t with her. My eyes roam over her slender body in a very short black dress, down to her legs and red stilettos. She doesn’t have any pockets. There’s her phone in her hand, and she holds on to it so tightly her knuckles are white.

“You’re a good man, Clay Rodgers,” I tell myself, hauling Dylan from the ground and carrying her bridal-style toward my house. “You will be rewarded for all the good that you do. Maybe you’ll be a fucking royal in your next life and won’t need to worry about anything because you’ll have people to take care of everything for you.”

I fumble with my keys. It takes some effort, but I eventually open the door and walk inside. I carry Dylan to my living room, then lower her onto my couch. Slowly, I take her phone from her hand and put it on the table; she doesn’t even blink. I go to my bedroom, grab a spare blanket from the closet, and return to the living room. The only thing that’s changed from a few minutes ago is that Dylan is no longer on her back. She lies on her right side, her hands under her head.

Taking a deep breath, I cover her with the blanket and step back. I grab her phone from the table and check the battery. Why am I not surprised it’s dead? I put it on the charger and, after a minute of hesitation, stroll to the kitchen. I’m ready to eat a fucking bull at this point.

Thirty minutes later, when I climb into bed, I’m ready to pass out. Dylan is sleeping peacefully on my couch. She didn’t even wake up when I dropped a spoon on the floor. Layla read my text, but no reply followed. I expected that, considering how late I texted her, but it still stings.

Maybe I’ll see her tomorrow if she decides to come to the game.

Who knows?

Walking into the living room, the first thing I see is Dylan sitting on my couch with her head in her hands. The heavy smell of alcohol fills the space.

“Hey, neighbor,” I say quietly.

Her eyes fly to me as she abruptly turns to her right. The look of complete bewilderment on her face forces a smile onto my own. This is gold.

“Hey.” Dylan clears her throat as I come closer and sit down on the table in front of her. “What happened last night?”

“Well, where do I even start?” And I tell her everything that’s happened since I saw her fall out of the car. “I brought you here, put your phone on the charger, and let you sleep. Hope you’re feeling better.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Dylan mutters, closing her eyes. “Clay, I have no idea how to thank you. You’re the best, I swear.”

“You’re fine.” I smirk. “Though take it from someone who is older than you and has had his fair share of wild parties: you need better friends.”

“I know.”

“Where’s your purse?”

She points to her phone. “Based on a text from Sam, my purse is at her apartment. She didn’t notice that I left without it.”

“I can give you some cash to get to her place?”

“I’ll call an Uber, don’t you worry.” A gentle smile crosses her lips. “I have a feeling that my debt to you is growing exponentially. You helped me with the flowers, you got me tickets to the Thunders game, you introduced me to Dean. And now this? You’re an incredible person, Clay.”

“How are things between you and Dean, by the way? Crawford definitely seems pretty happy these days.”

“We’re good. He invited me on a date tonight after the game.”

“Look at you, living your hockey romance dream.”

“Ew, you make it sound so cringe!” Dylan laughs, and I laugh along with her as I stand up from the table.

“How about a quick breakfast before you go get your purse?”

“I’d love that.” She flashes me a dashing smile, which dies instantly once she glances down at her black dress. “Can I take a shower first? I have a feeling I stink.”

“No comment.” I wink at her, and her jaw unhinges. Turning on my heel, I head to the hallway, throwing over my shoulder, “Let’s go. I’ll get you a towel and lend you something to wear.”

“I kinda hate you right now,” I hear her say.

“You’re gonna love me once you eat.”

I’m in the kitchen, cutting tomatoes for a salad. Spinach and cheese omelets are already on the table. Dylan’s been in the shower for twenty minutes already. I hope she’ll be out soon, or I’ll need to reheat everything.

The coffeemaker dings, indicating that the coffee is ready. The only other sound in the kitchen is the knife hitting the cutting board as I start cutting cucumbers. Suddenly, I pause, my hand freezing in midair. I hear voices coming from the living room. Who’s here?

I rush out of the kitchen, and when I hear Layla’s voice in the hallway, everything in me drops. You’ve got to be kidding me. This is the worst situation ever—she’s going to assume there’s something going on between Dylan and me. And I’d bet everything I have that she won’t be convinced otherwise.

As I step into the hallway, Dylan closes the front door. She’s wearing the black tee I gave her to put on after her shower. Her face lights up with a smile as she lifts a box of donuts in front of her. “Layla brought you these. She was on her way from preschool drop-off and wanted to stop by.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble, rounding Dylan and opening the door. As I hurry down the stairs, I see Layla’s car speeding away from my house.

Just what I fucking needed.