Shameless King Read online

  He loved to pretend he was the chill laid-back guy, but the minute he put his skates on, it was easy to see why he’d been scouted for professional play right out of high school.

  Sweat poured off me as we wrapped up practice. Coach pushed us harder and harder as the start of the season approached. We still had two months until our first game, but he made sure we left every practice winded and drained. Maybe he hoped we’d be too tired to get into any trouble after. Fat chance.

  Some of our spectators came down from their seats and buzzed around the bench as Coach gave us the rundown before we headed into the locker rooms. Rah rah, play hard, study hard, practice hard. I glanced at one of the chicks behind the glass. She was new. Maybe a transfer. Every new semester brought not only new and wonderful classes for me to work my ass off in, but also a brand-new buffet of women to sample.

  “Declan!”

  I whipped my head around to see everyone else clearing off the bench.

  “Going, Coach.” I grabbed my gear and headed for the door.

  “Come see me in my office once you’re all cleaned up.”

  Nothing good ever came of seeing the coach after practice. He used his after-practice bench sessions to ream out anyone who’d screwed up and set them straight. His office was for more epic fuckups that not even he wanted to air in front of the whole team.

  I dropped my gear and got a shower in record time.

  “Declan, you headed to Threes?” Heath called out, rubbing a towel over his mop of blond hair, pulling off the surfer-dude look even though it was probably forty degrees in here.

  “I’ll meet you there. I’ve got to meet with Coach.”

  A collective “ohhh” broke out across the locker room.

  “Whatever. It’s nothing.” That gnawing pit in my stomach said otherwise.

  “Right, and that’s what Sunshine said before he was benched all season for getting arrested with that pig in the back of his truck. Been to any farms lately, Dec?” one of the other seniors called out, laughing as he slammed his locker shut. I glared at him before walking the long hallway to the coach’s office.

  I’d barely even been on campus after leaving the development camp. It had been my last shot to show the pro coaches they hadn’t made a mistake. Archer’s disapproving glare at my every move had been absent this summer, which meant I hadn’t played like I’d only just put on my first set of skates. I’d dominated the summer development league and minors scrimmages.

  Classes were fine for graduation. Practice, games, and traveling to others hadn’t made excelling in my classes in the cards, but I’d held my own for the most part. The barbs thrown at me back in high school about fucking this up hadn’t come true.

  My mom had already gotten the day off almost nine months from now and wasn’t going to let any of her jobs get in her way of seeing me walk across that stage. At this point, I wished someone would pipe up about her missing work and I could tell her to quit. She wasn’t working another day once I graduated. When I signed that pro contract, she was officially retired.

  Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I rapped my knuckles on the wood and glass door. It rattled, and I fisted my hands at my sides.

  “Come in, Declan.”

  “Hey, Coach.” I dropped into one of the chairs opposite his imposing dark wood desk that had been the stage for many chewed out asses and benchings over the years. He drummed his fingers on the manila folder under his hand. My heart pounded in my throat, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out across my forehead that had nothing to do with the intense session on the ice.

  “We have a problem.”

  “I know you think I’m not focused enough, but I am. I’m doing what I need to do so I don’t psych myself out. We can close out this season with a fourth national championship, and I want that just as much as anyone else.” I said it all in a big rush, trying to head off any argument he might have had against my performance.

  “It’s not about that. It’s about your classes.”

  I glanced up at him with a dumbfounded expression. “My classes?” I mean, I wasn’t making Dean’s List anytime soon, but I had an okay GPA.

  “It seems your Sophomore Seminar grade was a fail, but the calculation on your GPA was off. They went back and did an audit.” He slid the paper across the desk to me.

  I heard his words, but my brain took a long ass time to put them into something I could understand. My pulse pounded and I got the watery mouth feeling. I grabbed the folder, my fingers numb.

  Sophomore year had been a cluster. New course load, intense practices, the gnawing worry about being dropped from the pro development team—and something truly stupid everyone had warned me about. Trying to add a part-time job into the mix.

  Archer sitting up in the glass club box, staring at me during the summer practices with eyes that matched my own hadn’t helped either. Every time I saw him, I pictured his face in the back of the net. My stick delivering a painful blow, knocking his teeth right out of his head.

  That searing hatred in the pit of my gut had made it hard to focus. Every missed goal with his eyes burning into me, gloating over my failure, made me want to throw off my gloves and shatter that glass. He could sit up in his ivory tower looking down on me, but I’d have the last fucking laugh. His career was over, and I’d show him I didn’t need him, neither of us did.

  On top of everything else that went wrong, Mom got hurt and couldn’t work for a few months.

  The money I’d made on my development team for the summer went straight to paying overdue bills. There wasn’t anything left, so I did what I had to do.

  Without telling anyone, I’d gone out and gotten a night job. Bonehead idea, but I could do everything off the ice on my own, right? Wrong. I’d barely passed with high enough grades to stay on the team. Actually, it looked like I hadn’t. I stared down at the paper, crumpling it as I balled up my fists.

  “One point. It’s only one hundredth of a point. Are they seriously going to bench me over a hundredth of a point?” I raised my voice, staring down at a piece of paper that was about to derail every plan I’d had for senior year.

