Chapter 29
Bishop
Tacker seems surprised when I start undressing after pulling out a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt to put on so I can relax a bit.
“You’re not going out?” he asks as he nabs his shave kit from his travel duffel.
“Nah,” I say with a shake of my head. “Don’t feel like it.”
He makes a grunting noise of acknowledgment—at least that’s what I think it is—before heading into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Grabbing my phone, I hop onto my bed and call Brooke. It’s only 8:30 P.M. in Phoenix.
“Hey,” she says, sounding out of breath.
“What are you doing?” I settle against the headboard and plant my feet on the mattress.
“I set the damn house alarm off again,” she says in frustration. “I keep forgetting about it. Just now I opened the side door to take the garbage out, and then it’s shrieking at me. The freaking alarm company calls and I tell them it’s a false alarm, so I have to give them a password to prove it. I couldn’t find the paperwork, as I couldn’t remember the password. It’s just…frustrating.”
Her last words come out clipped and I know she thinks I went overboard on security at her house, but I couldn’t help it. That Nanette chick is a psychopath. I was not happy to be flying to the East Coast for almost an entire week and leaving Brooke behind to fend for herself if Nanette didn’t get on a plane bound for New York liked I’d hoped. The way she flipped out and the violence was one thing, but she was also coldly calculating in her attempt to seduce me so she could hurt Brooke. It’s just fucking scary.
“You’ll get used to it,” I assure her. “In a few days, you’ll be a pro at it.”
“I suppose,” she says glumly, but then it’s as if a light is switched on. “But hey…you played so good tonight. Two goals and an assist. You are on fire.”
Chuckling, I tap my thumb on my knee. “Yeah…well, I was just on tonight. Sometimes you are just way in the zone, and I was there.”
“I’m proud of you,” she says. A warm sensation spreads through me from her praise. It really means something to me.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask her. “Wearing anything sexy by any chance?”
“I’ll lie to you and say I’m wearing a red lace teddy with fishnet stockings and stiletto heels. Do you like?”
“I definitely like,” I rumble into the phone. “But seriously…what are you doing?”
“I’m actually doing some work,” she says, and I hear an enthusiasm in her voice that I’ve not quite heard before. It’s as if her spirit has lightened somewhat.
“Tell me about it,” I say, wanting to know exactly what my girl’s doing that’s got her feeling good.
And I listen to her talk to me about a new line of apparel that they hope to roll out in the winter and how she’ll be responsible for helping to pick fabrics and setting production schedules. All the things I never thought twice about when I wore a Vengeance T-shirt or a baseball cap. How in the hell that shit was made?
It’s pretty cool, actually.
She eventually winds down, guiltily apologizing to me. “Ugh…I’m sorry to ramble on like that.”
“Don’t be sorry. I enjoyed learning about that stuff. I enjoy learning about you, Brooke, so don’t apologize. Keep it coming.”
She gets very quiet and I’m wondering if I said something wrong. Before I can inquire, she says, “I don’t think this is a fake relationship anymore, is it?”
“Not in the slightest,” I agree with her. A satisfied smile she can’t see but can probably hear in my voice takes over my face. “Is that okay by you?”
Tacker had come out of the bathroom not long after I’d hung up with Brooke. He’s dressed similarly to me in a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt. I decided to end the call because she actually had work to do and it was a little after midnight and I was exhausted. I’m sure Tacker is too. He’s been playing at peak performance level, but it sure takes it out of you on the physical side, especially right after a game.
But he sort of putters around, rearranging the items in his suitcase, and taking a few moments here and there to text someone. I figure if he’s not ready to turn out the lights yet, I might as well try to get to know the dude.
“So where did you end up getting a place to live?” I ask him, figuring I’d delve into something personal—not dealing with hockey, but not too nosy.
“Apartment over off Ridge,” he mutters as he uses his thumb to scroll through something on his phone. “It’s about a five-minute drive to the arena.”
“Cool,” I say, and wait to see if he elaborates or offers more.
He doesn’t.
“Had a chance to explore the area?” I ask him. “Brooke and I did some hiking over at Papago Park and it was pretty amazing.”
“Nah.” He looks up, cuts me a brief glance, and then bends over to hook his phone into the charger plugged in beside his bed.
“I heard there was some good restaurants over that way.”
“Not much for eating out.”
Tacker pulls back the covers on his bed and sits on the edge, taking his phone back in his hands. His thumb swipes in quick succession, right to left. He doesn’t say anything else and I want to bang my head. He’s now officially become a challenge to me.
