Stand and Defend (Lakes Hockey Series Book 4)

“Good game, boys! Good game!”

Coming off the ice after a win feels great, feels even better when you’re undefeated. We’ve hit our mark against Florida. I’m not ashamed to admit I love sending teams home on the plane with an L. My goal didn’t hurt. It’s hard to be humble when you’re the best. I wait until every guy is off before I follow them into the tunnel. Captain’s the last to leave the ship—and last to leave the ice.

In the locker room, the guys cheer while I check the whiteboard. Normally, I’d be the first one to suggest we hit up the bars, but these days, I take care of some housekeeping before I party. Work hard, party hard, like Jordan said. Wish I could stop thinking about her. I gotta make sure we are ready for our next away game.

“I’m skipping bikes tonight, I’ll burn it off with Bridg,” Lonan Burke says. He’s obsessed with his wife.

“Don’t you have to wait to have sex after having a baby?” O’Callahan asks. Lonan and Bridget had their son, Ethan, not long ago.

“Hit our six weeks on Sunday. God . . . her fuckin’ tits right now . . .”

“Listen up! Before you fuckers get too riled—flush ride or cold tub!” I instruct, then turn to Lonan, pointing a finger at him. “Mandatory ice bath. Nobody wants to bike next to your boner.”

“Fuck you, too, Cap.” I’m still not used to them calling me captain, I’ve always been Banksy. A stupid nickname, originating from Bank Teller, based on the number of commas in my family’s bank account. Bank Teller morphed into Banks, and eventually Banksy.

I chuckle as I untie my skates. After dragging my sweater over my head, I remove my padding, taking the time to listen to the team to get a read on where everyone’s head is. I’m also doing cold therapy; my muscles need it. I grab a Gatorade and go into the therapy room in my boxer briefs. Lonan is getting into his therapy tub when I enter.

“Fuck, I hate these.” Lonan groans, sinking into the cold water.

“Try doing it with seven bars in your cock,” I growl, submerging. “Acts like a fuckin’ heatsink.”

“Hard pass. How do you jack off with that shit? Your dick looks like Inspector Gadget.”

“Very happily.” I love my ladder, and so do all the women that climb it.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s way more sensitive. Feels awesome. You should get one, I bet Bridget would like it . . .”

“How about you don’t mention my wife while talking about your dick?”

“Fair. How’s dad life?” I say, changing the subject.

“So far, it’s great. Having a kid is a trip.”

“I’m happy for you, man.”

“Thanks.” He pauses. “I understand why Conway’s retiring. Traveling is a lot worse when you have a kid. I just want to be home with them.”

I shake my head. “You better not fucking retire. I can’t have two guys leaving at the end of the season.”

He half smiles. “Nah, I’m not done yet.” Looking forlorn, he picks up his phone, texting his wife, I’m sure. I can’t imagine what his life is like. I don’t want to. It’s better to be a lone wolf with a job like this. I see the benefit in having the stability of a relationship, but missing out on all the different pussy? Fuck that. I love variety.

Speaking of, I’m annoyed by how long it’s been. We had a rare one o’clock game, but Top Shelf will still be packed with people celebrating our win, so I can find a bunny.

Two beers, three-quarters of a pizza, and one Erica—the hot-as-hell puck bunny next to me—and I’m still not in the mood. She’s the kind of girl I usually go for, but it’s not doing it for me. With one arm around her, squished together in a booth with the team, my palm drops to Erica’s thigh. I grip it. Nothing. No excitement, no anticipation. Maybe I need to see a doctor. Fuck, is this erectile dysfunction?!

Can’t be, I still jack off normally. Although, I’m ashamed that before the game, I saw Jordan’s face when I came. How fucked up is that? My phone has been burning a hole in my pocket ever since I got her number. She’s off-limits. Which makes her more desirable. I can’t figure out this weird attraction I have to her. I mean, yeah, she’s gorgeous, but it’s something else.

Pity? No, that’s not it. Maybe because my brain gets off on breaking pretty things. The thought of corrupting daddy’s ivy-league princess gets me hard. All that money spent on finishing school only to be finishing on my cock with a big smile on her face. I’m sick.

I shake off the visual of Jordan bouncing on my dick. I should see if this bunny wants to get out of here, this has to be one of those things where if you don’t use it, you lose it. Maybe I’ve forgotten how good it feels to have my cock sucked or something.

“You having one?” Wilder holds a shot glass in front of me. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

Fuck it. I shake my head and pull my phone out, letting my fingers do the thinking.

Me: Hey.

