Stand and Defend (Lakes Hockey Series Book 4)

I move a load of clothes from the washer into the dryer and turn it on. For whatever reason, I stand there, staring at the clothes tumbling around behind the circular glass door. The hum of the dryer is comforting.

Today was supposed to be my wedding day. The day couldn’t be more perfect for a wedding. Blue skies and soft breeze on an unusually warm November day. When I walked outside this morning, the bright sun made the orange, red, and yellow leaves glow. However, the feeling inside me doesn’t fit what I imagined I’d feel walking down the aisle. Because today, I’m happy.

I’m also twenty-six years old. I never wanted to be married on my birthday. Looking back, I wonder if it was one more way for Bryan to take something that was mine and make it his.

This will be my best year yet. I can feel it. I’m living my life for me, doing what I want, when I want, how I want. I’m being reckless and irresponsible, and it’s the most fun I’ve ever had. All thanks to Cam. He’s shown me it’s okay to be selfish once in a while. I’m allowed to be the main character in my own life.

Camden Teller is misunderstood. People love his demeanor; they remember the things he does that fit the playboy narrative. They talk about all the fists he throws, but they forget to mention that the guy he was punching tried to go up against a much smaller player. They write about how much money he makes, how he’s one of the top paid players in the league, but they don’t say he gives away nearly half of that to charities and domestic violence survivors.

Yes, he takes home a lot of women, but he’s honest about it being a one-time thing from the start. I’ve been around a fair share of people praised for being “family men” only to watch them turn around and have an affair.

Everybody talks about Cam, but nobody really knows him. With the exception of his teammates, I presume. He would do anything for those guys. He’s fiercely loyal and protective of the people he cares about.

Movement in my peripheral snaps me out of my staring contest with the dryer. Cam sidles up next to me.

“Is there anything good on?” he says, staring ahead at the clothes getting tossed around. “This channel always plays the same old shit.”

I smile and nudge him as he hoists his duffel over his shoulder.

“Heading to the arena?” They have a game tonight, and I’ve noticed he likes to get there extra early.

“Yeah. I left you something upstairs. When you’re done with your television show, you can go check it out.”

“How come the press writes you as this wildcard player?” I blurt out.

He furrows his brow, and his lips tip up on the sides. “How come the press writes anything? To make money.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I don’t care what they say about me. I know who I am.”

A smile spreads across my face. He says it with such confidence and certainty. It’s sexy. Really, really sexy. Bryan seemed to only care what people said about him. Reputation was everything, but Cam is the opposite. He lets the press go on a rampage and doesn’t even blink.

“Good for you.”

He clears his throat. “You okay?”

I chuckle and walk backward toward the hall. “Yeah, sorry. Just a lot on my mind today or something.” He nods, and I lift my hand in a wave. “Good luck at the game tonight.”

“Thanks. See ya later.”

I spin around and head back down the hallway, and the door leading to the garage shuts, echoing behind me as he leaves. The house falls silent, but it’s peaceful. Silence used to stress me out, it meant tension, but that’s not the case anymore. When I get back to my living space, I immediately notice the jersey on the table in the kitchenette. As I get closer, I pick up the notepad, scrawled with Cam’s handwriting. There’s a ticket underneath for tonight’s game.

Dear Sunshine,

You were supposed to be wearing a wedding dress today.

It’s special to me. Kinda like you. Don’t look too far into that. And don’t spill beer on it. If you’re not busy—and I know you aren’t, because you never leave the fucking house—come to the game tonight. Some of the WAGs will be in the seats next to you, Birdie, Micky, and Raleigh. They’re nice girls, you’ll like them. It’s time for you to get out and meet people.

—C

I smile. As if I needed more convincing that he has a kind heart. He’s such a terrific friend. Probably the best friend I’ve ever had. I pick up the jersey and press it to my nose, it smells like him.

I get to the arena early and find my seat. My knee bounces while I wait. This feels like a blind date with friends, which seems even more pathetic.

I repeat the names in my head. Birdie, Micky, Raleigh. God, what if they’re like stuffy hockey Stepford wives? No, Cam said I would like them. I don’t think he’d set me up with them if he didn’t think we’d get along, no matter how badly I need friends.

I try to look busy, and find myself texting Cam.

Me: How hard is it to get red wine out of jerseys?

Cam: That better be a joke.

Me: Only time will tell . . . Thanks for the ticket btw.

