Glove Save (Carolina Comets)
Glove Save: Chapter 22

I fucked up.

I know I did. I knew it the moment she walked out of the doc’s office. She was hurt, and I was the one who did the hurting.

I wasn’t upset with her—never her, but I handled it like I was. I treated her like shit, just like her ex did. She didn’t deserve it then, and she definitely doesn’t deserve it now.

“Hey,” Miller says, dropping into the spot next to me. “I heard the news. You good?”

I nod, even though I’m not good at all, not just because of the injury that still really pisses me off. I’m not good because I hurt Stevie. I need to make it right, but we’re leaving for a road trip tonight because we have a game tomorrow. I don’t have time to fix it.

The guys move around the locker room with sullen faces, and I can’t say I blame them after we ended up losing. It’s always rough to hit the road after a loss, and tonight it’s even worse knowing I’m going to be out.

Sure, we’re in a good place in the standings, but it’s not just about that. It’s about losing momentum and team spirit. This isn’t just a blow for me. It’s a blow for them too.

“If that fucking linesman didn’t pull me off him, I swear I would have put his face through that glass,” Rhodes promises. “Fucking shithead. He knew what he was doing.”

I’m mad at the guy who ran me over, but sometimes a play just goes bad. I have to believe that’s what happened tonight and it wasn’t malicious. It’s the only thing keeping me on this bench and not going after that dude.

Coach Heller bursts into the room, making eye contact with me first. His jaw tightens when he sees my shoulder in a sling. He’s just as pissed about it as I am.

“Get showered,” he says to the room. “We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

Then he’s gone again.

A few guys pat me on the head as they walk by, heading for the showers. Everyone moves around me, stripping off their gear and getting ready to hit the bus.

I take my own quick shower as best as I can, given the state of my shoulder, then put my bag in a pile with all the others before heading for the bus. I’m one of the first ones on, and I replace my favorite seat at the back, drop down onto the cushion, and rest my head against the window while I wait for everyone else to arrive.

I don’t need surgery, just rest. That’s the best part about this situation. The doc thinks I could be ready to go in as little as two weeks, but he doesn’t want me to get my hopes up just in case.

It could be worse, I tell myself. It could be during playoffs.

I close my eyes, instantly hit with the memory of Stevie’s expression when I threw the tools. She looked terrified, and I knew in the moment it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. The rage had taken over, and I was lost in it.

I need to fix it. I need to ensure she knows I’m an ass and I wasn’t mad at her.

My phone buzzes against my leg, and I fish it out, hoping like hell it’s Stevie so I can apologize, but my hopes are dashed when I look at the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hello? HELLO?! That’s all I get?” My mother’s shrill voice rings in my ear.

I sigh, going to rub at my temple, then remembering I can’t. I’m trapped in the damn sling.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey?!” My head throbs at her volume. “I swear, Jacob, I am going to whoop your ass.”

“You’d beat up a broken man?”

She gasps. “Oh god—what’s broken?”

“Well, technically nothing, but I am in a sling.”

“Oh, honey.” She sighs. “What’s going on?”

“Shoulder.”

“Surgery?”

“No.”

“Time?”

“Two weeks minimum.”

She exhales slowly. “Thank god. It could have been…”

“So much worse, I know.”

She’s quiet for a moment, probably needing a second to come to terms with the fact that I’ve been injured yet again in my career and she had to see it on television.

My teammates start piling onto the bus, a few of them nodding at me as they take their seats.

“How’s Stevie handling it?” my mother asks.

“What do you mean?”

She laughs. “Don’t play me, kid. I’m your mother—I know when something is going on, and it was very obvious to me and everyone else at my wedding that you and Stevie are head over heels for one another.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “We’re not in love, Mom. I don’t believe in love.”

She tsks. “Don’t be like that, Jacob.”

“Why not? It’s not like I’ve seen it work out much in my life.” I know my words hurt her the moment I let them fall from my lips. “Shit. I’m sorry, Mom. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t, but I guess it wasn’t fair for you to see me fail at replaceing my person so many times. That is why you don’t believe in love, isn’t it? Because of me?”

I swallow thickly. “I mean…”

She lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m sorry you had to witness my heartbreak over and over again, but this life is too long to be so lonely. I couldn’t stop trying just because it didn’t work out a few times.”

“Four times, Mom. Four.”

“I don’t need a reminder of my failed relationships, son.”

I clear my throat. “Sorry.”

“I am too. I’m sorry I made you feel this way about love. I’m sorry you feel as if you can’t have it just because I couldn’t make it work. It shouldn’t be like that. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to Stevie.”

“Mom…” I groan. “I told you, we’re not in love.”

She laughs. “You poor, poor delusional boy.”