Three marquee dots blink, and I smile. Why do those dots give me the jolt of anticipation I’m looking for? Jordan’s response to “Hey” shouldn’t be more exciting than the prospect of taking home the bunny next to me. I’m hanging out with too many married dudes. It’s messing with my head.

Jordan: Hey?

Me: How are you?

Jordan: Fine . . .

Jordan: How are you?

Me: I’m bored.

Jordan: How can you be bored? You just finished a game.

Me: You watched it?

Jordan: I caught the last half. Kapucik did great on that power play.

Me: And . . .

If she saw the last half, then she saw the two goals I made.

Jordan:  . . .

Me: What about me?

Jordan: What about you?

Me: Okay. I see how it is.

Erica snuggles closer. “It’s really crowded here,” she says. It’s not that crowded. I retract my arm from behind her and lean forward so I can text easier.

Jordan: Sorry. Kinda having a bad day.

Me: Bryan?

Jordan: Everything.

I crane my head forward to glance outside. Clear skies. Temps are nice . . .

Me: Want something to take your mind off it?

Jordan: You’re not my type.

Me: I got my bike back from the shop and am going for a ride. Wanna join?

Me: And btw I’m everybody’s type.

Jordan: Bike like bicycle or motorcycle?

Me: It’s a Ducati

Me: (motorcycle)

Jordan: I know what a Ducati is.

Me: So you wanna go for a ride, smartass?

I bet Jordan would make a good backpack. Maybe she rides, pretty sure her dad has bikes. My foot taps while I wait for her response, but this time there are no dancing dots at the bottom of the screen.

I wait.

And wait.

After a couple minutes of radio silence, I assume she’s not interested. Oh well. I’m about to stuff my phone in my pocket when it vibrates again.

Jordan: Are you a safe rider?

Me: The safest.

Well, I am when I ride two-up. My last beer was washed down with half a pizza.

Jordan: I highly doubt that.

Me: I’d be safe with you.

Jordan: K. I’m staying at my parents’. Here’s the address.

She sends me a pin with her location. I’ve got my spare helmet with me, and it won’t take too long to get there.

Me: Be there in 20. Wear something warm. Gloves if you have them.

Jordan: I’ll wait outside. If I’m not there, go to the cemetery at the end of the road.

The corner of my mouth curls up. Finally, something more interesting than sitting here. I’ve been wanting to get in a couple rides before it gets too, cold anyway, and there’s only a handful of nice evenings left. The cemetery thing is a little weird, though.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” I tell Erica.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know where you’re going. I’m meeting a friend.”

She furrows her eyebrows and serves me a fuck-you glance.

“See ya at practice tomorrow, boys.”

We tap knuckles, and they give me a small wave, returning to their conversation about some of the new hockey gear the org wants us to switch to. I wasn’t paying close attention. When I get out to my bike, I chuckle at the second helmet strapped to the side. I figured somebody like Erica would wear it on the way back to my house to get my dick sucked. Instead, I’m taking my best friend’s girl out for a platonic early evening ride. Although, we’re no longer best friends—and she’s not his girl anymore.

Exactly twenty minutes later, I turn onto the road that leads to the huge Landry estate. The Landrys—and a few others—are considered the ultra-wealthy in this area. Someday, my sisters, stepbrother, and I will inherit the Teller fortune, but for now, my wealth comes from the NHL. All the money I have, I’ve earned. My house is nice, but the Landrys’ house is more similar to my parents’. Fucking massive.

Jordan and I grew up surrounded by people who use the word summer as a verb and shop on James Edition instead of Amazon. But where my family’s wealth stops at material things, her family’s doesn’t. They buy power, influence, and time—yes, time. The world waits for them, not the other way around.

Her parents have a net worth of over a billion, yet she’s sitting on her ass on the dirty curb, waiting for me at the end of the long private drive. She stands as I pull up, wearing only a sweatshirt and leggings, but at least she’s wearing a pair of gloves.

“You gonna be warm enough in a hoodie?” I ask, syncing up the intercoms on the spare helmet.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah.”

I adjust the straps and hand it to her. She shoves it over her head and works the clip under her chin, making sure it’s tight. She looks kinda cute. I test the intercom function.

“Can you hear me?”

“Ha! Is this like a walkie talkie?”

“Bluetooth, grandma. Ready to get on?”

“Yeah, how do I do it?”

I cock my head to the side. The fuck?

“Doesn’t your dad have a bunch of motorcycles?”

“Yeah, he collects them. He doesn’t ride them.”

Typical.

“So, you’ve never been on a bike before?”

Her head shakes back and forth. Thankfully, she can’t see my big-ass smile through the reflective visor on my helmet. This will be fun. I relax my jaw before flipping up our visors.

