The Legacy (Off-Campus Book 5)

GRACE: How’d the press conference go?

ME: It went OK. I blew it on a couple questions, spoke too long. G answers everything short and snappy. He’s an old pro, tho.

HER: I’m sure you did great <3

ME: Well, Coach didn’t pull me aside afterward to fire me, so I assume I passed the media test.

HER: If he fires you, I’ll kick his ass.

Ismile at the phone. I just got back to the hotel after tonight’s game against San Jose, and I’m still feeling energized. Eventually the exhaustion will crash into me like a tidal wave, but the adrenaline of a game typically takes a while to drain from my system.

ME: Anyway. EAM.

HER: EAM? I’m too tired to try to decode that.

ME: Enough about me. Tell me about your day.

HER: Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’m in bed already. It’s 1 a.m. 🙁

I check my phone display. Dammit. Of course she’s in bed. It might only be ten p.m. here, but it’s way past her bedtime on the East Coast.

I imagine Grace all snug and warm beneath our flannel bedsheets. It’s freezing in New England right now, so she’s probably sleeping in her plaid pants and that long-sleeved shirt with the words SQUIRREL POWER! on it. Neither of us knows what it means, because the shirt has a pineapple on it. She won’t be wearing any socks, though. She sleeps barefoot no matter the temperature, and her feet are always like little blocks of ice. When we’re curled up in bed, she presses them against my calf because she’s evil.

I rub my tired eyes. Fuck. I miss her.

I type, I miss you.

She doesn’t respond. She must’ve fallen asleep. I stare at the phone for a while waiting for an answer, but it doesn’t come. So I pull up another chat thread and text Garrett.

ME: Quick drink at the bar?

HIM: Sure.

We meet downstairs and find a quiet corner in the lobby bar. It’s not at all busy, so it doesn’t take long for our beers to arrive. We tap our bottles together, and each take a swig, mine longer than his.

Garrett watches me for a second. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Swear to God, if you’re about to bitch me out again about Alexander, I refuse to hear it. You broke into our house and planted him there to scare the shit out of Wellsy. If you think I’m gonna apologize for delivering him to you on Christmas, it ain’t happening, kiddo.”

Trying not to laugh, I cock my head at him. “You done?”

“Yes,” he huffs.

“Good. Because I also refuse to apologize. You know why, kiddo? Wait, are we calling each other that now? I don’t get it, but okay, sure. Anyway, we’ve all had to suffer at the creepy porcelain hands of Alexander. Hannah’s birthday just happened to be your time of torment.”

Garrett’s indignation dissolves into a grin. “Who you gonna ship him off to next?”

“I was thinking maybe a wedding gift for Tuck?” Our best friend Tucker is finally marrying his baby mama this spring, after three years of living in unwedded sin, that blasphemous asshole. I’m a bit surprised it took him and Sabrina this long to tie the knot—they’ve been engaged for-fucking-ever—but I think Sabrina wanted to finish law school first. She graduates from Harvard Law in May.

“Dude. No.” I swear Garrett’s face turns pale. “You do not fuck around with people’s weddings.”

“But the holidays are fair game?” I counter.

“Chicks are happy and agreeable during birthdays and holidays. Weddings? They turn into lunatics.” He shakes his head in warning. “Sabrina will rip your balls off if you do that to her.”

He’s probably right. “Fine. I’ll dump him on Dean. He deserves it more.”

“Truth, brother.”

A pretty, dark-haired young woman saunters past our table and instantly does a double take when she notices us. I brace myself for the wide eyes and piercing shriek, the plea for an autograph or a selfie with the Garrett Graham. But to her credit, she plays it cool.

“Good game tonight,” she says tentatively, her awed gaze shifting between me and Garrett.

We both tip up our bottles. “Thanks,” Garrett replies with a polite smile.

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your night.” She waves and keeps walking, her stilettos clacking against the lobby’s marble floor. She stops at the front desk to talk to the clerk, all the while continuing to toss quick looks at us over her shoulder.

“Aww, look at that, superstar,” I mock. “They don’t even ask you for selfies anymore. You’re old and washed up.”

He rolls his eyes. “Didn’t see her asking you for one either, rookie. Now are you gonna tell me why I’m down here drinking with you instead of getting my beauty sleep?”