My brows pinch together, annoyed by her words. “I’m telling you, I—”

“And I’m telling you you’re wrong. If you’d just let yourself put aside your silly beliefs and actually listen to your heart, you’d replace that you’re wrong. You love her.”

“I…” But my words of denial die on my tongue.

Is my mother right? Do I love Stevie? I like spending time with her more than pretty much anything else. If I’m not at the rink, I want to be near her, and hell, I like her kid, too. Macie is funny and whip-smart with a mountain of spirit.

But love?

I’m not sure.

“Do me a favor, Jacob. Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Can you listen to your mother for one second of your life?”

I chuckle. “All right. I’m closing my eyes.” I do, shuffling down into my seat more.

“Now, I want you to picture yourself lifting the Stanley Cup over your head. You’re happy. You just won the trophy of a lifetime, and you can’t wait to celebrate. After you take your skate with the Cup, who is the next person you want to see?”

“Probably Miller. He’s the one who is likely to score the game-winner, not that I’d tell him that.”

“Jacob…” She sounds as tired as I feel as the bus driver closes the door and we start to move. “Please.”

I want to roll my eyes, but she’d probably know. Instead, I shift in my seat and squeeze my eyes tighter, firing up the picture she’s just painted.

I see it, me holding the Cup. That part is easy to conjure—it’s something I’ve been dreaming about since I was a kid. I see myself skating around with a long, scraggly playoff beard, yelling at my teammates with glee. I see Wright is smiling, and, shit, even Rhodes has a grin on his face. Miller’s down on one knee proposing to Scout, and Fitz is standing there next to a blonde. Lowell’s holding Freddie in one arm and Hollis in the other.

Then, the crowd parts, and I see her.

Stevie.

She’s standing on the ice with Macie next to her, the kid bouncing on her heels with excitement, stretching her neck trying to replace me in the sea of Comets jerseys. They’re there for me because they’re my girls.

My eyes fly open, and I sit up.

Holy shit. They’re my girls.

“Jacob?” my mother says softly in my ear.

“They’re my girls.”

I swear I can hear her smile. “Yeah, they are.”

“It’s her, Mom. It’s them.”

“I know, son. I know it is.”

“I… How? When the hell did it happen?”

“Well, I’m guessing Stevie’s headache really cemented it.”

She laughs, and this time, I do roll my eyes. There was no fooling her with that excuse, huh?

“So, now you’ve realized it. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to fix it.”

“Fix it? What is there to fix?”

I groan. “I kind of…got upset earlier. Not at Stevie. It was my arm, but I…shit, Mom. I messed up. I got mad, and I let her see it. I took it out on her, and she didn’t deserve it.”

“You’re damn right she didn’t.” She huffs. “I raised you better than that.”

“I know…I know.”

“You’d better make it right with her and soon. There’s no reason to let her sit there thinking she’s done something wrong when you’re just a jackass.”

I smile at her name-calling because it reminds me of Macie.

“I know. I’ll make it right.”

“Good. If you’re lucky, she’ll forgive you. But if she doesn’t, remind me to send her flowers as an apology for raising such a shithead.”

Hell, I’ll send her my own flowers. She should get them anyway after dealing with me.

“Listen, David and I are pulling back up to the house. We were out when I got the notification, but I want you to call me tomorrow morning, okay?”

“I can do that.”

“Good. And, Jacob?”

“Yeah?”

“Fix it with Stevie, then tell that girl you love her.”

“I will. Love you, Mom.”

“But never as much as I love you.”

The line goes dead, and I settle back into my seat, feeling exhausted on so many levels—physically and emotionally.

I love Stevie.

I love Stevie.

I love Stevie. The woman who wanted nothing to do with me the first time I met her. The woman who lets her daughter call me a jackass. The woman who is smart and kind and gorgeous and perfect in every way.

I love her.

And I need to tell her.

Now.

“Stop the bus!”

Every head turns my way as I shove up out of my seat, racing to the front.

“Stop the bus,” I repeat to the driver.

“Greer, what the hell are you doing?” Coach Heller says, rising to stand.

“I need to stop the bus.”

His brows crush together. “What for, son?”

“I’m in love.”

Those same brows rise high. “Okay.”

“Like really, really in love, and I need to tell her.”

“You need to get off the bus because you need to tell a woman you love her?” His hand lands on my shoulder. “You okay? You’d tell me if you were having problems, yeah?”

I shake off his touch. “The only problem I have is that I need to stop this bus. I need to get to Stevie.”

“Stevie?”

“Scout’s sister, Coach,” Miller says, rising to his feet, his eyes boring into me. “You love her?”

I nod. “I do.”

He watches me, looking for any sign of deceit, I’m sure, but there is no sign because I’m not lying.

