The Trouble with #9 by Piper Rayne
“Drake! Petrov!” Coach yells as I skate off the ice after practice, alongside my best friend and our center, Aiden Drake. “Get to the psychologist today and make an appointment. I’m trying to win us a championship and you two can’t do one simple thing? Gerhardt’s on my ass and I want him off it, you understand me?”
“Already done, Coach. I’m meeting with her right now,” Aiden says.
Coach nods and glares at me.
“I don’t need therapy,” I say.
“Gerhardt says everyone. What makes you so goddamn special?”
My teammates snicker as they pass by.
“I’m Russian, Coach, we don’t do the whole ‘up in our feelings’ shit.” I’m being upfront and honest, but instead of understanding, he gives me a look of disgust.
“I don’t care if you tell her you believe in fucking unicorns and gold pots at the end of the rainbow. Go to that office and sit down in a chair across from her for one hour.” He disappears into his office and slams the door.
“What’s the problem?” Aiden asks. “It’s not a big deal. Just tell her your game is good. That you’re fucking perfect.” He winks and laughs.
I’m not going to admit to anyone that I kissed the therapist, Paisley Pearce, on New Year’s Eve. At the time, I had no idea she was going to be our team therapist. But damn, sometimes late at night, I think back on that kiss, and I wonder what if. But there’s no changing it, so I need to forget that kiss. The team owner, Carl Gerhardt, wants all the Florida Fury hockey players to go to therapy because he believes it will help us with our game.
“You know this is your fault, right?” I say to Aiden as we reach the locker room, finally realizing who I can blame for this situation.
“My fault?” He takes off his pads.
I sit and unlace my skates. “If it wasn’t for your little drought, Gerhardt wouldn’t have felt the need to bring someone in.”
“Therapy didn’t get me out of my slump. Saige did.”
Saige is Aiden’s girlfriend. They met on New Year’s Eve too, but instead of a kiss, he got a drink in the face at midnight.
“Speaking of,” he says and picks up his phone, hammering out a text to someone.
“Maybe Saige was your lucky charm, but Gerhardt made those plans before you started scoring again, and now I’m stuck having to sit in some claustrophobic office while that woman stares at me, waiting to fix me.”
I don’t mention that having Paisley’s eyes on me will probably only make me want to make a move again. Which I can’t since we’ll be under the patient/client umbrella. I don’t know Paisley well, but I know enough to know she’d have an issue with it.
“Sorry, man.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. What does he care? The guy’s been on cloud fucking nine since he and Saige became exclusive. “Did I tell you I sent a moving truck to Saige’s place? She’s moving in with me today.”
Knowing Aiden, he didn’t even ask, but I’m fairly sure Saige won’t object anyway.
“Peachy,” I say, and continue to undress so I can shower and change.
Aiden finishes undressing before me and wraps a towel around his waist to head to the showers.
I follow a minute later. “I’m not joking, Aid, get me the fuck out of this.”
He laughs, washing his hair. “Why do you think I can do that?”
“Talk to Gerhardt. You’re his little pet. Tell him I’m meant to stay angry if he wants me to be the enforcer I am.”
How does Gerhardt think I can remain the policeman of this team by slamming opponents into the boards and starting fights with opposing players who try dirty moves on our best guys if I’m all up in my feelings? I’m in the penalty box all the time because I’m the one who lets the other team know not to fuck with us. If they do, they know I’m coming for them. If Paisley gets me to open up and put all my shit out on the table, I might turn soft and lose my hockey career.
“You’re making a way bigger deal out of this than it is. Just go for one visit and make Gerhardt happy.”
“Hell no. And if it’s such a big deal, why are you just going now?” I shampoo my blond hair and allow the warm water to spray down my back.
“I had more important things to take care of.” Aiden winks.
He’s talking about Saige and I’m this close to ewwing like a seventh grader walking in on his parents banging.
He turns off his water and wraps a towel around himself. “I’ll make you a bet. If I win the bet, then you go to one session right now. You can tag along with me. If I lose, I’ll talk to Gerhardt on your behalf.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s the bet?”
Aiden’s notorious for making bets that are to his advantage, so I’m skeptical. We walk out of the shower room and find Tweetie going through a box of hockey power pack player cards.
“Let’s make it easy. Tweet! Toss one over.” Aiden holds up his hands.
Tweetie throws a pack to Aiden.
Aiden holds it up in front of me. “If one of our cards is in this pack, that’s the winner. If not, we play wars.”