I swallow another mouthful of beer, then slowly set the bottle down.

“I’m worried Grace is gonna break up with me.”

The bleak words hang between us.

Garrett looks shocked. Then, his gray eyes soften with concern. “I didn’t realize you two were having problems.”

“We’re not, really. No fighting or anger or cheating—nothing like that at all. But there’s this distance between us,” I confess. There aren’t many people I feel comfortable turning to for advice, especially about chick problems, but Garrett is a good listener and a damn good friend.

“Distance,” he echoes.

“Yeah. Literal and figurative. And it’s only gotten worse. It started when I played for Providence, but that schedule is nothing compared to this one.” I motion vaguely at our surroundings. I can’t even remember the name of this hotel. Hell, some nights I don’t remember what city we’re in.

The life of a professional hockey player isn’t all glitz and glamour. It’s a lot of traveling. A lot of time spent on planes. A lot of empty hotel rooms. And, fine, maybe this is sort of like somebody crying about how their diamond shoes are too tight. Boo-fucking-hoo, right? But great money aside, this life does take a toll, physically and mentally. And, as it turns out, emotionally.

“Yeah, it’s not an easy adjustment,” Garrett admits.

“Did you and Wellsy have any problems when you first joined the league?”

“Of course. Being on the road all the time puts a strain on a relationship.”

My index finger traces the label of my beer. “How do you unstrain it?”

He shrugs. “I can’t give you an exact answer. My only advice? Spend time together as often as you can. Go on as many adventures as you—”

“Adventures?”

“Yes. I mean, Wellsy and I barely left the house for the first few months. We’d be so tired and just sit around and watch Netflix like a pair of zombies. It wasn’t good for us, and I don’t think it’s good for any relationship, to be honest. We were cooped up at home. She’d be strumming her guitar and I’d be dead on the couch, and yeah, sometimes it’s nice just knowing that she’s there, sharing the same space as you.”

I know exactly what he means. If I’m watching TV, and Grace is studying at our dining room table, I often look her way and smile at the little crease of concentration in her forehead. Sometimes I’m tempted to go over there and kiss that tiny groove, smooth it out with my lips. But I leave her to her work, smiling to myself and simply enjoying the fact that she’s near me.

“But other times you feel so apart, even though you’re together,” Garrett continues. He takes another sip of beer. “That’s when you need to inject some excitement into the relationship. Go for a walk. Explore a new neighborhood, try a new restaurant. Just keep making memories and sharing experiences. Good or bad, they bring you closer together.”

“We do adventurous things,” I protest.

“Like what?”

I wink. “Roleplaying, for one.”

“Nice. But I’m not talking about sex. Sex doesn’t hurt, obviously, but…it’s a matter of making her a priority. Showing her that hockey isn’t your entire world, even when it feels like it is. And if all else fails, a week in the Caribbean does wonders.”

“Dude, when do we have time for that? We barely have a night or two off, let alone a week.”

“You can make do. We’ve got two nights off next week for New Year’s Eve,” he reminds me. “There’re lots of places to go close to home.”

“Really. In New England. In the winter.”

“Dude,” he mimics. “Open up Airbnb. You’ll find tons of little ski lodges and hotels, all within a few hours’ drive.”

“True.” And Grace does like to ski…

I think it over. We have that break coming up, followed by another long stretch of away games. I definitely want—no, need to spend some quality time with my girl before the next road trip. I’m afraid if I don’t, the distance between us will only continue to grow. Until eventually it’ll be too far to bridge.

I’m still stressing about it when we part ways upstairs a half hour later. Luckily, I’ve crashed from the high of the game and now I’m exhausted, so I know I’ll pass out the second my head touches the pillow. We have an early flight to Phoenix tomorrow.

“See you tomorrow,” Garrett says before disappearing around the corner. The entire team has rooms on the same floor, but G’s is on the other side of the elevator bank from mine.

“Later, bro.”

I slide my keycard out of my back pocket and pass it over the door handle, which releases with a click. My first sense that something’s wrong? Walking into darkness. I clearly remember leaving the lights on when I went to meet Garrett. Now, shadows engulf me, raising the little hairs at the back of my neck.

The next warning bell is the soft rustling sound on the bed.

Wait. Am I in the wrong room? But no, that’s impossible. I used my own keycard to get in—

“C’mon, superstar. Don’t keep me waiting all night,” coos a throaty female voice.