Cam: No problem. I fuck harder when you’re watching me, thought I’d see if it works for playing hockey too.

Me: My eyes just rolled across the arena. If you see them on the ice, will you pick them up?

Cam: You’re lucky you’re wearing my jersey . . .

Me: Why’s that?

Cam: Because if you weren’t, I’d rip off your clothes later and punish you for being so snarky with me before a game.

Me: Promises, promises . . .

Cam: I keep my promises. I’ll push your face into the pillow and make you mine if you’re not careful.

It was all fun and games until he used the M word. He can’t throw it around so loosely.

Me: Shut upppp. And quit texting me, I’m waiting for the girls. Nervous.

Cam: Don’t worry, you’ll like them and they’ll like you. Just remember to be Jordan, not Jordana.

Me: K.

Cam: Good luck.

Me: You too.

I tuck my phone back in my pocket, and not two seconds later, a blonde, brunette, and redhead—like a bad joke—head down the stairs toward my seat. I’m three rows up from the glass, right next to the tunnel. I’ve never been myself around new people, and I have no idea how to act with them. Be Jordan, not Jordana. Be yourself.

“Hey!” they say, almost in unison.

“Hi! I’m Jordan.” I paste on a smile. We make introductions, and I figure out which name goes to which woman and who their husbands are.

“Banksy told us you’re new to the hockey scene. You’re a friend of a friend?”

“Banksy?”

“Yeah, you know, Teller?”

“Oh!” Wonder why they call him Banksy? “I’ve watched a lot of hockey but haven’t been to many live games. And yeah, we’re friends.”

“I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend before,” Micky says. “Normally, he flips through women pretty fast.”

Birdie and Raleigh both smack her legs. “Mick! What the fuck!”

I laugh. “No, you’re right. It’s no secret he gets around.”

“I mean it in a good way! Like she’s special to him!”

“It’s special to me. Kinda like you.”

Micky wraps an arm around my shoulders. “And see?! She knows, it’s fine!”

“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.”

Raleigh puts her hair up in a ponytail. “Well, you must be something to him, Barrett said he’s never invited a girl to a game.”

I try not to let that sink in. It’s not like that for us, we’ll only ever be friends, and that’s the way I like it. It’s not like he put my name on the WAGs box, he gave me a ticket for seats, and I appreciate that the girls are sitting down here with me.

“Just a friend, really. I wouldn’t want anything more anyway. Men are too much work,” I explain. “I hope you aren’t missing being in the WAGs box on my account, but it’s really nice to have the company.”

“Not at all. We got sitters!” Birdie shouts, holding up her hand for Raleigh to high-five. “This is where all the fun is. We normally sit up there because we’ve got kids in tow. They’re much easier to manage in the box. But tonight is girls’ night!”

“Whoa, we? You all have kids, not me,” Micky says. “Don’t lump me in with your overactive ovaries.”

“Except for Micky, but she sits up there because we’re there,” Birdie says.

“Okay, I’m gonna grab a soda. Want me to get a round of beers for the rest of y’all?” Raleigh asks. I notice she has a slight southern accent. She looks at me. “Do you drink?”

I chuckle and nod.

“Perfect, you already fit in!” Birdie says. “What else do you like to do?”

“I read a lot. Travel. Normal stuff.”

“Oooh, we went to Hawaii during the offseason, and it was amazing,” Raleigh adds. “It’s Barrett’s last season, but after he retires, we plan on spending more time there.”

We go back and forth for a while, getting to know each other, and I realize quickly that Banksy, as they call him, made a perfect friend match for me. I’m glad he got me together with them because these women are awesome. Before we know it, the warm-ups have begun and the ice is full of players. Cam’s eyes land on me almost instantly, then he smiles and winks.

I wink back.

When we finally get to the puck drop, excitement explodes in the stands. Though the girls next to me seem more excited to add another to their troupe than watching their husbands play. I suppose this is normal to them. For me, it’s thrilling to watch hockey up close like this. I cheer along with the girls who root for the different players on the team—mostly for their husbands. I follow their lead, but mostly keep my eye on Teller, number forty-six.

Cam is playing great. He retrieves the puck and flies down the ice with it, passing back and forth to other teammates. A puck battle breaks out, and everyone stands. He recovers, gets a shot, and it bounces off the goalie’s skate, pinging into the net. I’m instantly jumping, screaming, and high-fiving strangers along with everyone else in the crowd. I’ve been catching a lot more televised games since moving into his apartment above the garage but seeing the lightning-fast action right in front of you is a thrill!