I fucking love Stevie Thomas, and I want to tell her before it’s too late.

“Please, Coach,” I say, stepping closer to him. “I messed up tonight, and I need to tell her I love her, and I can’t say it for the first time over the phone. I have to fix this before we leave…before it’s too late.”

“Greer, I—”

“Stop the bus, Coach,” Wright says, standing up too.

“Stop the bus,” Rhodes echoes.

Lowell pushes to his feet. “I’m with them.”

“Me too,” Fitz agrees, also rising.

Several other players get up out of their seats, showing their support.

With his hands on his hips, Coach looks around, taking in nearly every person standing.

“Surely you can’t keep the bus going if we’re all standing, right?” Miller looks at Heller. “Stop the bus, Coach.”

“You fucking boys…” he mutters. He runs a hand over his face, scrubbing at it several times before pinning his hard eyes on me again. “You know this means you can’t go on the trip, right? It could mean consequences like missing more games.”

I nod once. “I know.”

“And you’re sure?”

“Hockey means a lot to me. This team means a lot to me, and I want to see us win. But her…them…they mean everything, Coach. Everything.”

He sighs, hanging his head, shaking it. I swear he mutters something about what idiots we all are, but I don’t quite catch it.

What I do catch is him clearly saying to the driver, “Stop the bus.”

I stand in front of the familiar dark door, staring at it like an idiot.

I need to knock, I know that, but I can’t because what am I even supposed to say to her? Do I start with sorry, or do I just blurt out that I love her? What if she doesn’t love me back? What if she tells me to get lost and slams the door in my face? What the hell am I going to do then? Do I wait? Do I give up? Do I try to convince her to give me another shot or just respect her wishes?

I have no clue because I’ve never done this before.

Just knock, Greer. Just knock on the damn door.

With a steadying breath, I lift my hand, poised and ready to knock.

Here goes nothing.

I swing my wrist forward, but there’s no sound because my hand never connects with the door. It’s pulled open before I can even knock.

“You’ve got some real nerve showing your face here.”

I look down and nearly take a step back when I see the look on Macie’s face. She’s glaring at me harder than she ever has, her little arms crossed and her lips scrunched up with disgust.

“What do you want, jackass?”

“Hey, kid,” I say softly.

Her eyes tighten.

Right. Okay.

“Is, uh, is your mom here?” I ask, looking into the apartment. I don’t see Stevie anywhere or even a sign of life in there other than her.

“No,” Macie answers, and I have half a mind to tell her she should never tell someone her parent isn’t home, but I have a really strong feeling she’s not being honest with me right now.

“Do you know where she is?”

“Nope. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Her eyes flit to my shoulder just briefly. There’s a hint of sadness in her gaze, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes, replaced with ire.

“Are you mad at me?”

She snorts. “Of course I am. You made my mom cry.”

“Stevie cried?”

“Yep. When she came back from seeing you, she was crying. She let me stay until the end of the game, but I didn’t even enjoy it, and not just because you guys lost.”

I briefly wonder if this means she’s going to get her braces colors changed, but now isn’t the time to ask.

“I didn’t know she was crying.”

“Well, she was.”

Her little chin wobbles like she’s about to cry just thinking about it. I don’t want her to cry. I never want her to cry. I want this kid to have everything good in the world, and I’ll lay my life on the line to make that happen.

“I’m sorry, Macie. Truly. I didn’t mean to make her cry. I was…”

“A jackass?” she supplies helpfully.

My lips twitch at her tenacity. “Yeah, I was a jackass.”

She lifts her chin a bit, and her shoulders slump just slightly like she’s starting to come around.

“Is your mom really not here?”

“No.”

“Who’s here with you, then?”

“Aunt Scout. She’s in the bathroom.”

“Good. That’s good.” I nod. “Can you tell me where your mom is?”

Her eyes fall to slits again. “No.”

“Macie, please. I just want to talk to her. I want to apologize.”

Her arms drop to her sides, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating what I’ve just said.

She does this for several moments before saying, “You really want to apologize to her?”

“Yes. I really, really do.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because I hurt her.”

“Why else?”

“I…” I exhale sharply, running my tongue over my suddenly dry lips. “I love her. I love you. You girls…you mean everything to me. I want your mom to know that too.”

My words chip away at her hard stare, the anger slowly disappearing. We stand there, me waiting for her to say something, her just staring at me.

Then, after a solid, silent minute, she sighs. “She’s at Slapshots.”

“The bar?”

Macie nods. “She’s with Harper and Ryan.”

“Okay, okay. That’s good. Thank you.” I spin on my heel, taking off back toward the stairs.

I’m just about to them when I hear a small voice.

“Hey, Greer?”

I come to a halt, looking over my shoulder. “Yeah, kid?”

“I love you too.”