“Do you trust me?”

Her gaze bounces between my eyes, and after a second, she nods.

“Okay, come over on this side.” I tap behind me. “Make sure to keep your leg away from the exhaust.” I show her where to step, and she swings her leg over, straddling the seat behind me. She’s left a gap between us, sitting right on the edge, like she’s trying to not get too close. “Where are you?”

“Here.”

I can’t see where here is. Reaching behind me, I hook under her knees and yank her forward, wrapping her arms around my stomach.

“You’re supposed to be here.”

She clears her throat.

“Ready?”

“Wait, wait! Is there anything I need to do?”

I turn my head to the side. “Hold on around my waist. In turns, look over my inside shoulder and lean with me. Keep your feet on the foot pegs, even when we’re stopped. And don’t wiggle your ass around. I’m sure that last one is gonna be really hard for you to follow but try your best.”

“Okay. Waist. Inside shoulder. Lean. But what if I forget something?”

“I’m not going to be taking any fast corners on your first ride. Just focus on holding on and keeping your feet on the pegs. Cool?”

She blows out a breath. “Uh-huh. Okay, I’m ready.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just don’t kill me.”

I chuckle as I hit the kickstand with my heel to put it up, engage the clutch, shift the bike into first gear, and take off slowly. We head to the end of the road, and as soon as we pick up speed, she squeezes me. Solid grip. I check in at the last stop sign before we hit the main road.

“Still good?”

“Still good.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

I take the back highways—heading to the quieter smooth roads where I ride when I need to think. We’ll be going slow until we get out of the evening traffic around the cities. As the sun sets, the chatter of teeth come through the bike intercom.

“Sure you’re warm enough?”

“I’m fine. Keep going.” She shivers again. I should have made her grab a jacket.

I huff. “No, you’re not.” If she’s cold now, she’ll be freezing once we accelerate.

There’s a small fishing pond up on the left, so I pull off the road and park alongside it.

I hop off the bike and hold out my hand for her as she steps off. Removing my helmet, she copies me.

“What are we doing?”

“Warming you up.” There’s a spare thermal shirt I keep rolled up tight under the seat, so I grab it and take off my jacket and offer it out to her.

“I’m really okay, I like the feeling of being cold.”

“Well, I don’t wanna listen to your teeth clacking in my ear, so put it on.” I shake the jacket in front of her, and she accepts it.

Tugging my T-shirt over my head, I catch her checking me out briefly, and I grin. “Thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but I was only looking at your tattoos.”

The right side of my ribcage and my right arm and shoulder are covered in a tapestry of skulls, a custom piece by my stepbrother, Logan, woven with a crown, anatomical heart, and Boreas—the God of Ice, to fill the full space. My left arm has a half sleeve consisting of three flowers, one for each of my siblings, including Logan, on my forearm.

Logan’s an award-winning tattoo artist with his own shop. He’s also got a body piercer who does great work—she did my ladder. I’m ninety percent sure he’s got a thing for her, but dude is so tight-lipped he’ll probably never do anything about it.

I slip the thermals over my head and pull them down my chest, adding my T-shirt over top. I’m used to being around ice, my body can probably acclimate to the cold better than hers.

“Sure you were.”

She zips my jacket up to her neck—thankfully, her hoodie fills it out—and pops her helmet back on.

“You’re so full of yourself. Do you jack off to the mirror when you masturbate?”

I bark out a laugh and push my helmet over my head. “How else would I get off?” I say, straddling the bike. She laughs and scoots behind me when I sit down. This time, she doesn’t need me to help her, and as soon as her arms are wrapped around me, I pull away from the shoulder.

We’ve been taking mostly easy roads, but when we get close to sixty miles per hour, a squeak of excitement comes through the intercom, followed by a small giggle. I grab her knee, oddly wishing I could see her expression.

“What’s so funny?”

She laughs again. “This is nice. It’s very—” She releases a breath. “Freeing.”

That’s exactly what it does for me. When life’s pressures get stressful and I want to drown out all the noise, going for a ride reminds me I’m still alive.

“I come out here when I’m overwhelmed. It makes me feel small, in a good way. Gives me perspective. Most of the time, when I get back home, the other shit doesn’t matter so much.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I needed this.”

“You’re welcome.” Jordan isn’t nearly as tense as she was before, but I wonder what happened that made it a bad day.

We take some of the quieter county highways and enjoy the sunset. I point to a line of trees out in the distance.

“My grandparents used to own all that land. They had a farm with a ton of acreage.”

“You come from farmers? And here I thought you were a broken, stuck-up cake eater like the rest of us.”