A few guys slap his helmet, then he heads back to the bench, and the coach claps him on the shoulder, but his eyes are still on the ice. Cam looks at me over his shoulder again and smiles. Micky nudges me, and I nudge her back like we’re in middle school.

“Maybe she’s his lucky charm . . .” she says to the group.

“Nah, if anything, it’s his first goal jersey.” I pluck the thick material.

All three stare at me.

“What?” Do I have something on my face?

“He gave you that jersey?” Micky asks.

Raleigh points at what I’m wearing. “That’s his first goal jersey?”

“He didn’t give it to me. It’s just to borrow for the game,” I explain.

“Oh girl. Come on.” Birdie’s mouth tips up on one side as she smirks at me.

“No, it’s not like that.” I shake my head adamantly.

“No, girl it is that. Plain and simple,” Raleigh says. “He’s probably got a mountain of jerseys at home, all the guys do. If it didn’t mean anything, he would have given you one of those. But to give you that jersey?”

Birdie’s jaw drops. “Holy shit, hell must have frozen over. Banksy’s crushing!”

“No, no, no.” I wave my hands. “I promise, he’s still Banksy.”

“Yeah, okay!” Micky laughs. “I’m calling it now. He’s into you.”

They can’t give me false hope like that.

“I got out of a serious relationship not long ago, the last thing I need is to get involved with somebody.”

“Too late for that!”

I laugh. “I swear. Besides, it’s complicated.”

“Oooh-ooh! Are we playing the whose-relationship-is-more-complicated game? I love this one, I always win. Okay, let’s hear it!” Raleigh says.

I narrow my eyes at them. I don’t know these women. Can I trust them?

“You first,” I reply. I gotta know that my story isn’t going up against something like he forgot our anniversary once or some shit.

“We had a one-night stand. I got pregnant, tried to contact him. He tried to contact me. We lost contact for five years. I thought he’d abandoned me, I hated him. But he didn’t even know he had a child because I raised Arthur, that’s our son, by myself, until he showed up at one of my work events and wouldn’t leave me alone until . . .” She wiggles her ring finger and clicks her tongue. “Now we’re finally back on track and getting our happy ending.”

I stare wide-eyed. Guess mine doesn’t seem so bad.

“Yeah, you win.”

She smiles. “I know.”

“You gotta tell us yours!” Birdie says.

Might as well be dramatic. “I was supposed to get married today. Camden was my ex-fiancé’s best man.”

The others cover their mouths in shock. “Holy shit. Today?”

I nod.

“Damn!” Micky exclaims. “Strong contender, you might have Raleigh tied.”

It’s not the place to discuss the whole thing, but I make Raleigh promise she’ll tell me more about hers later.

I explain he’s only taking me in because of my crazy ex, and he founded a charity that specifically helps women in my situation. Yes, we’ve developed a friendship, but he probably would have done this for any woman that needed a place to go. That’s the kind of person Cam is. I leave out the sexual stuff between us—and some of the uglier parts about Bryan—though I’m sure they can read between the lines.

Birdie sighs. “God, the poor puck bunnies are gonna be devastated.”

I groan. No matter how much I try to clarify why nothing will ever happen between Camden and me, they still seem convinced we’re destined.

“Oh. No. What ever will we do?” Micky says deadpan in a staccato rhythm.

“Please. Stop. I can’t take it,” Birdie adds.

“Hey, as a former bunny, they will not be devastated. There’s always fresh meat to go after. Well, except he is the pretty one . . . Okay, they’ll be devastated.” Raleigh concedes, throwing her hand to the side.

“We’ll have your back in case they decide to attack.”

“Nobody is going to be attacking me because he’s still a free agent who is welcome to take home whomever he pleases.”

They give me puppy-dog eyes, and I laugh. “Come on, let’s watch them play. I promise it’s way more interesting.”

Not long after, the game heats up again and Camden scores a second goal. He’s on fire tonight! Seeing how talented he is in person is so different from watching it through a screen. He carries the puck with such skill and can turn on a dime. His skates are simply an extension of himself.

After the first period, they’re winning 2-1, both goals from Cam. They walk through the tunnel, and we sneak a peek at each other.