Page 15 of North

She asked me about my greatest fear—losing my parents—and I asked her the most ridiculous thing she’d ever done on a whim. Her answer: a spur-of-the-moment road trip to Vegas.

On and on it went, showcasing a desire on both our parts to know more about each other, not just fuck.

That is the biggest puzzle, because as much as Farren wants to keep this thing between us in a tightly controlled, detached box, she was into me the other night.

Not into my body or what I could do for hers, but into who I am as a person.

And fuck if that’s not confusing.

The night is young and we’re all having a great time. The jukebox has been silent most of the night, which is great for conversation. Jubilant chatter fills the air, punctuated every so often by a bark of laughter. We’recelebrating our win in a relaxed atmosphere where we can put aside the stress of our jobs.

Periodically, I take in Farren as she flits around, socializing with all her newfound Titans friends. She’s stunning, effortlessly magnetic, and every time her laugh cuts through the noise, it hits me like a slap shot. I should go ask her to play a game of darts, just to get some one-on-one time with her. It would be a good gauge on how we’d interact within the framework of our Titans social circle, with the two of us holding the secret that we’re having a sexual relationship.

It would also force conversation about non-sex-related topics, which I know would easily carry us through the night because we find each other so interesting. Her eyes cut to me periodically but I’m confident to the casual observer, no one would be the wiser that we’re intimate.

“To Rafferty, for that sick goal and keeping us on top!” King hoists his beer and we all follow suit, redirecting my attention from Farren.

Atlas can’t help but tease. “Didn’t know you could skate that fast.”

“Bite me,” Rafferty replies, and we all laugh.

I nudge Tempe to my left. “My guess is Raff was performing above peak level to impress you.”

Tempe’s eyes shine. “I’m thinking he’s just that talented.”

“Well miracles never cease.” I look to Atlas, but he’s staring at the door to the bar. I turn that way and see that Penn’s walked in.

Our reclusive star player has actually taken us up on one of a thousand invites to join us for an after-game celebration. We haven’t been able to figure out why Penn is the way he is. While he’s in hockey mode—practices, games, interviews—he’s outgoing and genial, always willing to discuss the sport we play.

But off the ice, he’s locked up tight and wants nothing to do with the camaraderie that makes this job so fucking special. In the nearly three months we’ve been playing together, I can say I haven’t learned a single thing about the guy other than the general information provided in his bio. I’ve never had a personal exchange with him and not for lack of trying.

King raises his hand when Penn looks our way and motions him over. He stares back at us, forehead puckered with what might be indecision. The man looks completely uncomfortable, and I realize what a monumental effort it must be for him to take this step. I plaster a welcoming smile on my face and glance around for the nearest waitress so I can buy him a beer.

But his gaze cuts away and his shoulders seem to round inward in some sort of protective maneuver. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets and winds his way through the crowd. I don’t think anything of it—perhapshe just wants to discourage any patrons from stopping him—but then I see him angling straight for two very large bikers standing near the bar talking to each other. Penn actually lowers his shoulder, and my mouth falls open as I see him plow into one of the guys so hard, his beer foams over.

“What the fuck, dude?” the offended customer yells, his voice rising above the bar chatter. Penn neither looks remorseful nor issues an apology, prompting the biker to shove Penn so hard, he stumbles back a step.

“Jesus Christ,” King growls and bolts from his chair so fast, it starts to tip over. I don’t see it hit the floor since I’m already pushing through the crowd, trying to make my way to Penn to protect him before something bad happens.

It never occurs to me to not rush to his aid. He’s my teammate and while he’s clearly in the wrong, I’m not going to let him get hurt no matter how badly he might deserve an ass-whooping.

Through the crowd, I see Penn’s face and the scary thing is, I don’t see a single emotion play out on it. He doesn’t look angry or chagrined. No clue as to what’s going on in his head but to my horror, he again lowers his shoulder and rushes the biker. He hits him square in the stomach, propelling him backward into a group of people sitting on stools.

All hell fucking breaks loose as the biker’s friendjumps in, taking hold of Penn by his jacket and planting his fist in my teammate’s face. Blood sprays and I push someone out of the way in my urgency to reach Penn before more damage is done.

Stevie, the pint-sized bar wonder, goes flying past me with her trusty baseball bat in hand. I’ve heard all the tales from Hendrix how it drives him batshit crazy the way she’ll jump into any fray, and now I have to worry about protecting her too.

Doesn’t matter though as someone shoves me hard to the side and Hendrix is chasing after his fiancée, managing to snatch her arm and halt her momentum.

Rafferty, King and Atlas all arrive at the same time, just as Penn swings for the biker. I don’t think to stop him, positioning myself along with my teammates to form a protective barrier around our crazed teammate.

“Enough!” Stevie shrieks, inserting herself between us and the bikers. Hendrix stands at her back, glaring daggers at anyone who might be stupid enough to take her on.

Stevie beseeches her customers. “Ernie, Sam… please, just stop. Not in my bar, okay?”

One of the bikers stabs a finger at Penn. “That fucknut started it.”

Stevie glances over her shoulder, taking in five large Titans just behind her, and Penn behind us wiping blood from his nose. “Maybe so but I’m asking you nicely to letit go. I’ll handle this.”

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