Chapter Text
LORCAN
"You sucked out there last night, Salvaterre!"
God, he didn't fucking need this shit today. Especially not from this puny little thing who was currently standing in front of him with her arms crossed like she was the goddamn couch.
Even though he could have walked over her, he moved around her. And sonofabitch she blocked his path again.
"Did you hear me?" the little girl said, the tone in her voice so reminiscent of her mother that he wanted to roll his eyes. She was wearing a familiar evergreen jersey with a white stag's silhouette on the front, the name Terrasen stitched in an arc above it.
"Look, Evangeline—"
"Evalin," she corrected. He knew her name. After all, he had been teammates with her father for years now. He just wanted to screw with the ten-year-old.
"Whatever. I'm just here for a donut and a coffee before practice." Lorcan strolled up to the donut truck, a little secret in the town that somehow all the guys have seemed to find, destroying his little sanctuary. Now he had to see that cadre of dickheads on the daily outside of work. And it was always worse before he got his coffee—just like today.
"Yeah, well, you do need all the practice you can get," the young kid with golden-blonde hair chirped at him as if she wasn't about four feet tall compared to his impressive seven. The mouth on her as well as the verbal filter was also 100% her mother.
Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, their team captain's ridiculously pompous wife, was a regular fixture at their games. And she was well known at the Terrasen Staghorn's home ice for getting in quite the verbal spats with visiting fans. Frankly, Lorcan was surprised she hadn't been kicked out of the venue yet. Only time and the rest of the season would tell.
Out of all the wives and significant others, his money was on Aelin or Manon, Dorian's girlfriend, being the first to be banned. Yrene Westfall was the wild card. Frankly, Westfall's wife scared him a little. Why was it always the small, unassuming ones you had to worry about?
"Seriously, though," the pipsqueak, no taller than his knees, continued. "You should lay off the donuts. Maybe that's the reason you're playing sloppy."
Lorcan pulled the brim of his cap down and patted his rock-hard abs just to give his hands something to do and to prove a point. "Don't you have a father around here to go bother?"
"He had to take Rhoe to the bathroom. Besides, I'm almost eleven now. I can stay here and wait at Auntie's truck for a few minutes alone."
"Whitethorn! Come get your spawn!" Lorcan pounded his fist on the metal counter in the opening of the truck. "Can I get some service, please? I'm in a hurry!"
There was a metallic creak, and the sound of uneven footfalls on stairs before she appeared. The real reason, the secret he was going to take to the grave, for his frequent visits.
The owner.
Who looked, well, more frazzled than usual. Her ebony hair was tossed up haphazardly in a topknot that was leaning like the Tower of Pisa. Only one side of her denim overalls was fastened over her royal blue t-shirt, and her cheeks were flushed. And damn him if he couldn't help but notice the way her ample chest strained against the shirt beneath her coveralls.
"Sorry," Elide Lochan apologized as she tied on her green apron emblazoned with Perranth Pastries, hiding what he'd been ogling. "I'm so sorry, I'm running a bit…" When she finally came over to the counter and saw him standing there, she smiled. "Oh, good morning, Lorcan." God, why did her saying his name hit him like a slapshot to the chest? Utterly ridiculous. "Your usual?"
Honestly, he had no business stopping here three…maybe four times a week. But…
He couldn't help but watch her, Elide's back to him, working with the careful precision of a scientist instead of a baker. He couldn't help but notice how her round ass filled out the backside of those overalls.
"Here you go," Elide reappeared, sliding the dark chocolate Long John and a large black coffee over to him. He blinked straight at her like an idiot. An errant strand of her night-black hair already falling over her face. He fought the terrifying urge to brush it behind his ear. What in the absolute fuck was wrong with him? Unlike his insufferable teammates, who were dropping like flies into relationships, Lorcan had always been the loner. He had his fun and then he was gone. Why complicate things?
There was a tug on his t-shirt. "You shouldn't be eating that."
Lorcan rolled his eyes, peering down at her as he took a huge bite out of the donut, smiling down at her as he chewed, and her pine-green eyes glowered up at him. "Bite me."
"You're going to crash with all that sugar and you're slow enough."
He scoffed as he slid his card through the machine to pay, taking another giant bite right as Elide leaned over and peered down.
"Oh, hey, Evie! Where's your dad?"
