Delayed Penalty (Empire State Hockey #5)

Chapter 5 – Avery

Chapter Five

Avery

I t’s crazy how sometimes things just tend to work out in our favor, usually when we least expect it to. Like how I begged Peter to take me somewhere that I could have a couple of drinks, dance, and play pool and he told me no, only to end up doing it anyway with him. Hearing our song playing through the speakers at the bar, I turn to where I expected Harris to be while he grabs our drinks but he’s not there.

You’ve probably had enough shots, you’re already not thinking too clearly.

I look over and see the dart board is free now that the frat boys who were hogging it all night have finally moved on to the dance floor where they’re showing off their impressive moves to woo the girls, and as you can imagine, it’s failing miserably.

Grabbing the darts, I move to turn around when I feel a body behind me. A hard, firm, body.

“Why are you with him?” he whispers, his voice rough, raw with unspoken emotion and I’m taken aback. Why am I with him?

“Why does it matter?” I ask, because at the end of the day, I only got with Peter after he left me so why is it any of his business who I spend my time with, or who I decide to spend my life with?

At one point, you thought it was going to be him.

“It just does, Ave… why are you with him when I can see the unhappiness in your eyes? Why are you with him when you deserve so much more than some arrogant prick with wandering eyes?”

What do I say to that? That I hate how he can see the unhappiness in my eyes? I hate that for the last six years nearly everyone has thought I’ve been living out my dreams of being with Peter, when in reality it’s been a living nightmare I haven’t been able to escape from no matter how many times I try to wake myself up.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper, not sure when we got this close to each other since I can feel his breathe on my neck, his lips just a breath away from my ear. And I know if I took a tiny step backward I’d feel the hardness of his body pressed against my own.

But I don’t—this moment already feels too much.

“But what if I told you it does matter? That it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered?”

“I’d call you a liar,” I say, taking a step to the side and uncaging myself in with this man who I’m two seconds away from kissing while wearing a ring from another man. Turning around, I face him, his head hanging as he stands in the exact place I’d just left him.

Raising my hands, I hold the darts up. “Are we playing or not?”

He stares at me for a moment, indecision in his eyes like he wants to say something, but as quickly as the look is there, it’s gone. Replaced by his usual carefree grin.

“Lead the way, Ave. I’m not against watching you embarrass yourself in front of the entire bar.”

He’s not wrong. The me he remembers was horrible at darts, I still remember being at his apartment with the dartboard on the back of his bedroom door and I still almost hit his roommate in the face on the other side of the room.

As much as I’d like to say I’ve changed, I definitely haven’t. I still have no coordination, regardless of all those nights I spent heartbroken at frat houses and dive bars where all the guys gave me ‘tips’ on how to play darts. They didn’t last long because Peter got a new job and was no longer okay with us being just casual—my fun ended almost as quickly as it began. I’m still not sure why I said yes to dating him. I mean I knew from the beginning he was just a rebound after Harris—as mean as that sounds, it’s true.

He knew it too. That’s how he sweetened the deal, basically telling me he’d help me forget him. But, truth be told, he couldn’t. Hell, there’s a lot of things that man can’t do: clean up after himself, find my g-spot, give orgasms. I could go on and on, but number one on the list of things he couldn’t do was help me forget Harris.

Nothing could, nothing ever has.

But I also never got rid of Peter and that’s not something I can quite figure out. Why are we together when it’s so obvious neither of us are happy?

I snap out of my thoughts when Harris hands me the darts with a smirk. “You’re up.”

I try to act like I know what I’m doing, lining myself up, shoulders back, holding the dart how I’d been shown a million times, yet the second I throw the dart, I know it’s hooking left.

And it does.

Right into a Boston Bandits foam finger.

“Shit! I’m so sorry,” I say to the guy as he turns toward me grumpily while Harris starts laughing his ass off behind me. “Shut up, Danielson, or I’ll aim for you next.”

“Then you’d probably hit me again,” grumbles the foam finger guy, looking over at Harris longer than normal.

“Oh, stop it, you’re fine. It hit your shitty team’s foam finger,” I say, pointing to the Boston logo, knowing damn well it’s in our New Yorker blood to hate all Boston teams. In this case, it’s their NHL team that’s obviously a rival for Harris.

Not that I know anything about him or his team.

The guy looks down at his foam finger, his eyes narrowed as he pulls the dart out. “What do you two even know about hockey? My guess is it’s about as much as you know about throwing darts. We’ve got a pretty boy and a dumb girl,” he says, throwing the dart down at my feet in disgust, unable to be bothered with handing it to me directly.

Eyebrows raised, I move to lean down and pick it up.

“Don’t you dare,” Harris growls, the joyous laughter I just heard from him a moment ago is nowhere to be found, replaced by pure rage, so potent I can taste it on my tongue, but I listen, freezing in place.

I move to turn toward him but he’s already stepping in front of me moving in between the big dummy and me who is now starting to look uncomfortable as his buddies just look on. But he doesn’t take the hint and smarten up, instead he just steps toward Harris.

How this “hockey fan” in New York City doesn’t know who Harris Danielson is—the best defensemen in New York, if not the entire damn country—is beyond me. I’d be willing to guess he’s not all that big of a hockey fan and is hoping to sound big and bad and not get called out on his shit.

