Dump and Chase: Nashville Assassins: Next Generation Read online

“Shut up, Nico!” she yells, pulling him down into his chair. “Just go, Aiden.”

  I look over at Shelli, but she won’t look at me. “Fine.”

  I sulk out, my body vibrating with anger. I don’t get how she can jump from me to someone else so damn quickly. I can’t even think of another female right now, yet she’s out fucking some dude like she didn’t just have sex with me and rearrange my house! Talk about mixed signals.

  Once I’m outside, I take out my phone, shaking as I dial Asher’s number. When he answers, I say, “She’s here with someone else.”

  “Okay? What did you think would happen when you basically made her feel like shit for doing something nice for you?”

  “It was too much at once.”

  “Yeah, but girls are girls. She’s always been Miss Clean Up. Don’t you remember when she was like nine and started that cleaning business to make money for her singing lessons? She likes that kind of stuff.”

  “It’s weird.”

  “Sure, but she was trying to do something polite. Was she a little overzealous? Sure, but that’s Shelli. She’s a big personality with a huge heart.”

  I cover my face. “What the fuck do I do?”

  “Sulk?”

  “I should go back in there. Force—”

  “Aiden. No. Give her some space.”

  “I don’t want her with someone else.”

  “Should have thought about that before you basically told her she was just a fuck.”

  I cover my face. “I didn’t say that!”

  “Dude, you did.”

  I shake my head as I close my eyes. “What do I do?”

  “Give her time and then call her.”

  “And say what?”

  “You’re a sorry bastard,” he says, and I hear the annoyance in his voice. “You can’t treat people like that and expect them to want to be with you.”

  “She deserves more than that.”

  “Yeah, so grow up and be that—or let her go.”

  “Wow. That was a very Dad thing to say.”

  “Well, I learned from the best. So did you. So get your head out of your ass and do right by her, or leave her alone.”

  I swallow hard. “It just all freaks me out.”

  “That’s love—”

  “Whoa. No need to bring that word into this.”

  “You’re pathetic,” he says under his breath. “Relationships are hard. They’re scary, but they can be great. If you really like her, like I assume you do, get over yourself and tell her that.”

  “I should go back in there.”

  “No, you need to go home and sleep it off. I can hear it in your voice. You’re too emotional right now.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are. Go home.”

  Maybe he’s right. I really want to go back in there, demand she talk to me because I want to work this out. I need to apologize, but she probably won’t even hear it.

  Because even though she has a big heart, she can also hold a grudge.

  I FEEL LIKE SHIT.

  I didn’t sleep well. I wasn’t hungry when we went for our pregame meal, and my nap wasn’t good. I feel so fucking off. I wanted to call Shelli so many times last night. I wanted to go to her house, to beg her to listen to me, but I knew it would do no good. She’s stubborn, and I was an asshole. I don’t blame her for being upset, but I sure as hell blame her for moving on to some jackass without even a second thought. I don’t know how she can be so ready to move on after all we’ve been through.

  Probably because you’re a moron, you fucking idiot.

  As I skate around, playing with the puck while I warm up, I keep going over and over again everything that’s happened. I could blame my parents for my poor communication, but truth be told, it’s me. I don’t know how to express what I’m feeling when it comes to anything more than sex. I’ve never had to, and now it’s biting me in the ass. I just want to talk to her. Tell her what is happening inside my head, and maybe she’ll forgive me.

  Or she won’t.

  While it would be for the best if she completely blows me off, I don’t want that.

  I want her.

  The crowd is cheering us on, welcoming us, but I can’t even hear them. I’m too in my head. I shoot mindlessly, and I know this is not good. I can’t play like this. I gotta put all that to the side. It is what it is. I’ll call her after the game and ask her to come over. She’ll say yes or no, and that’s my answer. Right now, I gotta win this game.

  We’re playing the IceCats, and they’re on one hell of a winning streak. Ten games in a row. And they’re a Stanley Cup favorite. But that was before I joined the Assassins. That Cup is ours. I fall to the ice and stretch my hips. When I tuck my leg beneath me to stretch it, I look over to where the IceCats are warming up, and my brows come together. By the bench is that asshole who was with Shelli last night. His goalie helmet is hanging on his head as he laughs with one of the players.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I feel myself glaring as I watch him move with such confidence. Like the most gorgeous girl known to man just did him real good. My blood starts to boil. I don’t even know if they did anything, but I assume so by that shit-eating grin on his face.

  “BB, why’s your face like that?”

  I look up at Boon and shake my head. “I hate that fucker.”

  He looks to where I am glaring and scoffs. “Nico Merryweather? He’s a great goalie.”

  “He’s a jackass.”

  “Well, tell me truly how you feel,” he teases, and I glare up at him.

  “Pretty sure he had sex with Shelli.”

  He shrugs. “So?”

  “So—” I pause and shake my head. “Fuck it.”

  I get up and head off the ice, needing to clear my head. Once at my locker, I lean my torso on my thighs and close my eyes. I try meditating, and it works for maybe a minute before my anger gets the best of me. I want to go out there and beat that fucker’s ass. What that will do, no clue, but I’ll feel better.

  Who am I kidding? I won’t feel better until I talk to Shelli.

  I try to pay attention to Coach’s talk. I even try to be excited when they call my name for the starting lineup. I try to get in the game, but my gaze is on that bastard in goal. I know him. He’s stolen plenty of my goals, and it only makes me hate him more. He’s a Vezina trophy favorite, for sure, and Shelli smiled at him in the way I want her to smile at only me. He’s basically the scum on my shoes.

  The chip on my shoulder is real, and I find myself slamming my body into everyone with no cares in the world. I play the puck with urgency, but no matter how much I shoot, I don’t score. Merryweather is everywhere. He’s a brick wall, and it’s pissing me off. When I head to the bench, going through the door, Coach smacks my shoulders. “Love the play, the aggression! Keep it up.”

  Oh, I will.

  When my line is called, I rush the zone just as Sinclair passes it up to me. I take the puck into the zone and pass it off to Boon as I crash the net. I’m screening Merryweather, but somehow, he is making blocker saves like I’m not even there. When his stick comes into my back, I hit the ice.

  “Move, fucker.”

  “Kiss my ass,” I say, and I get back into position, closer to him but not in his crease. The goal will come, I know it. Reeves shoots a beauty, and I jump so I don’t block it, but this dude somehow blocks it! But then, it’s back in front of me. Without even turning, I backhand it between his legs.

  Goal.

  “Fuck yes!”

  “Thataway, BB!”

  “Way to be there.”

  “Let’s go!”

  “You’re not shit,” I hear him yell at me as my teammates hug me, tapping me on the head.

  The boys break, ready to go tap gloves with the rest of our team, but I look back at Nico. “That’s why I just scored on your punk ass.”

  He glares at me through his helmet. “And that’s why I fucked your girl.”

  “Holy shit,”