She gave Elide the same song and dance about her little brother needing to find a bathroom. Potty training or some shit. "They went across the street," Evalin added. "Daddy told me to stay here and wait with you."
Elide's lush mouth spread into a beaming grin. "Not a problem. Do you want a donut, Ev?"
The dinky demon smiled, nodding vigorously. "A pink one, please. With sprinkles!"
Pink. With rainbow sprinkles. Of course. Puke.
Lorcan took the distraction and found a seat on one of the metal picnic benches in front of the food truck. It was early, so the place was still quiet. In another few hours, this place would be jumping. Which, in turn, meant more people to hound him for autographs and want to talk about the game. Not that Lorcan minded. Hell, he couldn't turn down the kids that looked up to him—quite literally. After all, he wished he'd had that growing up.
Plus, he was damn lucky to be playing the sport he loved. Signing his name and the number thirteen on some shit was no hardship. But after a morning like today, where he woke up stiff as hell, and after a game like last night? He was in a shitty mood.
He'd been in a lot of those lately. For some reason, a donut always made things a bit better. Not that he'd tell anyone.
Elide appeared again with the pink monstrosity and a large chocolate milk, passing it down to the kid. Of course, the tiny terror made her way over to his table and not to the five other empty ones. Little Whitethorn plopped her butt down across from him, giving him the stink eye as she sucked back her chocolate milk.
He eyed her right back.
"You lost last night," she said before licking pink frosting off the top of the donut. Children were really disgusting.
"Oh yeah? Tell me something I don't know."
"They wouldn't have scored that last goal if you would have followed through with your check."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. That last hit was weaksauce, Salvaterre. My baby brother hits harder than that."
Lorcan sat up straighter, smirking at her. Yeah, he knew he'd played horribly. Usually, he was a grinder, a hard hitter. She had a point, but fuck if he was going to let this tiny girl—the daughter of the captain, no less—give him pointers.
"Uh, huh. Maybe you should go yell at your dad for being a Cherry Picker. His home was center ice last night whenever we actually needed him."
"He was playing hurt," she admitted, which Lorcan didn't know. Whitethorn did look a little winded out there by the end, but…
"Maybe he's the one that should be eating fewer donuts," he said, wiping his hands on the top of his jeans. "Why don't you go bother him about that instead of chirping at me."
Her eyes narrowed. "He got hurt last night because his defenseman didn't protect him."
Lorcan leaned forward with his arms on the table. "If he and Havilliard were actually playing with their heads in the game last night, Ashryver and I wouldn't have had to go that hard and burn out."
Not backing down, Whitethorn Jr mimicked his pose. "If my dad hadn't been smashed into the boards early in the second period, which you could have stopped, he wouldn't have hurt his ribs and his head would have been in the game."
Lorcan sat back, crossing his arms over his chest because fuck him if she wasn't right. Not that he was going to tell her that. If she was anything like her mother, telling this girl she was right would just end in copious gloating. Plus, he was already well aware of his previous fuck-ups from the night before and was already feeling enough guilt about it.
Vaughan was nowhere to be fucking found on the ice when they needed him. Fenrys had been in the sin bin more than the offensive line should have been after Westfall nearly got plowed in the net by the Lord of Bloodshed. Though, to be fair, Cassian wasn't a dirty hitter; it just seemed like he just lost his edge at the crease and bowled Chaol into Gavriel.
Honest to god, though, Lorcan thought that Chaol's wife was going to vault over the glass and go after the guy when her husband was lying splayed on the ice. But, man, if Westfall would have gotten hurt? Gavvy? Buh-bye season. Terrasen's back-up goalie just wasn't ready for the playoff pressure yet.
Simply put, the Velaris Stars just kicked their asses last night.
They'd played better. They deserved to win.
And Lorcan was still pissed about it. So he did what any giant, broody man did when they were upset—lashed out.
"Yeah, well, it's cute and all that you think I'm going to listen to some little girl's advice about hockey."
Lorcan felt no glee when the child's face fell. Those green eyes went wholly round and glimmered with something he didn't want to admit. Something he'd done.
There was a quick gasp to his left and then, "Lorcan!"
He froze, his eyes slowly veering over in the direction where the sound came from, praying to any and all gods it wasn't from who he expected. Because he was an idiot. A damn big-mouthed fool.