“That’s just based on luck, man. Give me a skills competition to make this interesting.”
“Take it or leave it.” He shrugs.
I groan and sit on the bench. “Your cards are probably in these things two for one of mine.”
He laughs because he knows I’m right. But the chance that either one of ours is in those packs of cards has to be slim to none.
“Fine.” I roll my head in a circle to relieve the stress making my neck muscles tight.
Aiden rips open the pack, and all of our teammates gather round. I’m just thankful Ford’s not here since he had to go up to New York to figure out some stuff with his new baby mama. I’d never hear the end of it if I lose and he was here to witness.
Aiden flips through the cards, my breath stuck in my throat the entire time. The thought of sitting in a chair across from Paisley and her wanting to know everything about me and my past gives me anxiety.
His wicked smile makes my chest tighten until Aiden laughs. “Neither of us made the cut.”
“Thank fuck,” I murmur.
Tweetie grabs the cards and shuffles them. “Okay, guys. You each get five.”
He doles out hockey player cards to each of us. The whole point of war with hockey cards is to have the best of whatever category is named.
I stare at my cards, happy that I got a good mix.
Tweetie clears his throat. “Who has the most goals scored in a season?”
Aiden and I thumb through our cards, reading stats of the players.
Aiden slams his on the bench and Tweetie picks it up. “Maksim, you got anything better than forty-six?”
I shake my head and my jaw clenches. Aiden laughs like I knew he would.
“Don’t worry, big guy, best of five.” Tweetie pats me on the shoulder.
“Who’s got the shortest player?” someone calls.
We both go through our cards. I slam one on the bench and Tweetie picks it up.
“Got anything shorter than five-nine?” Tweetie asks Aiden.
He groans.
“Hell yeah,” I say.
“Long way to go,” Aiden says.
Next, they do draft year, which Aiden wins.
“One more,” Tweetie says to Aiden like maybe he wants him to win.
I scowl at Tweetie.
“Who has the youngest player?” another teammate calls.
The two of us scramble. I win that one, which ties us. Aiden stares me down with a cocky smirk.
“Most assists,” Tweetie says.
Aiden slams his down right away. Tweetie picks it up and laughs his ass off, revealing to everyone that it’s him.
“I’d say this is one good-ass-looking player,” Tweetie says. “No way you have a card that beats me on assists.”
Tweetie’s our left winger and passes that puck to Aiden all the fucking time. Still, I search my cards with a little hope. I shake my head in defeat. Fuck.
“Aiden’s the winner!” Tweetie holds up Aiden’s arm as though he just won the Cup.
“Thanks, guys. Looks like you’re coming with me.” He smiles brightly.
We leave the locker room and head up to the executive offices.
Aiden clasps my shoulder and squeezes. “Relax, man, this is nothing. Say whatever you want. You don’t have to actually be looking for therapy.”
I nod, and we enter the office that’s been set aside for Paisley. Since Aiden said he’ll go in first, I sit and grab a magazine off the table in front of me.
Aiden takes a seat next to me. “I’m so damn excited for Saige to move in.” His knee bounces up and down.
“That’s awesome, man.” I flip through a Better Homes & Gardens magazine. “Is she trying to introduce us to other interests?” I hold up the magazine. “I mean, I’m not taking up gardening to Zen myself out or whatever the hell it’s called.”
“Try to be positive,” he says. “Maybe it’ll be a one-and-done session.”
Aiden gets called in, and right after the door shuts, Gerhardt walks by the glass office door. He stops for a moment, smiles when he sees me, and carries on his way.
Fuck, that annoys the shit out of me. Not that I don’t want to please my boss. I do. Hell, it’d suck to get traded at this point in my career, but the stubborn side of me hates bowing down to the man.
I lower my chin and read about the color patterns popular this spring. Seriously, she needs better reading material if she plans on being a fixture to the team. The guys aren’t gonna want to read this shit.
The door to the office opens about fifteen minutes later, and Aiden leaves it propped open for me to step through. He winks and slaps me on the back while we trade places. I sit my ass on the couch across from Paisley, pissed that I’m here but enjoying the view, nonetheless.
“I’ll be here, but I’m not talking,” I say with my arms crossed.
The door clicks shut, and Paisley unleashes a determined glare on me.
Damn, she’s beautiful. I’d do about anything to take her over that desk right now, but I know that’s never happening. Which puts me in an even worse mood. Hope she’s used to difficult patients.