I almost jump out of my skin. What in the actual fuck?

A hit of adrenaline surges in my veins as I slap the wall to flick the switch. A burst of light fills the room, clearly illuminating the naked woman sprawled on my king-sized bed like she’s posing for a pinup calendar. She’s got one arm crooked behind her head, dark hair cascading over her shoulder and fanned across my pillow. Tits and legs and the curve of an ass assault my vision before I force my gaze to her face. I recognize it instantly.

It’s the chick from the lobby.

“What the hell!” I growl. “How did you get in here?”

My midnight intruder is completely unbothered by the anger coloring my tone. “I have my ways,” she says coyly.

I can’t even believe this shit is happening right now.

I rub my suddenly pounding temples. “Okay. Look. I don’t know you, lady. Whatever you thought you were gonna get out of this, it ain’t happening. It’s time for you to go.”

Her lips curl into an exaggerated pout. “You can’t be serious,” she whines. “I’m your biggest fan. I just want to show you my appreciation.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” I cross my arms. “You gonna leave on your own or do I need to call security?”

A smug glint flashes in her eyes. “I don’t think leaving your bed is an option, honey.”

To my sheer disbelief, she lifts her head slightly to show me the arm she’d been leaning against. Or rather, the wrist that’s handcuffed to the bedpost.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Mustering up my last ounce of patience, I ask, “Where’s the key?”

Her eyes flick down her body, and the dirty smile she gives me tells me everything I need to know.

No. Nope. Not dealing with this tonight.

Without a word, I stride across the room to the chaise where I left my coat, then grab my duffel from the floor.

“Where are you going?” the shocked puck bunny screeches.

“Away,” I answer tersely. I march toward the door, adding over my shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll let the front desk know you’re here.”

The last thing I hear before the door swings shut behind me is, “You come back here, John Logan!”

Un-fucking-real.

Out in the corridor, I release a string of expletives under my breath, then, bypassing the elevators, stomp toward Garrett’s room. I’m way too tired for this crap. The thought of going back downstairs and having to explain the situation to the front desk, then ask to see the manager, arrange for a new room, risk them calling Coach or someone at the franchise for a signature or some shit. Forget it. Too much effort, and it’ll cost me a solid hour of sleep.

“Are you stalking me?” Garrett grumbles as he opens the door to find me there. He’s shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a pair of plaid pants.

“I’m bunking with you tonight,” I mutter in lieu of explanation, then muscle my way into his room. I drop my stuff on a chair. “Let me just use the phone first.”

“Are you serious right now?”

I ignore his exclamation and reach for the phone, punching in the button for the front desk.

An overeager male voice slides into my ear. “What can we do for you, Mr. Graham?”

“Hi, this is actually John Logan, Garrett’s teammate. I’m supposed to be in room fifty-two-twelve, but there’s currently a naked woman handcuffed to my bed—”

Garrett barks in surprise, then releases a howl of laughter that he muffles with his forearm.

“Since the sole keycard is in my pocket,” I continue in a tight voice, “the only assumption I can make is that an employee gave her access to my room. Or she stole one, somehow. Either way, it doesn’t look good for you guys.”

On the edge of the bed, Garrett is doubled over in laughter.

“Oh boy,” the hotel clerk blurts out. “I am so sorry about this, Mr. Logan. We will send security to your room immediately and get you back in there as soon as—”

“It’s fine, I’ll be crashing here with Mr. Graham,” I cut in. “But yes, please send someone to my room. We have an early flight, so if security needs to talk to me about this, I’ll find them before we check out.”

I hang up without another word, which I know is rude, but now I’m tired and cranky, and I don’t want to talk anymore tonight. With anyone.

“You got an extra blanket in there?” I nod toward the closet as I kick off my shoes.

Garrett gets up to check. A moment later, he tosses me a duvet and a pillow, which I carry to the small couch under the window. My legs will be dangling off the side of that thing, but at this point, I don’t care. I just need to sleep.

“Swear to God, the puck bunnies in the pros are next level,” I gripe.

“Hey, it’s a rite of passage, dude. You’re not a pro hockey player until a crazy naked girl breaks into your hotel room.” A grinning Garrett watches me arrange my makeshift bed. “Welcome to the league.”