Well, at least his friends are smart. Let this dumbass handle his own problems.

“Oh, pretty boy wants to play?” he says, turning to laugh toward his friends, cracking his knuckles like this is some cheesy action movie before stupidly he decides to throw the first punch, clipping Harris’s lip and chin in a decent but sloppy punch.

Harris doesn’t move, though, he stands there eerily still.

“Harris, he’s not worth—” I start to move around him but am cut off when the guy starts talking again, Harris’s hand reaching behind him, finding my hip and holding me still.

“Oh, the girl’s talking again. I thought she realized it was better if she just stopped talking and let the men handle everything. Get your bitch in check.”

Unable to control myself, I lean into Harris, my body pressed against him to get a better view of the guy. “You know, for being a dumb girl who doesn’t know anything about the NHL… at least I know better than to antagonize the Cyclones best defensemen. But what do I know, I’m just a girl,” I say, winking dramatically as I watch his friends all stare, wide eyed, and excited when they realize who’s here. No one is able to react, though, because before they can, Harris has taken another step forward and has thrown a left hook right into his big fat nose.

The guy steps back, blood immediately spilling from his nose, painting his clothes crimson as we all just watch.

“What the fuck, dude,” he spits out as his friends sit there with their phones out.

“The next time you speak to a woman, I hope you have the common sense to show respect. But if your momma didn’t raise you right, we can have this conversation as many times as we need to. Now, pick up the dart and hand it to her correctly this time. And apologize, because unlike you, my girl actually knows what she’s talking about when it comes to hockey.”

His eyes widen and I think he’s going to fight Harris again, but he surprises all of us when he steps forward, napkins now at his nose as he leans down and picks up the dart and hands it to me. “Sorry,” he grunts, and without a second look he’s gone, paid and out the door faster than they came.

But I’m not actually paying attention to any of that… I’m fixated on the fact that he just called me his girl… words I didn’t think I’d ever hear again. If I’m being honest, I also didn’t think I’d ever even want to hear those words again. But now that I have, I want to hear them again and again and again.

I’d also like it to be true.

The weight of my engagement ring sits heavy on my finger as I still stand just a few steps behind Harris, whose shoulders are shaking, the adrenaline rushing through his body from the altercation settling in.

Knowing I shouldn’t, I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist in a hug, his whole body tensing for only a moment before his hands find mine and just hold me. We stand longer than what would probably be deemed appropriate for two friends to embrace… especially two friends who aren’t actually friends and are supposed to hate each other, but I don’t care. Plus, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also just nice to be close to him… even if only for a minute, and goddamn it didn’t disappoint. He smells like citrus and cinnamon, and some sort of woodsy cologne all intertwined in a way that’s just so perfectly him.

“Are you okay?” I ask after a few moments, the busyness of the bar still happening all around us.

“No… yes… I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I’m sorry I fucked up your birthday.”

His hands drop from mine, but I don’t let go of him. In fact, I squeeze him tighter.

Why? I can’t tell you, but at this moment in time, I’m not exactly sure I have a choice. At least, it doesn’t feel that way with the way my body responds to him.

“Why do you think that?”

“I know you hate fighting, specifically when it’s me,” Harris says quietly, like he’s ashamed.

“I hate fighting for no reason… and I hate seeing you get hurt. But there was a reason tonight, and I should thank you for standing up for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone do that for me.”

“So… I didn’t ruin anything?”

“No. In fact… you actually saved my birthday,” I say, smiling into his back.

This should feel awkward. But it’s Harris and me… we’ve never been awkward. Even our breakup wasn’t awkward… hell, we just never talked again which, I’m pretty sure, was worse. I definitely got in one last parting shot over the phone I’m not exactly proud of… but I’ve grown and I’m not that petty girl anymore.

“We’re going to talk about your birthday and your lack of support, but not tonight. Tonight, is for fun, okay?”

I know he wants information… he hates Peter, it’s obvious. But him wanting information just implies to me that he cares, and I know he doesn’t so I’m not really in the mood to trick myself again. But I can have fun with him as a friend.

“I’m going to grab us another drink and some ice, go have a seat and try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

Finally releasing him, I head toward the bar, but don’t make it more than five or six steps before I’m being pulled back into his hard chest, Harris’s arms wrapped around my body. I look up into his eyes and it feels like I’m being transported back to the young na?ve girl I once was when I thought this man was my knight in shining armor. My forever. My future husband.

It hurts.

But even now, I know it’s not just because of the heartbreak. It’s because even though I’m engaged, even when he broke my heart, I still wish I knew what exactly happened between us. I wish I knew why we fell into this rhythm so quickly and seamlessly, for it to not mean anything.

It feels like it should mean everything.

But I won’t ask him because I’m stubborn and refuse to look desperate. If he wanted me to know why, he would’ve told me and not left a fucking letter taped to my door.

“It’s good to see you again, Ave,” he says, his eyes dropping to my mouth, and I don’t know if I should be terrified, angry, or excited at the thought of kissing him. But the only thing I experience is disappointment when he shakes his head and smiles, releasing me.

And just like they’d been signaled with a silent alarm, the butterflies are back.