“Want to go hiking with me sometime?”
“Not much for hiking.”
“Got any hobbies?”
“Working out.”
I wait for more.
There’s nothing.
I stretch my brain capacity trying to think of something to get him to engage. To even look at me and act like he might want to be friends with one of his teammates. I mean, how will he even know unless he tries?
Then I decide to do something bold.
Daring.
Stupid as fuck.
“Brooke and I started out as a fake relationship so her dad wouldn’t murder me for having a one-night stand with his daughter,” I blurt out, then watch him expectantly.
His head pops up, eyes wide as he stares at me. “Come again?”
I nod. “Yeah…I’d picked her up in a bar the night before training camp started. We had a one-night stand, but the next morning I knew it was stupid to have left her and not gotten her full name or number. And I ran into her at the arena, and I was like, holy shit. Pay attention to this, Bishop, because this type of coincidence happens for a reason. But her dad walked in on us while we were sort of making out, and he went apeshit.”
I pause for effect, and Tacker is still listening to me with intense interest in his expression.
I barrel forward. “So yeah…Brooke just sort of blurted that we had been dating for a few months secretly, and then she told him we were engaged.”
“Why did she do that?” he asks, and that gives me hope.
“She was worried he’d take it out on me at practice, or that it would even jeopardize my position on the team.” I don’t tell him that her worry stemmed from losing her mother earlier in the year, as that would only bring Tacker’s loss to the forefront.
Tacker nods in understanding, but apparently my story isn’t interesting enough to keep his attention, as he starts to look down at his phone again.
“And then as we were hanging out more and more to perpetuate this lie, we found out that we actually like each other.”
Fuck, that sounds lame. Like something I’d say in grade school to my geek loser friends. Tacker glances at me, gives me a half smile, and then drops his gaze back down to his phone.
Sighing, I prepare to admit defeat, but then his eyes snap back to me. “Wait a minute…so the engagement is fake? I heard some of the guys saying you got Brooke a ring.”
Yes. I have a conversation going. Like feeding a young, tender fire with just a bit of kindling, I offer him tiny pieces of information, hoping to fan his curiosity so he stays engaged. “It’s my mom’s ring. Her idea to use it.”
“I’m confused. Are you two together for real or not?”
“Oh, totally for real,” I say confidently.
“So you’re just going to stay engaged?” he asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.
“I don’t think so,” I say as I rake my fingers through my hair. “You see, the plan was to go through with the engagement to get Coach off my back. He had been pressuring me to shit or get off the pot, if you know what I mean. So we figured we’d pull off a fake engagement, let this settle down, and then eventually institute a breakup that was mutually beneficial to both sides.”
Tacker just stares at me, scowling slightly. Then he says, “That’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re not shitting,” I agree with him wholeheartedly. “My mom used the word moronic, but same thing.”
And that right there does it. A slight curving upward at the corners of his mouth. Possibly the first time I’ve seen him smile outside of when the Vengeance scores a goal, and even then it’s a tight sort of smile.
Tacker shakes his head, dare I say in an amused way. “You are so fucked if this gets out.”
“You won’t tell, will you?”
“Nope,” he says emphatically, and it’s not a surprise to me. I knew Tacker wouldn’t be the type to spill secrets or fuel gossip. I mean, he doesn’t talk to anyone so I knew it would be safe with him.
Turning to the table, he sets his phone back down and stands up from the bed. “Going to turn in. I’m beat.”
“Yeah,” I mutter in agreement, and as he walks to the door to put the DO NOT DISTURB sign out, I glance over at his phone. There’s a picture of him and a lovely blond woman, faces pressed together side by side and smiling huge at the camera.
His fiancée who died.
He’d been flipping through her pictures.
My gaze cuts back to Tacker as he walks over to his suitcase and takes off his T-shirt. There’s a long, jagged scar on his back that crosses diagonally from the bottom of one shoulder blade to his hip on the opposite side. It’s not the first time I’d seen the scar, as he’s been shirtless plenty of times in the locker room and training area.
I have to assume he got that in the plane crash, but fuck if I’d ever point-blank ask him something so personal. Our friendship is on the shakiest of ground, so new at this point I’m not even sure we’re really friends.
I want to tell him how sorry I am for his loss, but the words seem trite to me. And I’m pretty sure if I were to mention his dead fiancée or the crash, it would absolutely kill any potential friendship at all. I think Tacker’s going to have to decide when he wants to talk about it. My guess is that will be sometime around never.