Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

19. Owen

19

OWEN

“How did you manage to get me a first class seat?” Callie asks as she settles in on the plane.

“It helps to have connections.”

My “connections” are the extortionist rates the airline charges for last-minute upgrades. She would lose her mind if she knew just how much money I’ve spent on this trip, which is why I have no plans to tell her.

For me, it’s worth it. After everything that happened, I don’t want to be anywhere near Spencer. And I definitely don’t want her anywhere near Spencer. So, reclining seats away from the rowdy team it is.

She snuggles under the complimentary heated blanket. “Tell your connections ‘thank you.’ Because I’m exhausted.”

I kiss her on the top of the head and am considering a nap myself when I hear one of the guys call my name from the other end of the plane.

“Just don’t answer it,” Callie whispers without opening her eyes. “Pretend we aren’t home.”

“Owen!” Someone—Dax, I’m ninety percent sure, calls my name like he’s in the throes of passion. Whatever poor people are stuck in business class with the lot of them are regretting not upgrading their own seats right about now.

“Let me make sure they aren’t tearing the plane apart. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.” Her full mouth tips into a smile, and I’d buy her a whole goddamn plane to see that look on her face.

I make my way down the aisle towards the chaos.

“Well, look who has decided to grace us with his first-class presence,” Dax jokes.

“As soon as you’re ready for a respectable woman’s company, I’ll let Callie sit back here.”

“Well, aren't you a protective boyfriend?” Heath teases, earning a laugh.

It may seem like they’re having a good time at my expense, but the only reason they’re having a good time at all is because I led us to a victory. So, I take it as a compliment.

“What the fuck do you guys want?”

“We want to know how serious you and Callie are,” Heath says.

“Why the hell is that your business?”

“Because your all-night sex got us run into the ground for three hours,” Dax points out. “I think we deserve some answers.”

Everyone nods in agreement. And… they have a point.

Plus, I don’t mind spreading the word.

“Serious,” I say simply, hoping they’ll leave it at that.

I should know better.

“Like, hot-and-heavy-in-the-sheets serious?” Kason asks, sipping on a mini bottle of cinnamon whiskey he snuck onto the plane. “Or, like—” He bats his lashes and makes kissy faces like a child until the team busts up.

At least they’re all in good spirits.

Mostly because they’re loaded with spirits. Which is why having this conversation is pointless.

“Sure.” I roll my eyes. “Why don’t you all cool it with the free booze and?—”

“Obviously, the girl has a type.” Spencer stumbles down the aisle. I don’t even have to look up to know he’s sloshed. I’m surprised they even let him on the plane. Then again, his dad has a lot of “connections,” too.

“A type?” Lance asks before I do, clearly as annoyed as I am.

Spencer stumbles to a stop, almost running into me. He breathes into my face and it’s a miracle the entire plane doesn’t burst into flames. “Hockey players.”

My jaw tightens.

I don’t know how Callie and Spencer know each other, and the more I know him, the less I want to know. If they have a past, I don’t want to picture it. Or I’ll kill him.

“Now, she’s into ‘hockey player.’ Singular. That’s all I care about.”

Somewhere on this plane is Coach Coleman, and I’m not going to be caught getting in my second fight of the day with Santos. Especially when he’s hammered drunk. He can barely stand. It wouldn’t even be satisfying to bounce his skull off the flight attendant cart.

“You’re dating a chick with a pro athlete track record, and you don’t even know the body count?” He’s loud, grappling for attention. “Are you sure that’s wise, Sharpe?”

I meet his bloodshot eyes. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to talk to me about my girlfriend.”

“That’s right.” He puts a hand over his mouth, eyes comically wide. “I’m not supposed to say her name. You supposedly don’t care who she’s with, but you’re threatened enough that I can’t even say her name. What’s wrong, Sharpe? Worried she’ll come crawling back?”

I whirl on him, chest bumping into his hard enough he staggers back. “Walk away, Santos.”

Spencer throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just looking out for you, brother.”

“I’m not your brother.”

A sloppy grin returns to his face. “Don’t let Coach hear you say that. Not very captainly of you, brother .”

He’s implying exactly what it sounds like he’s implying. He knows I’m walking a balance beam, and he’s trying to throw my footing.

Lance moves into the aisle behind him, a hand on his shoulder so Spencer is caged between us. “Lay off Owen, man. Go sit down. Sleep it off.”

Everyone else is just watching. Waiting.

Spencer shrugs Lance’s hand off. “I’m just looking out for the team. If I were captain, that would be my focus.”

