Blissful Hook (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 2)
Blissful Hook: Chapter 1

present

“Are you sure you want to leave already? We’re still booked in for a few more days, and your brother has already paid for the room. You don’t want to waste his money. This trip couldn’t have been cheap.”

My mom’s scolding is as consistent as ever as I shove the rest of my stuff into my open suitcase. No shit, the trip wasn’t cheap. Brother dearest got married in Mykonos. How else was he supposed to flaunt his wealth to everyone he knows?

“I never asked for River to pay for my room. If I remember correctly, I didn’t even want him to book me one.” I scoff. “I told him not to, actually. He’s the one that wasted his money.”

“Can’t you just be happy for a few days?” Her eyes shut slowly and her shoulders drop like the weight of her disappointment is too much to bear. “You’ve been bringing everybody down since the moment you stepped off of the plane,” she replies with a weighty sigh. It’s odd hearing her speak in complete sentences. Usually, she’s too high to hold a conversation—babbling to herself as if she’s the speaker of the house and itching at the skin on her forearms until they’re raw and bloody.

“My bad.” I push the top of my suitcase down over the clothes I just threw inside and zip it up. Gripping the handle in a tight fist, I pull it to my side and stretch my neck when the wheels slam against the expensive-looking tile floor. “I already changed my flight. There’s nothing I can do.”

Mom closes her eyes and inhales a deep breath through her narrow nose and places a hand on a jutted hip bone. The dramatic action nearly makes me laugh in disbelief: Nora Bateman almost looks like a disappointed mother.

What a goddamn sight to behold. It only took twenty-three years.

“Alright, Tyler. Whatever you want to do. You’ve never been one to listen.”

Yeah, it’s almost like I had no one to teach me how. “Alright. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Say goodbye to River before you leave. I’m sure he would appreciate the effort.”

“I’m sure he would.” I snort louder than I intended to and drag my suitcase behind me on my way to the door. A huff echoes behind me as I pull it open and step into the empty hallway. I don’t bother looking back when the door clicks shut behind me.

She can enjoy the rest of her vacation drinking bottle after endless fucking bottle from the limitless bar until she crawls to River’s room, begging for the toilet bowl. And when he flounders at the task of having to take care of his alcoholic mother for once in his life, maybe, just maybe, she’ll realize that I’m the one that takes care of her, and that she’s been taking me for granted.

I shove my palm towards the elevator buttons, wincing as the metal cuts into my skin. The doors open and I all but throw my suitcase inside, grinding my jaw. I didn’t plan on coming to this fucking wedding for a reason. My older brother and I detest each other. I can barely remember a time when I didn’t want to knock him on his ass, and leave him bleeding on the floor.

When it comes to showing our hatred, though, that’s where me and River differ. If I don’t like somebody, they know it. There’s no point in playing games. It’s a waste of time. But River likes to plan — to scheme. He didn’t want me here; I knew that. This was all a power move for him. To show me how much better he was than me. The success, the wealth, and now the wife. A wife who looked like a prisoner at that altar, staring at my brother with eyes vacant of anything but greed. I knew the wedding meant nothing, that it was probably for some sort of money making plan they were both in on.

I guess it just shows how little my big brother knows about me. I may not run a fortune five-hundred company or have my name on a tower. But I have enough money to retire now and never run out, and my name is stitched into the backs of thousands of people who have more in common with me than he ever will. And as far as the wife charade goes, if he was trying to make me jealous, he couldn’t have been farther off.

Euphoria: A feeling you get from a good fuck, or from stepping off of an airplane after spending almost an entire day strapped into a seat so tiny only your left ass cheek fits. Then there’s the crying kids, and the old guys with sweaty armpits that won’t stop snoring in your fucking ear. Even the deafening music in my headphones wasn’t enough to tune it all out. Maybe if I wasn’t already on edge from my trip, it wouldn’t have bothered me as much. Nah, who am I kidding? Yes, it would have.

My phone hasn’t stopped vibrating since I switched it back on. As message after message flash across the screen, I watch Mom guilt me for leaving. I scold myself for getting her an international phone plan for the trip. I could have at least avoided this for a few days if I wasn’t so damn eager to please her. I know it’s not worth it—the hurt, anger, betrayal. It doesn’t matter what I do, she will always choose River.

I’m about to turn my phone back off when a different number pops up on the screen. ‘Yeah?’ I grumble, answering the call. I spot my Uber from the front doors of the airport and drag my suitcase to the car.

‘Just wanted to make sure you landed safely. Flight that bad?’ Matt jokes, a quiet giggle sounding behind him.

‘Well, clearly I’m alive. You can rest easy now.’ I pull open the back door of the black SUV and crawl into the backseat, dumping my shit down on the seat behind me. ‘The flight was brutal. I’m dead tired.’

I buckle my seatbelt and we start moving. I let out a content sigh. Almost home.

“You didn’t sleep on the flight? Come on! That’s the only way to fly. If I don’t sleep, I puke.”

The only tolerable way to fly, yeah. But in the rush of packing and hauling ass out of Mykonos, I forgot my insomnia meds on the bathroom counter, so that wasn’t happening.