  “You know how important graduating is.” He held up his hand when he saw me ready to jump out of my chair. “I know you’ve been working out with a team for the past four years, but if you want your degree, be a part of this team this season and graduate, you’ll need to retake the class.”

  “I need to be on the ice, Coach.” I jabbed my finger out toward the rink. It was hard for me to catch my breath with this kick to the chest. I had that watery mouth, I’m-going-to-puke feeling going on.

  “I know, son.”

  I bristled. I wasn’t his son.

  He pushed back his chair and rounded his desk. His hand was heavy on my shoulder as he squeezed it. Any amount of reassurance he was trying to give me wasn’t working.

  “I’ve talked to the deans, and we have a small work-around.”

  My head snapped up and my heart raced. I’d stand in the middle of the quad with an Easter bonnet on and nothing else singing nursery rhymes if it meant I was back on the team.

  “What is it?”

  “They are willing to let you rejoin the team, if it looks like you’re doing well enough by October to get your grade where it needs to be. You still can’t practice with the team, but I think you’d be able to find a few guys who wouldn’t mind putting you through the ringer. Keep those grades high and do well in the class, and you won’t miss a game.”

  I nodded sharply and stood on numb legs.

  “I’ll see you at that first game, because there isn’t anything in this world that’s going to keep me from passing that class.”

  “Glad to hear it. You don’t need to clean out your locker. Leave your gear in there and you can use it should you find the time to get on the ice when you’re not studying your ass off.”

  It was like someone had filled my body with lead. My legs would barely move, and I tried to get the intense roar in my head under control.
I was off the team. My hands shook as I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal bar running across the door. I pushed it out and winced against the blinding light shooting straight into my eyes from the setting sun.

  It was like I was watching someone else move through the stadium and out to my car. I was a spectator in my own life. What if Archer finds out about this? I gritted my teeth. That SOB thought he was better than me. I’d fix this so I could join my place on the pro Philly team and make sure I picked his number for my jersey.

  It would be like he was never there, erased when I did what I did on the ice, and they retired my jersey. That was my goal. Make everyone forget they’d ever heard of Archer Travis.

  I sat in the driver’s seat with my hands wrapped around the steering wheel, my knuckles so white it seemed like either the wheel was going to snap or my fingers were.

  The blaring of “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” jolted me out of my stupor. I picked up the vibrating phone and accepted the call.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hey, sweetie. You made it back to campus safely?”

  “I just left practice.”

  “Great! I hope I’ll be able to come to a few more games this season. I switched up some of my shifts. I can’t believe you’re already a senior. I know you’re super excited about skating, but you’ll be the first in our family to graduate from college. I’m really excited to see you walk across the stage with that diploma in your hand.” She said the same thing every time we talked, like she wanted to be extra sure I hadn’t forgotten I was meant to graduate in eight months.

  “I’m excited too.” I tried to muster up as much happiness in my voice as I could. Guilt slammed right into my gut. She’d worked so hard.

  Letting her down wasn’t an option. The money I’d made in the development teams over the summer helped some, but not as much as a pro athlete paycheck. I wished she hadn’t gotten my graduating so ingrained in her head. There was no way I could let her down.

  “All those shifts and late nights and juggling jobs to see my baby out there on the ice and up on that stage. It’s been a dream I didn’t know if I’d ever see.” Her voice cracked and managed to make me feel like an even bigger piece of shit than I already did.

  “You will, Mom, and I promise I’ll have a front-row seat for you at every game.”

  “Good, I’ll be rushing to get there after I finish cleaning my last office of the day.”

  I jumped at the sharp knock on my window. Heath’s face was pressed up against the glass. At least it wasn’t his ass.

  “I’ve got to go, Mom. The guys are here and they need me.”

  “Okay, talk to you soon. Love you.”

  “Love you too.” I ended my call and opened the driver’s side door.

  “What did Coach want?” Heath piped up before I’d stepped foot out of the car. He leaned against the hood with his casual-guy look on, but the intensity was there in his voice. Some of the other guys from the team crowded around him.

  “I’m not going to be able to practice with the team until the start of the season.” I stared down at the ground and squeezed the back of my neck, bracing myself. The guys went off like a bomb.

  “What?!”

  “How can he do that?”

  “What the hell did you do?”

  “Get your shit together so you can get back out on the ice.” That one came from Preston.

  “You think I don’t know that, Cap? That I’m not going to do what I need to do to make sure I’m skating beside you guys for the first game of the season?”

  “We’ll see how you feel about that tomorrow morning. This isn’t just about you, Declan. This is about the team.”

  I clenched my jaw and stared at him as he climbed into his car. His words stung. He thought I didn’t already know that. Like I wasn’t sitting in my car trying to keep it together. Everyone watched Preston pull away and whipped back around to me.

  “Three Streets.” Heath leaned in, knowing exactly how to mellow this situation out.

  I glanced over at Preston’s car hitting the edge of the parking lot. Fuck him. “Yeah, let’s do it.” Classes hadn’t even started yet. Tomorrow, everything would be different, and I’d work with a singular focus. Tonight, I was getting shit-faced. A solid hangover was a surefire way to put me off having a drink for a long while, and if I didn’t blow off some steam, I was likely to have an aneurism.