Elide stood there, those dark eyes staring at him in shock, hand splayed over her chest. Shit. Those eyes, glistening with unshed tears that made him want to break a stick over his own damn head, speared him.
"I can't believe you actually just said that," Elide said. No, scolded. That hand that had been on her chest now beckoned Evalin over to her side and then came to rest on the girl's shoulder. "Did you really just say that? You don't think she can have an opinion about hockey because she's a girl?"
Clasping the back of his neck, wishing he could knock himself out, Lorcan rose from his seat and sighed. He took a few steps closer. "That's not what I meant...I…She was chirping at me first and poking the bear, Elide."
"Yeah, well, you're a grown man and she's a child," Elide poked him in the center of his muscled chest. "Or at least I thought you were."
Ouch. Right to the manhood. Guess that was fair after what he said.
"It's okay, Aunt Elide. Salvaterre is just upset because he knows he sucked last night and is being an asshole." The little girl shrugged. "It's an athlete thing."
"Ev! Sweetie, even if you're correct, I don't think you're allowed to say that word."
"Mom said if I can use it in context, it's okay."
"That does sound like your mom," Elide said under her breath, before adding, "Still, let's lay off the swears, okay?"
"Fine."
"Sorry, Elide. I wanted to get the kids a donut before dropping them off at school before practice. And Rhoe had a bit of an accident and we had to…" Rowan Whitethorn, Captain of the Terrasen Staghorns, said as he took in the standoff, holding a toddler with silvery hair and green eyes. The pine eyes of the elder Whitethorn settled on him with suspicion and didn't waver. "Everything all right here?"
Lorcan waited for the little girl to rat him out to her old man. To give him the trouble he probably deserved it for his big mouth. And yet, young Evalin Whitethorn merely looked up at her dad and said, "Nope. Everything's good, Dad."
Rowan finally turned his attention from his best defenseman to his eldest daughter in the ever-growing Whitethorn-Galathynius brood. "You sure, kiddo?"
"Yeah. We're going to be late to school," she said, giving a still tense Elide a little squeeze before stepping away. "Thanks, Auntie."
"You're welcome, Ev," Elide said, her lips pulled in a tense smile. "Have a good day, sweetie."
"Okay!" Evalin said as she walked backward toward her father, waving and giving Lorcan the evil eye. Man, children really were terrifying things.
Adjusting the quiet boy in his arms, Rowan leaned into his teammate. "I don't know what happened, but I know something did. The only reason you're not going to have to bag skate until you puke today is because of my girl's loyalty to you. You got it?"
"Yeah."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Captain," Lorcan gritted out.
"Good. Now get to practice, Salvaterre." Whitethorn bounced the small child in his arms and gave Lorcan a curt dip of his chin. "C'mon, Ev. Let's get going."
Considering his dick move, Lorcan thought he had gotten away relatively unscathed. Until he turned and met Elide. She'd moved in front of him, her eyes like two blazing coals. Fuck.
In all his mornings coming there, watching her. Admiring her. He'd never seen her angry. Frustrated? Flustered? Absolutely. But even after seeing her with unruly customers, people who he wanted to ring their necks, Lorcan had never seen Elide Lochan truly angry before.
Until now.
And that rage was turned on him. He had a feeling that if she didn't have to jump up, she'd slap him.
And fuck if his deranged ass didn't find it completely hot.
"You know, I always thought from what Rowan and the rest said that you were just surly. A grumpy guy. Perhaps a little solitary. But I never thought you to be cruel, Salvaterre," Elide said, her words trembling with emotions.
"I wasn't trying to be, Elide."
"Well, you were. Turn around and look at her."
Lorcan hid his rolling eyes as he did what she said, as if she had control over his damn body. When he looked at her, standing beside the fancy green SUV where Whitethorn was ducked in dealing with a car seat situation, he saw her—and he finally saw the name on the back of her forest green Terrasen sweater.
#13. Not her father's number, as he suspected. No.
It was his.
"You're her favorite player, you ass," Elide said, pouring salt into an expanding wound. "Ev loves hockey. Watching. Playing. That girl lives and breathes it. She wants to play when she grows up. She wants to be you when she grows up. Though, now, after seeing this side of you, I wouldn't know why."
And with that, the petite donut truck owner spun on her heels and walked away, leaving him with a full, turning stomach and a heavy heart in the middle of the parking lot.