“Over share, Matt.”

He laughs loudly. ‘Get some sleep, Ty. Text me sometime this week and we can make plans.’

I nod my head even though Matt can’t see me and close my eyes. ‘Sounds good. Thanks for checking in.’

‘Anytime. See ya,’ he says before hanging up. I shove my phone into my duffle bag before I become dead to the world.

Once I get home, I sleep straight through until the following afternoon. And after reintroducing myself to the living world, I spend the next two weeks on the ice. I never take breaks from hockey—not unless I have no other choice—so I guess pushing myself to get back into my routine so quickly is my punishment for leaving town. I can’t afford to lose focus, I’ve already made it so far, way further than I could have dreamed. Hockey is all I have. I can’t fuck it up. I don’t have a backup plan.

So, I wake up before the sun rises, drink a mixture of raw eggs and protein powder, then spend the rest of the day with blades under my feet and the taste of metal in my mouth. I don’t even remember the last time I felt the sun on my skin. Probably in Greece. I wish I cared more about my own well-being than I do, but it is what it is.

I showed up at the arena hours before practice was supposed to start. Usually the arena is empty, but a deep, thundering voice echoes down the hallway as the Vancouver Warrior’s new hopeful star player, and my best friend, rips into whoever was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that call.

My eyes widen the second I hear him yell his younger sister’s name. Shit.

“You’re way too young to be doing this, Gracie!”

“I’m old enough for you to talk to me like an adult, Oakley!”

I stop dead in my tracks as the familiar female voice screams back at him, probably unknown to the fact that the call is on speakerphone.

“You want me to talk to you like an adult? That’s rich considering you still act like you’re sixteen! What would Mom think?”

“Don’t bring up Mom right now and stop trying to micromanage me! You’re not my dad.”

My teeth touch and I wince at the harshly thrown insult. The call is immediately taken off of speaker phone. As the blades of my skates dig into the scratched-up cement floor, I debate whether I should save myself the trouble of dealing with the aftermath of Gracie Hutton’s erratic behaviour on the ice, or spend the next hour listening to Oakley rant about their conversation in hopes of lightening him up before practice.

“Fuck me,” I huff and proceed to the dressing room. The door is open when I get there, and only Oakley’s angered breathing is to be heard as he sits hunched over on a wooden bench, fingers tangled in his wet, shaggy hair. He looks up briefly when he notices my presence. He nods once and lowers his jaded eyes back to the floor between his bent knees.

“Hey,” he mutters.

“You good?”

“Family drama. I’m fine.”

“Ripping your hair out is something you do regularly then? Shit.”

His fingers fall from his hair and into his lap. Leaning his back against the wall, he lets his head fall back against the blue brick. “You know the girl that Grant was bragging about? The one he took on the houseboat for three days back in June?” he asks, now staring at me with his lips peeled back in outrage.

“The one with the elastic back?” I recall, my brows furrowed.

“Jesus Christ, Tyler,” he hisses. His shoulders shudder as he gags.

Oh. Forcing back my glare, I flop down beside him. “I mean, she was a dancer.”

A sharp pain shoots through my shoulder when he hits it with his, a pointed warning written across his tightened features.

“I’m joking.” I throw my hands up in surrender.

“You’re not funny.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to worry about Grant.”

Nobody should worry about that fucking dweeb. Of all the hockey players I expected the puck bunny that is Gracie Hutton to fuck, Grant Westen wasn’t one of them. He barely even makes it off the bench.

Her standards must have dropped since the group of us: Oakley, Ava, Gracie, Adam and I got back from Mexico. Colour me surprised. To think that after getting her guts rearranged by me, she hopped on Grant’s inch long dong. Nice. I’m sure Ava would have something to say about that. If she knew, that is.

“You don’t get it. You don’t have a sister.”

“Just a bastard of a brother instead,” I scoff lightly.

“True,” Oakley laughs while raising his arms above his head in a stretch. “It’s just not a topic I want to be brought up around me. I don’t give a shit who any of you sleep with as long as it isn’t my damn sister.”

I can’t say that it’s a topic I really want brought up either. I mean, it’s my job to protect his sister while he’s not here. That’s what best friends do. Or what they should do. It’s what I’m going to be doing from now on. No more mistakes. I’m already up to my eyebrows in guilt from the last time. Any more and I’ll end up choking on it. “Duly noted.”

“As much as I want to sign with this team, I’m not going to if it means that I’ll have to hear about more of that.”

“Who do you think you’re fooling? You’ll sign with this team no matter what,” I tease with an inflated amount of confidence, trying to bring my focus back to the present instead of thinking about past regrets.

His laugh is a sign that I’m right on the money. Oakley would do anything to play in Vancouver again. He wouldn’t throw that opportunity away for anything.

“Don’t tell that to Seattle. They still think they have a shot in the dark.”

With a heavy scoff, I roll my eyes. “They’ll have to go through me first. Don’t worry, buddy. I got you.”

Oakley throws his arm around my shoulder as he nods and murmurs dreamily, “Don’t make me blush, Ty.”