Down and Dirty Read online

  “Sure, no problem.” I still don’t know why I’m here. His voice mail was cryptic.

  “Sit down.”

  I lower myself into the black leather chair in front of his desk, and wipe my sweating palms on the front of my pants.

  He lets out a deep exhale and removes his glasses, tucking them into the front pocket of his shirt. “So, I have news, kid.”

  I nod, taking a deep breath. Part of me knew this conversation was coming. Call it a gut instinct or something, but I knew my time with the Ice Hawks couldn’t last, as much as I wanted it to. I have no idea if I’m being sent down to the affiliate team or what his news is, but the expression on his face and his somber tone say enough. It’s not good news.

  “As of this morning, we’ve placed you on waivers. The other teams in the league have twenty-four hours to either make a claim and pick you up, or you’ll be moving down.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but realize I have no fucking clue what to say. It means my days as a Seattle Ice Hawk are over, at least for now. My time playing with the team I love, in the city that’s become my home, with the guys who have become my best friends, is done. It stings much more than I thought it would.

  But Coach goes right on like he didn’t just change my entire world. “It’s just business. You’ve done well for yourself, and I know you have a future in the league. Try not to sweat it, okay?”

  “I, um . . .” I clear my throat. “Thanks for the opportunity.” It sounds like something you’re supposed to say, and I add, “I’ve loved being a part of this organization.” That part is true.

  He holds up one hand. “I know. It’s a lot to take in, and probably unexpected, but there’s something else.”

  Apparently, when word to the league went out that my contract was up for grabs, he got a call right away. From a coach he’s friends with, and somewhere he thinks I’d be very happy, but he doesn’t want to say where just yet. He goes over the fine print on how this all works, but I barely hear a thing.

  “Any thoughts?” he asks.

  “I need to speak to my wife.”

  “Oh, so you are married. The rumors were true then?” His mouth lifts with an amused expression.

  “You . . . heard?” I scratch my temple.

  Coach Dodd nods. “Of course I heard. I just maintain a very strict don’t ask, don’t tell policy when it comes to my players’ personal lives.”

  I nod. “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “But this marriage . . . I take it it’s not the Vegas-quickie-ceremony joke I heard it made out to be?”

  I shift, uncomfortably. “No, sir. It’s the real deal.”

  “Is she pregnant?”

  God, he’s about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. “No.” At least, not that I know of, but we have been having a lot of sex, and I wouldn’t hate it if she was.

  He nods. “Understood. Well, then speak with your wife, and we’ll talk through all the details in the morning. It’s all going to work out fine, okay, kid?”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  The only thing running through my brain on the drive home is Aubree.

  Worst-case scenario is I’m not picked up by another team and have to move to Wisconsin to take a pay cut and play for our affiliate team. Best-case scenario? Well, there is no best case, because I’m going to have to move. That much is certain. And I have no idea if Aubree will quit her job and come with me, or if she’ll finally just say fuck it to this whole experiment and walk away from our marriage for good.

  When I pull into my building’s parking garage, I can’t make myself get out of the car and go inside. Instead, I pull out my phone and dial Aubree while a knot forms in my stomach.

  She answers on the third ring. “Hey,” she says casually. “What’s up?”

  “Can I, ah, talk to you?”

  “Um . . .” She hesitates. “Now? Can it wait until tonight? I’ve got a couple of documents I need to finish up.”

  “What about lunch?” I ask, looking at the clock on my dash. “Have you eaten yet?”

  She must sense the worry in my voice because she concedes. “I haven’t. Do you want to come by the office? We can grab something quick and talk then.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there in . . . thirty, depending on traffic. That work?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you then.”

  The drive to Aubree’s office is fairly simple, and though I’ve never been here before, I do know the area well. I find parking behind the two-story concrete block building and then let myself inside. There’s a reception desk, but no one working behind it, so I wander around until I find her office. Her name is etched into a silver placard outside the door.

  Aubree Derrick.

  I pause, staring at it for a second.

  We had the discussion once about if she’d ever want to change her name, not because I would ever pressure her to do so, but because I was genuinely curious about her stance on it. She said that as a modern, independent woman, she couldn’t really ever see herself taking a man’s name. I told her that was fine with me, but as I stare at this little sign, I find myself wishing it read AUBREE COVINGTON. And maybe if it did, everything wouldn’t have to fall apart.

  “Oh! You’re here,” Aubree says, rising to her feet and coming around the side of the L-shaped desk that takes up most of her small office. “Traffic must have been clear,” she says, lifting up on her toes to press a quick kiss to my lips.

  “Yeah, it was nonexistent.”

  I take her left hand, giving it a squeeze, and run my fingers along her wedding ring.

  “Are you okay?” She meets my eyes with a look of concern. “You sounded a little . . . stressed on the phone.”

  I nod. “Yeah, but something’s come up.”

  She licks her lips. “Something good or something bad?”

  I consider her question. “I don’t know yet.”

  An older man dressed in khakis with hair graying at his temples steps out of a nearby office and into the hall. He must have overheard us talking and has come out to investigate.

