Page 8 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
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ALEX
“Oh, look who it is,” my sister, Nelle, says excitedly through the phone. “My long-lost little brother.”
“I texted you the other day,” I say, putting the call on speaker, then sniff a sweatshirt I found in the back of my closet. Deciding it’s clean, I shove it into my duffel bag with the other items I’m busy packing.
“Yeah, but that was only because you needed the recipe for my brioche French toast.”
“These are facts—but I did contact you.” I chuckle, tossing a few pairs of boxer briefs in the bag.
I overhear her say something to Jaxon in the background.
My six-year-old nephew is a handful. Actually, he’s a lot like I was as a kid. And considering how I turned out . . . maybe that’s not a bad thing? I had a ton of energy, to the point that my parents opted to have me medicated just to get me to focus in school. But once I found hockey, everything seemed to fall into place. Then I had somewhere to direct my energy, and as they say, the rest is history.
“So, the off-season, huh? Are you going to keep your junk in your pants and your ugly mug off the hockey gossip sites this summer?”
“Hello to you too, sis.” I roll my eyes.
The sad news is there’s a lot of truth to her question. I had a weird season. For the first time since college, I was single, and I might have overindulged . . . a bit. The media outlets loved to play that up, constantly comparing my lackluster performance on the ice to the prevalence of my extracurricular activities. The two weren’t correlated. Last year was challenging for me on a personal level, so it was only natural that some of it spilled over into my professional world.
After my breakup with Eden, my sister started spouting something about my abandonment issues. For obvious reasons, I shut that conversation down quickly.
Do I have issues? Sure, doesn’t everybody? But abandonment? That made my head hurt—and not in the good, I just ate a whole bunch of ice cream, kind of way. I guess I did feel somewhat let down by my family. But could there be a kernel of truth to Nelle’s words about me pushing Eden away because we got too close? Fuck, I don’t know.
“Kidding. Kidding. You know I love you,” Nelle says when I don’t respond, defusing the situation.
My sister is the only person in my family I get along with, so she’s allowed to give me shit. The rest of them tend to treat me like a walking ATM. I only hear from my parents when they need something. Same goes for my other relatives. Whether it’s them wanting me to invest in some wacky, new business idea, or just to score them tickets to a hockey game—it feels very transactional. I hate that part of being a professional athlete.
That’s not to say I don’t enjoy being generous. I bought Nelle a minivan after Jaxon was born. Mostly as a joke—before becoming a mom, she swore she’d never drive one. Fun fact? She still drives it.
“I just wanted to call you before I leave the country.”
“What?” she all but shrieks out.
I chuckle. “Sorry, that sounded more dramatic than I meant it. Saint offered me his cabin for the summer, so I’m going up to Ottawa to chill for a few days.”
When Saint said he needed someone to take care of the cottage this summer, I jumped at the chance. He’s from Canada originally, and bought the cabin a few years back, wanting a place where he could enjoy quiet summers during the off-season. This is no rustic log cabin, however. It’s a four-thousand-square-foot lodge with five bedrooms and six bathrooms.
Although now that job is Aspen’s, so I debated on going at all.
Sure, I could have hired a local to handle the few tasks Saint was convinced Aspen couldn’t manage. But then I decided against it. I need a change of scenery. A break from the day-to-day bullshit that keeps me feeling like I’m underwater.
And the chance to see Aspen again? Let’s just say I don’t exactly hate the idea. She’s gorgeous, after all.
Nelle asks a few more questions, but I try to downplay my visit north not only to her, but also to myself.
Ever since I kissed Aspen, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. And the idea of the two of us being alone together at a cabin in the woods with no one else around for miles . . . it’s arousing, to say the least.
“That sounds like a nice getaway,” my sister says, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, it should be. Saint can’t make it up there this summer, so he needs some help with the place—clearing brush and securing the place for winter.”
