Clipped by Love (Bellevue Bullies #2) (60 page)

W
hen Jace and Jayden come home later that night from the hospital, everyone is waiting up for him to find out what happened. His arm is in a sling, and he looks drugged up as he slowly enters the house. Everyone has said he’s out, but I believe he’s okay. He has to be okay. I can’t have that on me, because if he’s out, it’s my fault. The guy was going for me, and Jace, he got in the way. I know it’s his choice, and he did what he thought was best, but if he’s out, then that’s it. He won’t go into the draft, and I will forever blame myself.

“Verdict, Sinclair,” Markus calls out as he comes into the kitchen, leaning his hip to the counter.

Shrugging his one shoulder, he cringes before saying, “Broken clavicle, out for three to six months.”

My heart just sinks as everyone goes to shake his good hand and wish him well. I stay back though, against the counter as I watch, trying to figure out what I’m going to say. Is sorry even enough? He hasn’t looked at me, and I know that has to mean he is mad at me. He looks downright pathetic, his poor eyes red and his body visibly in pain. I feel horrible and I, no shit, want to trade places with him. It isn’t fair.

When the kitchen starts to clear out, Jayden comes over to me and taps my hip. “Hey, you got my phone?”

I nod, swallowing past my sobs as I reach in my back pocket to pull out his phone and keys that I had grabbed for him since he had gone with his mom and Jace midgame.

“Thanks,” he says, taking them from me. “We won?”

“Yeah,” I answer, blinking back my tears.

“Hey,” he says then steps in front of me. “You okay?”

No. Not even a little bit. Not only do I have this on me, but my dad reamed me, saying that I am distracted, that I don’t have my mind in the right place and I won’t make the draft with my game play. Mr. Fisher is coming to our next game, and if I don’t have my shit together by then, no telling what is going to happen. My interviews have gone well, they have, and some of them I felt really good about, but everyone is hesitant. I can see it on their faces.

No one wants to take a chance on the girl.

Ugh, my fucking lady parts. While I do not want a dick, I wish people would stop worrying about what is between my legs and on my chest and focus on how I fucking rock on the ice. That I can shoot harder than most boys. That I’m quicker, smarter, and that I am better. I know it, my dad does, and even my teammates know it, but still scouts and owners are nervous. It’s so frustrating, but I can’t worry about all that right now. Not with the bomb Jace just dropped on us.

“Just upset,” I say, my throat thick with emotion. “It’s my fault.”

Looking at me, puzzled, he asks, “Say what?”

“It’s all my fault,” I say, and then the tears start to roll down my face.

“Whoa, what the fuck is wrong with you? I’m the one hurt here,” Jace hollers at me, coming over and hip checking Jayden out of the way. “Why you making her cry?”

Shaking my head, I watch as most of the guys all step up, ready to murder someone, and then I’m just sobbing. They all mean so much to me, minus a few, and to know they have my back is just overwhelming. I never had this before. Never, and I really don’t know how to handle the way it makes me feel. Reaching out, I wrap my arms around Jace’s waist and I cry into his good shoulder as he pats my back.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jace. Why did you do it? I could have taken the hit!” I say into his chest. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have taunted him the way I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agrees, pushing me back so he can look at me. “But I did it because you are my friend, my teammate, and I will protect you. If his hit did this to me, imagine what it would have done to you?”

“I would have taken it though. Now you’re out,” I sob, choking on my words, and he shakes his head.

“I’m out this year, but there is next year, and then I’ll be up there with you, probably protecting your psycho ass there too.”

As his green eyes hold mine, I know he has no regrets. He did what he felt was right, and I can’t fault him for it. He also believes the words he just uttered, and that alone has me bawling my eyes out because I don’t even believe in myself right now.

“I’m really sorry,” I whisper, and he shakes his head.

“Take it easy, Moore,” he demands. “And please stop crying, it’s freaking me out.” I laugh as I suck in a breath, wiping my face, and he says, “You know, you’d do it for me.”

His faith in me is overwhelming. How does he just assume I would?

“I would,” I admit, and it was so easy. When did he start to matter this much? How do the Sinclair boys just wiggle in and take over the way they do? It’s utterly insane, but I love them. I love them all. Who would have thought this would have happened? Not me, for sure. “I’d do it for any of you guys.”

Markus reaches out, a grin on his face as he nods, “We know, Moore, that’s why we love you.”

Reaching out, Jace hugs me again and then taps my arm. “Now suck it up, buttercup, and get to work ’cause you’re gonna have to pick up my slack. Lord knows Markus can’t,” he teases and Markus glares.

“Don’t make me break your other arm.”

“Typical response from a typical wack-ass dude!” Jace yells back, and I laugh.

Yeah, my life may be up in the air, but at least I have my friends. And when I glance over at Jayden, who is watching me with those eyes that show everything, I know I’ll always have him.

And really, that’s all I want.

Oh, and to go into the draft.

And to be in the NHL.

But hey, baby steps, and at least I’m accepting people now.