  “Oh, David,” Aubree says, appearing a little flustered. “This is Landon.” She gestures toward me. “And this is my boss, David Stone.”

  I extend my hand toward him as he approaches. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Landon, was it?” he asks, returning my handshake.

  “Yes. I’m Aubree’s husband.”

  “Oh.” David’s eyes widen and he lets out an uneasy laugh.

  Obviously, Aubree never told him about me. I wish I could say that didn’t bother me, but it does. It really, really fucking does.

  “Well, that’s um . . .” He clears his throat as if stalling. “You guys must be getting excited for the big move then.”

  “The big move?” I ask, my gaze darting between Aubree and her boss.

  “Yes, to Vancouver,” he says casually.

  Completely confused, I slowly repeat, “Vancouver.”

  David’s brow furrows even more. “Aubree’s accepted a promotion to open and run the first international office for us.”

  All the blood drains from my face, and my stomach sours. “She has.”

  I don’t pose it as a question because the pained look on Aubree’s features says it all. She’s been pretending this entire time. Playing house with me while simultaneously planning to leave. And not just leave me, but leave the entire fucking country.

  Her boss is still talking, saying something about what a great opportunity this is, but I can’t hear anything over the blood thundering in my ears. And when I look up, all I can see is the painful truth reflected back at me in Aubree’s eyes.

  “Landon,” she says, taking a step closer.

  I hold up one hand. “You know what? I just realized I don’t have time for lunch. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  Without waiting to hear her answer, I turn, my feet already carrying me toward the door while my heart sinks into my stomach.

  “Wait! Landon, please,” Aubree calls af
ter me, but I don’t stop.

  Completely numb, I speed through every light on the drive home, reaching my place in under twenty minutes. I’ve only just gotten inside the front door when it opens again.

  Aubree’s here.

  I guess I’m not the only one who knows his way around a gas pedal.

  She approaches slowly, like she’s struggling to get her legs to work. I know the feeling well, because I’m struggling to make my lungs work. A shaky inhale is the best I’ve got.

  “Why are you here?”

  “We need to talk. Please let me explain,” she begs.

  I lean one hip against the kitchen counter, watching her. She’s visibly upset. Her hands are trembling at her sides, and her mouth is pressed into a firm line.

  “Congratulations on the promotion,” I say, my voice devoid of emotion.

  She makes a small sound and shoves her hands in her hair. “Landon, please.”

  “David seems nice. And Vancouver is, well . . .” I pause, scratching my temple. “I really don’t fucking care, to be honest.”

  A single tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is pained, and I don’t bother hiding it.

  She swallows and wipes away the tear with her thumb. “Because I had no idea what we were or if we’d even work. Because I needed more time. Because I was scared. Because I thought if I—”

  “How long have you known?”

  She pauses for a second to compose herself. “I was offered the job right after we got back from Vegas.”

  “That’s perfect. You never took this marriage seriously, never took me seriously. You never gave me a shot like you said you would.”

  “I did, Landon. I was.”

  “But it doesn’t matter now.”

  She takes a step closer, and I force my gaze away. I can’t look at her right now.

  Her words come out in a whisper. “What can I say? What can I do?”

  “Tell me the truth,” I say, my eyes narrowing on hers.

  She licks her lips, thinking. “I thought if I never gave you my heart, I could never get hurt. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “That’s just perfect.” Sarcasm drips from my tone.

  “Are you mad?” she whispers, taking another hesitant step toward me.

  “Oh, I’m fantastic.” The words are a bitter lie I force from my throat. I’m broken. Destroyed. I gave this marriage everything I had, and it still wasn’t enough. “It’s better that I know all this now.”

  “Landon,” she says, but I hold up one hand.

  “Just go. I don’t want you here,” I say, my voice raspy but firm. I don’t look up, but a few seconds later, I hear her footsteps retreat and then the sound of the front door clicking shut.

  Then I grab my phone from the counter and hurl it at the far wall, where it shatters with a loud, satisfying crack.

  19

  * * *

  Kicked in the Balls

  Landon

  The following morning, I blink against the sunlight and grab my phone from the bedside table where it’s ringing. I fumble to answer it, ignoring the shattered screen.

  “Hello?”

  Coach Dodd’s voice booms through the speaker. “I’ve got some good news for you, kid.”

  “Yeah?” I say, rubbing one hand over my face. I was kind of hoping yesterday had just been a dream. Sadly, it wasn’t, and now I have to deal with the consequences of whatever’s about to come next.

  “How does Vancouver sound to you?”

  Is this some kind of joke? “Excuse me?”

  “They came through for you, kid. The coach is a friend of mine, and he knows how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. He’s not just taking you as a favor to me or anything like that, I want you to know that. You’ve earned a spot there.”

  But Vancouver? I think. What are the chances?

  They’re an expansion team that opened up two years ago. I don’t know much about their coaching staff, but the Vancouver Rebels are highly regarded. They’re good. Good enough to make it to the playoffs last year.

  Dodd goes on about how they’re a solid team, that they play well together and have some of the more experienced players in the league. Which is why they’re looking to round out their lines with some younger, up-and-coming talent—a.k.a. me.