  Bring on the booze!

  4

  Makenna

  They weren’t kidding about needing more help with these shifts at Three Streets Bar and Grill. The tables gathered in the middle of the bar were lit by dim lighting and the flat-screen TVs strategically placed along the walls. There were various signed and framed sports jerseys hanging on the walls from championship teams of the past. Basketball, football, a few soccer jerseys, but hockey dominated the decor.

  The green glass light fixtures hung from the ceiling, and the place was just run-down enough to feel homey but not seedy. It seemed like the kind of place college kids in movies would hang out. Earlier there were a few people in the booths that lined the walls, typing away on computers while they chowed down on cheesesteaks and soft pretzel bites along with other bar staples.

  Three Streets was at the corner of three streets on the edge of campus. It was close to the sports stadium and had been around forever. The names scrawled on the brick wall outside went back decades.

  Those first few hours of my shift had lulled me into a false sense of security. I had no idea why the night before the first day of classes was so busy. Apparently, everyone had to have a drink right this moment. It wasn’t even eight yet. and the place was nearly standing room only.

  I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a napkin and tugged my shirt away from my chest, trying to circulate some air on my skin. I prayed the sweat wasn’t plastering the fabric to my back. I balanced a tray with five drinks on it and some nachos and rounded the bar. Dropping the glasses off at a table, I asked for their order before rushing back into the kitchen.

  Working as a server was a hell of a lot different than as a barista. Fried carbs, grilled meat, and loads of cheese slid across the pass in the kitchen where the chefs put the food when it was ready for the front-of-house staff.

  Weaving my way through the back-to-school crowds, I dodged flailing arms and bumps from customers. I dropped off the order at a table in the far corner of the bar after safely navigating my way there with minimal spillage. The first couple hours of my shift hadn’t been so crazy. Steady but not insane.

  I spun around, ready to check on my next table, when I froze like a bucket of cold water had been poured over my head. A crowd of newcomers barreled into the bar and headed straight for the one booth that had been cordoned off the entire night.

  All heads turned at their entrance, and a few rounds of applause and whistles broke out from other people sitting and standing around. No one had even attempted to steal a spot there, and now I knew why. Hockey players. It was their spot. Their table, right in my section.

  And right at the center was the one person I’d tried to convince myself I wouldn’t have to face for a long time. His mop of light brown, curly hair bounced as he laughed with the other players.

  His bright green eyes twinkled like he didn’t have a care in the world, and why should he? Life was presented to him on a silver platter, and it was crazy of me to think anything would ever change.

  He looked the same as he had in high school. Yup, totally the same. Not the tiniest bit different. Well, maybe a little different. He surveyed the bar, soaking it all in like a king surveying his domain. Like he’d walked off the pages of some high-fashion ad for real guys who played sports, had calluses and drove fast cars. He’d trimmed off every inch boyishness and replaced it with rock-hard hotness.

  And I wanted to strangle him the second I laid eyes on him. His broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist and strong thighs he worked out constantly on the ice. I wasn’t even going anywhere near
his ass. Somehow, I kept my eyes averted from that spot even though it felt like a tractor beam was trying to lock onto him.

  The guys fell into their booth, and every eye was on them, including mine.

  I headed back to the bar and slid in beside one of the other servers on for the night.

  “Hey, Gretchen, wouldn’t you like to maybe switch tables with me?” I nodded toward the new arrivals. She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  “I’ve been warned by Larry that I’m not allowed to serve their tables anymore.”

  My eyebrows shot up. I glanced between them and her. “Why?”

  “Apparently dumping a pitcher of beer over the head of an asshole who doesn’t return calls isn’t good customer service.” She made air quotes in what was probably one of the best uses of it I’d ever seen. Definitely not good customer service at all.

  “Oh, okay.” Fairly certain I was working with a psycho, I grabbed my tray off the bar and walked toward the surprisingly stoic bunch in the corner booth like a prisoner on the way to her execution. Will he even remember me? Part of me hoped he wouldn’t, and the other part thought he’d better.

  Holding my tray in front of me like a shield, I stood at the end of their table and glanced at the other guys. Heath’s bright blond hair stuck out among the other darker-haired guys. He smiled wide in that sleepy way of his when he saw me, showing off his perfectly white teeth. Everyone always said he skated as fast as he did because he didn’t want anyone to screw up his smile by getting any of his teeth knocked out.

  “Well if it isn’t Mak.” Heath propped his chin up on his fist, his grin even bigger as Declan’s head whipped around. His eyes were wide as he stared at me like I was the ghost of Christmas past.

  “Makenna Halstead.” He bit it out like a curse.

  “In the flesh. Can I take your order?” I shifted from foot to foot as Heath grinned at me. Declan stared with a glint of anger and something else I couldn’t place in his eyes, but it made my skin tingle. I stopped myself from looking at him. Dealing with him was not on my list of things I wanted to do ever, let alone tonight. The rest of the guys kept looking between them and me, trying to figure out what was going on.