I chuckle. “Oh, I am. But my mom had a much humbler upbringing.”

“So your father’s side is loaded.”

It’s complicated.

“Kinda. My biological father, Jerry, was an asshole. When my mom divorced him, she had three kids and no place to go. So, my grandparents sold a few acres, and that money was used to give her a fresh start. A couple years later, Mom married Bruce Teller—cake eater—and he adopted me and my sisters. He worships my mom and raised us like his own. He’s who we call dad.”

“Do you still talk with your biological father?”

“No, we cut all contact. He died four years ago.” None of us went to the funeral. I don’t need to get into that. I clear my throat and ask what’s really on my mind. “That’s old news. Tell me about your bad day, what happened?”

She sighs. “It’s not so much that it was bad, but I’ve been dodging calls and visits from Bryan and Veronica all week. I have to go back to the condo, but I don’t want to. And I have to find a new place to live, which is a pain in the ass. Guess I was hoping I could hide out at the café and eat scones for a few more weeks.”

“So do it.”

“I have to face the music. I still have to officially break it off, it’s looming over me.”

“Eh, let him sweat a little longer. He’s losing his fucking mind over it. He texted me that night—raging and pointing fingers. He’s been going nuts trying to find who ratted him out.”

She groans over the intercom. “I love that his priority is trying to find out the person who gave him away . . . Before my parents left to spend the winter in Monaco, they said I needed to work it out like an adult.” She clears her throat. “And I kinda led them to believe we’d be getting back together. So they’re gonna be pissed when they find out that’s not happening.”

“Why would you do that?”

Her shoulders shrug against me. “Peace? I needed to not have them in my ear about it every second of the day. They eased up once I stopped arguing.”

They’re wrong on this one.

“So, what are you going to say to him?”

She presses to my back as I take a tight turn.

“Why do you want to know so much?”

“I dunno, curiosity?”

“Curious? Or a whore for drama?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Well, first I’m going to return his ring. And after that . . . I wanna hear what he has to say. Not just the stupid messages over the phone. I want to see his face when he apologizes. I want to look in his eyes and see if he’s truly sorry. You and I both know Bryan likes his things—especially things he can’t have. He doesn’t like being told no. And I’m still mad.

“I think he thought this marriage was always guaranteed to him. I can accept having a marriage devoid of butterflies and magic moments. But I refuse to be taken for granted. I’m not going to be humiliated just because he thinks the rules don’t apply to him.”

Shit, her bar is so low she’d need a shovel to find it. As for Bryan, she’s hit the nail on the head. Of course he thought the marriage was guaranteed, he’s one of the most entitled people I know—and I know a lot of entitled people. It’s a cringy attribute I ignored for much of our friendship. He loves things he can’t have, but I didn’t think he’d take it this far.

“But you are going to end it?” She can’t seriously take him back after that.

“I thought about trying to salvage it. However, the thought of going to therapists and counselors, all things he’s been promising in his voicemails, we would have so much work to do in order to get back to where we were. And frankly, I don’t think where we were was that great to begin with. It’s not worth it. We aren’t a match made in heaven, we’re trusting our parents to know what they’re doing. But what if they don’t? We’re both unhappy. I have to trust my gut. As much as these days have sucked, I’ve started to feel like myself again. Something I didn’t even realize I’d been suppressing until I was away from him.”

It blows my mind she’s being so forthcoming with her feelings. Am I the only person she’s had to vent to? I agree with what she’s saying. Bryan fucked up, he’s left me enough desperate voicemails, but I enjoy hearing a man’s sob story even less than a woman’s. If she’s not in love with him, why would she marry him?

“So, when are you ending it?”

“I dunno.”

“Set a date, Jordan.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to,” she whines but eventually concedes. “I’ll do it this week.”

“What day?”

“Fuck, I dunno, Tuesday.” She thumps my stomach with emphasis.

“What about Veronica?”

She fidgets, and I realize I’ve pried too much.

“Actually, do you mind if we stop talking about it? This is fun, I want to enjoy the freedom. Tell me something positive. What are the three best things that happened to you today?”

She thinks this is freedom, as if later this week she’ll return to captivity. Everyone has kept her in a cage. Even her family pressuring her into this marriage. It’s none of my business, but Jordan’s a nice girl, she doesn’t deserve this lousy arrangement. Worse is that it seems no one’s in her corner. The other bridesmaids were all his family members. Where the fuck are the rest of her friends to support her on this? Unless he’s been keeping her away from them. I hope that’s not the case.

“Okay, three good things . . .”