Progress, I feel. Progress.

Walking out of the kitchen and down the stairs with Jayden trailing me, I enter my room and he comes in behind me, shutting the door before taking me in his arms and kissing my neck.

“You feel better?” he mutters against my neck, and I shrug. “What else is wrong?” he asks as I pull him to my bed and then down onto it beside me. Bringing my legs up, I press them to his stomach as I hold him, needing his support and his heat. It’s cold as hell out! I’ve decided that I hate Tennessee winters.

Closing my eyes, I burrow my nose into his chest as his arms come around me, holding me in close. “I hate what happened to him,” I whisper, and he kisses my forehead.

“We’d all do it, Bay. We are a team.”

“I know, but I feel like it’s my fault, and I’m just freaking out,” I admit.

He pulls back to look down at me through concerned eyes. “Why?”

When my lip starts to wobble, I look at the vein in his neck and let out a breath. “All my interviews have been good, they have, I haven’t been lying about that. It’s just I feel like they are too scared to take a chance on me. Then my dad is saying my game is been off and that I’m distracted, that I’m not going to make it and all this other shit, and I wonder if he’s right. Is me being a better person, you know, like being with you and having friends and being happy… Is it making me a bad hockey player?”

I chance a glance at him, and he looks perplexed. “Truth, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, the draft thing, it’s going to be hit or miss. Do I think you’ll make it? Yes. You’re the only girl in the history of ever that could. Do I think your game is shit lately? No, I don’t. I think you still have the same determination, but Bay, you’re not believing in yourself. Ever since you got hurt, you’ve been cautious. And I know you don’t want to get hurt again, but you’re not playing like it’s your last game, on the fly, and I think that’s what your dad is seeing.”

“Okay,” I say, sitting up and looking back down at him. “I get what you mean.”

Running his hand up my leg, he smiles. “You are the shit, Bay. You can do anything you set your mind to. Believe in yourself.”

He’s right. I haven’t been believing in myself, and that has to change or I won’t achieve what I want.

“Now this could be me being selfish, but I like this Baylor. She is more relaxed, happy, and knows what she wants. The Baylor from the beach, the nondrunk one, was still calculating life. You don’t do that as much and I think you’re happier, and I also think you’re letting fear get in the way. Of a lot of things, actually, but we’ll stay on the hockey subject,” he says with a wink, and I grin.

“Thanks, guy,” I smirk back as I nod. “But you’re right. I have been cautious. It’s just I don’t want to worry my dad and you, so I’m trying to be good but also watch my surroundings.”

“True, but today, you weren’t worried, you were playing and we had you.”

“Yeah, but Jace got hurt,” I throw back. “I can’t expect people to keep dropping like flies for me.”

“You’re right, so be smart. Go out there and play, but don’t taunt people. Don’t give them a reason to hate you.”

“So don’t be good?” I deadpan, and he laughs.

“Okay, yeah, that made no sense, eh?”

“None,” I say with a chuckle. “At all.”

He smiles. “Fine. Go out there be great, but also keep your eyes open. You can take a hit, Baylor, and you can mow through anyone you want. So do you. Stop overthinking it.”

“Do me,” I say, repeating him, and I nod. “I can do that.”

“Then you’re golden, baby,” he says, pulling me to him. Going willingly, I wrap my arms around him and kiss his nose.

“After we run, Dad is making me do laps and a few drills tomorrow morning.” He grimaces for me and I laugh. “Right?”

“That blows. Maybe I’ll come out after my anatomy test,” he suggests. “I’ll tell your dad I need to blow off some steam. He’ll get it.”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Good, I’ll try to get done quick.”

“No, take your time,” I say with a shake of my head. “Don’t go being distracted and rushing because of me.”

Grinning very menacing-like, he nibbles at the corner of my mouth. “I’m always distracted by you.”

I know I say I’m not, but I, too, am very distracted by Jayden Sinclair.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But it won’t ruin my game because I’m going into the draft.

With my man.

As I sprint up and down the ice, shooting the pucks that are lined up for me before sprinting back, I ponder whether this would be easier and I wouldn’t want to puke if Jayden were here.

The answer is no.

When I finish, I swallow down the bile that wants to escape as I gasp, looking at my father.

“You’re faster,” he observes, and I nod.

“I’ve been running.”

“You’re running?” he says slowly and I shrug, panting for breath.

“Sinclair makes me.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think anyone makes you do anything. Seems like you just want to be better.”

“I do,” I pant. “I am better.”

“Good, thirty laps and you’re done.”

Fuck me.

Sucking in a deep breath, I carry my stick as if it weighs a billion pounds and start my laps. I’d rather be in bed—I don’t have class until eleven today, and I could have slept in since Jayden and I were up for most of the night. But instead, here I am.

Yay.

Skating around for the third time, my belly is queasy but I ignore it, pushing hard around the rink while my dad plays on his iPad. I want to hate him for that, but he isn’t the one working to get into the NHL. He made it, he won the Cup, and he quit it all for me.