I should let him walk away, but a bitter laugh bursts out of me. “If you were captain, would you also have your daddy screw with people’s wake up calls so they were late to practice? Is that good for the team?”

“Wait, what?” Dax asks.

For the first time, Spencer seems coherent enough to know this is not a joke.

“Pockets full of money and gold sticker from your daddy aren't going to get you as far as you think they will,” I go on. “You don’t have what it takes to be a team player and time will prove me right.”

He doesn’t seem to have the conversational footing to respond so I keep going.

“And whatever happened with you and Callie in the past, I don’t give a fuck. She’s moved on and moved up. I’m lucky to have her.”

Spencer snorts. “Being with Callie Coleman has nothing to do with luck. If that was the case, a lot of dudes got lucky. ”

I did my best. Everyone on this plane can vouch for that fact that, for a few minutes, at least, I kept a tight fucking lid on the boiling rage I have inside towards Spencer Santos. But he’s gone too far.

The grip on my control slips.

I see red.

Just before I can grab him by the throat and let his final words be a warning to every living soul to never speak about Callie Coleman that way, Lance grabs the lucky fucker and yanks him back.

“Leave it alone, O,” Lance warns me. “He’s not worth it.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. Killing him in front of a plane full of witnesses and going to prison for life would be very, very much worth it.

I lunge forward just as Lance shoves Spencer into an empty row of seats. He's drunk enough to just lie there. Then Lance steps forward, blocking me from pounding Spencer into a pile of meat.

“Leave it alone, ” he says right in my face.

I know Lance is on my side. I know he doesn’t want me to get in any more trouble. One more slip—especially if that slip was my fist in Lance’s face—would probably get me kicked from the team entirely. But I’m done.

“Step aside,” I growl.

“Not gonna happen.”

The guys lean in closer, ready to peel us off each other if they have to.

“Craven, I swear to fucking God?—”

“What is going on back here!?” Coach Coleman’s voice booms down the aisle. He was smart enough to get first class, too. “Don’t tell me you’re starting another fight, Sharpe.”

Lance and I stare each other down. Everyone is quiet. Waiting.

Then Lance turns to Coach. “Owen was cutting the rookies off.”

“No sloppy drunks on this flight,” Dax chimes in, slurring the last few words.

Coach looks around, clearly having his doubts. When he sees Santos in the row behind Lance, his legs draped over the armrest, he shakes his head. “You girls are exhausting.”

Coach stomps back to his seat and everyone sinks back into their seats.

“Thanks,” I offer stubbornly. I would’ve rather killed Spencer, but Lance just saved my career.

Lance grabs a blanket off the back of one of the chairs and throws it at me. “Go take a nap with your girlfriend so we can all get home in one piece.”

I settle back into the seat next to Callie, tossing and turning in an attempt to get comfortable. All my jerking around wakes Callie.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, brow furrowed.

“The guys are just being a bunch of idiots.”

“Per usual.” She rests her hand on my arm. As if she can feel my tension through my skin, she leans forward. “And obviously that isn’t the whole story. Owen, what’s wrong?”

I want to ask her how she knows Spencer.

I also know, if I don’t like what she says, I might open the emergency window and throw the drunk asshole out mid-flight.

“Santos is determined to replace me,” I say instead.

Callie gasps. “He can’t. He’s— He’s too young. My uncle wouldn’t do that.”

“He would if I keep fucking up.”

“The stuff with Miles was… different. You haven’t done anything—” Even she can’t defend me the way she wants to. “Is that the only thing bothering you?”

“Yes.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s not. Owen, talk to me.”

“He keeps talking shit about you,” I finally admit.

Something flashes in her eyes, but she works hard to smother it. “What kind of shit?”

“He seems to be suggesting the two of you have a history.”

“I told you we were in college together. He was a player while I was getting my hours in to get certified. But he isn’t— We didn’t— Spencer is all talk.”

Even if Callie did have a crazy dating history in college, I don’t care about that now. All I care about is that she is with me.

“Hey.” I lean back and pull her into me. “What he says doesn’t matter to me. And what he thinks matters even less. All that matters to me is us and our baby.”

Callie hushes me. “Someone might hear you.”

I can’t help but smile. “Callie, I think people know you’re pregnant.”

“Not officially! Up until now it’s just been a rumor.”

I reach under the blanket, putting my hand on the bump that I’ve grown to love. “Pretty soon, this little rumor is going to be big enough that we can’t deny it. And when that happens, people are going to know it’s mine, and they’re not going to say a damn thing about it. You know why?”

“Why?”

I pull her closer. “Because you are mine, too.”