  “Wow. I’m . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, you have time to figure that out. I’m sure the press will want some kind of statement, but in the meantime, I’m sending you an email with the details and copying your new coach, Bill Montgomery. Monty is an old college drinking buddy of mine. He’s all bark, no bite. Don’t worry, kid.”

  “Thanks for everything, Coach.”

  “You bet.”

  We end the call, and I force myself out of bed and into the shower. By the time I’m toweling off, my phone is ringing again.

  It’s Owen.

  “Shit, man. Canada? Really?”

  This is all so confusing. But then I glance at the TV and realize he has to be talking about my move and not Aubree’s, since there’s a scrolling bar on the sports channel announcing moves, and my name is one of them. Plus, I doubt he even knows about Aubree’s promotion.

  “Yeah, I know. Crazy, huh?”

  “I’m not sure if I should be happy for you or pissed off, quite frankly.”

  I shrug. “Same, dude.”

  This is how things go in hockey. You grow close with a group of guys, and it seems like nothing could shake that. But then you blink, and someone’s getting traded, or someone’s hurt and can’t play, or someone’s retiring from hockey altogether. It’s just the nature of the game.

  “What did Aubree say?”

  I sit on the edge of my bed, my gaze still glued to the TV screen. “I wouldn’t know. We broke up yesterday.”

  “What? What the hell happened? You guys seemed so solid.”

  I grab the remote to turn off the TV and begin pacing my room. The weight of her betrayal stings all over again, as though I’m still standing in that office hallway, watching her boss shoot me a pitying look.

  “It just . . . didn’t work out.” I force out the words.

  “Fuck. Hey. I’m sorry. Do you want me to come over? Or we could meet up and grab a beer?”

  I glance at the clock. “It’s ten in the morning.” I shake my head. “And, no, it’s . . . well, it’s not fine, but it is what it is.”

  He scoffs. “I’m coming over. You want coffee or what?”

  I hesitate, then decide it’s easier to just give in. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks, man.”

  While I wait for Owen to arrive, I glance at my phone. Aubree’s been texting me since yesterday. I haven’t replied to any of them. But I scroll through the dozen or so texts again.

  Landon, can we talk?

  I’m not taking the promotion. I told David to offer it to someone else. I’m not going.

  I know you’re hurt, and I’m so sorry. This is my fault, but will you please talk to me?

  Did you see my message? I’m not going to Vancouver.

  Well, I am. After that sour thought, I keep scrolling.

  Are you there? I really want to talk this through.

  Please don’t shut me out. I know I messed up. And I’m truly sorry.

  Are you okay?

  And the hardest one of all to read?

  I miss you.

  Fuck. Reading those words is like getting kicked in the balls with a hockey skate. I ignore the sharp, painful sting in my chest and delete all the messages without replying.

  Thirty minutes later, I’ve gotten dressed and ordered a new phone online by the time Owen buzzes my apartment. I buzz him in, and a few minutes later, my front door is opening.

  “Hey, hey,” he says, carrying two large coffees and a greasy brown paper bag.

  “Thanks,” I say, accepting one of the coffees. “What’s that?” I nod toward the bag as my stomach starts to growl. I missed lunch yesterday. And di
nner. Because I was too busy sulking and drowning my bad mood in whiskey.

  “Oh, dude, tell me you’ve never been to Tito’s before? Their breakfast sandwiches are the best in the city.” He reaches into the bag and hands me a foil-wrapped sandwich.

  “Never been there, but thanks.”

  He nods and unwraps his own sandwich. “I still had so much to teach you about Seattle, and now you’re moving on.”

  “I know. Crazy, right?”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes. He was right; this is the best breakfast sandwich I’ve ever had. Too bad that’s still not enough to make up for my sour mood.

  When Owen’s done, he wipes his hands on a paper napkin and throws his trash inside the bag. Then he leans back against my couch with a sigh. “So, let’s talk this out. You and Aubree . . . I thought you were happy.”

  “I was.”

  His dark brows pull together. “So, tell me what happened.”

  “She got promoted at work.”

  He gives me a confused look. “Okay, so that’s generally a good thing, right?”

  “It is, except for when she hid it from me for the past two months, and her new job is in, well . . .” I chuckle dryly. “Vancouver, of all places.”

  He makes a low sound. “Well, if that’s not a sign from above, I don’t know what is.”

  “It’s not a sign, Owen.”

  “The hell it’s not.” He scoffs. “It’s fate, dude.”

  I roll my eyes.

  After a few minutes of silence, Owen lets out a long sigh. “Seriously, why is it so hard for hockey players to admit they have feelings?”

  Setting down the cup of coffee, I give him an annoyed look. “I admit it, okay? I caught feelings. Big fucking deal. You happy?”

  “Not really. Because you’re clearly miserable right now, dude.”

  I shrug but don’t deny it, because he’s right. This whole thing has me shook. “Yeah, but . . . there’s nothing I can do about that now. Aubree is the one who lied to me, not the other way around.”

  Which means she should be the one to fix it. Only I have no idea how she can fix this. Because, fuck.

  “Take a deep breath for me,” Owen says, his grayish-blue eyes narrowed on mine are filled with real concern.