“Yup,” she chirps, as if she’s already pushed it to the back of her mind. I wonder what else she’s pushed back there.

“Well, the Lakes went up in the standings, so that’s⁠—”

“Doesn’t count. Three things that happened to you personally.”

I groan. “Fine. I made a goal. Next . . . Okay, so now that I’m captain, I’ve been really working on my aggression on the ice. There was a hit I took in the first period⁠—”

“Yeah, what the fuck was that about?!”

I grin. “You said you only watched the second half.”

“Huh. I must have lied.”

I clutch her knee again. “Well, after that hit, I could have beat his ass. And the team would have backed me up on it, but I chose to skip the penalty box and take the high road.”

“I was wondering why you didn’t take a swing.” She seems impressed. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“Fuck, it was brutal!” I laugh. “I wanted to throw a punch so bad.”

She chuckles. “Okay, what’s the last thing?”

“Getting to be out on the bike again. I’ve been driving my car for a month, and I missed this. And the company is . . . well, you’re tolerable when you’re not whining like a little bitch.” I shrug.

She pulls her arm back and slaps my helmet.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“Wow. Risking your safety to hit me? Hope it was worth it.”

“It was,” she grumbles. “You said you were curious.”

“Huh. Must have lied,” I parrot.

This time when I squeeze her, it’s on her thigh. I don’t know if I meant to do that or not, but I keep the conversation moving so I don’t have to think about it.

“Your turn. What are your three things?”

“Hmm . . .The wedding diet is off, and I’ve been eating whatever the hell I want, and since I’m an emotional eater, I’ve already gained ten pounds.”

I like that she considers gaining weight as a good thing.

“Well, the ten looks great.” Her ass looks even better than before. I can appreciate a thick ass.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

I rear my head back slightly. “Why?”

“Aren’t you on a constant diet? And don’t you usually go for the skinny itty-bitty models?”

“No, I go for confidence. Confidence is sexy as fuck. And yes, I diet occasionally for work, but that’s because it’s part of my job as an athlete, not because I want to fit into a fucking suit.”

“Point taken.”

“What else is good?”

“Ooh! I’ve been able to hang out with my dog all week. I missed her a lot, so having her sleep on my feet every night has been a big comfort. She’s been my buddy through all this.”

“What kind of dog is it?”

“She’s an Alaskan Shepherd mix. We got her from a rescue when I was in high school.”

“That’s cool. What’s her name?”

“Chicken Salad.”

I nearly choke on my spit. “I’m sorry?”

She laughs and the vibrations against my back make me laugh even more. “I forget how funny it sounds because she’s been Chicken Salad for so long.”

“So, if you need to tell your dog to come inside, you open the door and yell Chicken Salad?”

“I mean, I would. My parents hate the name—they call her Sally because it’s more dignified.”

“If she’s your dog, how come she doesn’t live with you?”

“Bryan is allergic.”

Huh? “Bryan’s not allergic.” Apparently, he’s got all kinds of secrets. “He had a bloodhound growing up.”

“What?!”

I know we were best friends and all, but Bryan’s treated her beyond shitty.

“You didn’t know that?”

She shakes her head near my shoulder and mumbles something about him being a motherfucker. “That’s good to know.” There’s a hint of anger behind her words, but it’s not aimed at me.

“Are you a cat or dog person?” she asks.

“Dog person. Cats don’t have eyebrows, and it freaks me out.”

“You’re weird.”

“You’ll never unsee it.”

The first stoplight we hit, she keeps one arm around me but uses the other to brace against the gas tank instead of falling into my back.

“Look at you, already knowing where to put your hands.”

“I’m a natural.” She pretends to flip her hair back.

I grin. “All right, you still have one more, so make it good.”

She groans. “Don’t let it go to your head—if it gets any bigger, we’ll tip over—but probably this. Going for a ride.”

“Great, right?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome.” The light turns green, and we take off.

There’s a lull in conversation, but it’s not awkward. After a moment, she breaks the silence.

“So, are you going to hold my hand for the rest of the ride or . . .?”

“Huh?” Fuck. I look down and my thumb is absentmindedly stroking her gloved fingers, the ones pressed to my stomach. I pull my hand back. How long has that been going on? Before the stoplight? “Oh.” I laugh it off. “I’m used to fucking the girl who rides in your spot, must be a habit . . . Okay. So, no diet. Wanna grab some food? I ate earlier, but I’m always extra hungry after a game.”

“Sure, I could eat.”

“You pick.”

“Tacos?”

I smile. “A woman after my own heart.”

“I told you, Cam . . .” She pats my stomach, and my abs tighten. “You’re not my type.”