He was in the middle of his post-game workout when Feeney ambled up. “A few of us are heading to Bart’s for a quick drink. You in?”
“Nope.” He took another big step and dropped into a lunge, ignoring the protest of his tired muscles.
“Entertainment should be there.”
“Don’t care.” That might be his first true statement in years. He really didn’t care. Not about going out or the possible women or what anyone else was doing.
Feeney crossed his arms, studying him. “So who are you banging?”
Henrik grit his teeth at the crudeness. It’d never bothered him before. It’d always been just talk—when he hadn’t been invested in the women. He’d dished out just as many lewd comments and had never once stopped to consider how insulting crass words could be. He wasn’t banging Jacqui.
He shook out his legs and picked up a set of weights, ignoring the other man to start a repetition of arm curls.
“Come on, dude.” Feeney edged closer. “There hasn’t been a hint of a chick on your arm all season. What’s the deal?”
“And it’s your business why?” He leveled a cold glare at the other man, hoping he’d take the big fucking hint and walk away.
“No deal,” Feeney went on, oblivious to the big fucking hint. Or ignoring it. “I just haven’t known you to not have a woman.”
The truth of that dug at Henrik and drove a spike of pain through his tight shoulder blades. Damn it. “Fuck off, Feeney.”
Feeney stepped back, scowling around his fat lip. “Fine. Be a dick.”
“Hey, Feenster,” Rylie called into the hallway. “Doc wants to see you.”
“Christ.” Feeney turned to Rylie. “I’m fine.” He flexed his hand, sent one last glare at Henrik then headed into the locker room anyway. Thank fuck.
“Curls only,” Steve said to Henrik before he could lift the weights over his head.
Damn shoulder. He grunted and picked up a heavier set of weights to start another rep of curls, focusing on counting and breathing. He wanted to get this done and get home. He could blow off the workout, but fitting a quick one in after games gave him more recovery time before tomorrow’s practice. It was how a lot of the guys got in workouts during the season.
Rylie picked up a set of weights and started in on arm curls, pacing Henrik. Great. He could feel another conversation coming on. But the man just lifted in silence, doing his own thing. Perfect.
Excellent.
Why?
Shouldn’t he want to talk to these guys he called his brothers? When had he become such a dick? Had he always been one?
“Am I a dick?” The question was out before he thought about it. What the hell? His stomach lurched, cramped. “Dude. Forget I said that.” He set the weights on the rack, prepared to bail.
“No,” Rylie said, without pause. He kept his reps up, staring straight ahead. “You’re not a dick.”
Henrik choked out a rough laugh. “Right.” He’d been called it often enough to believe it was at least partially true. Hell, he knew it was. He even perpetuated it. To what end?
“You’re not,” Rylie insisted as Henrik started to walk away, which had him stopping. There were other guys around, but none close, thankfully. “A dick runs away instead of saying the hard shit to a friend when they need to hear it.”
Rylie set his weights down, shook out his arms and finally faced Henrik. His serious expression was an oddity and added another twist to the knot in Henrik’s stomach. The fact that he was clueless as to what the man was talking about didn’t help his rising discomfort.
Rylie stepped closer, voice lowered. “You told Walters what he needed to hear back in August. That impressed the shit out of me.” He cocked a half grin. “Surprised the shit out of me too. But that wasn’t a dick move. Not even close.”
Henrik gripped his hips in a hard clamp that angered the muscle knot in his shoulder even more. Being reminded of Walters and the drugs and the number of people he’d lost to them wasn’t helping his mood. The storm thrashed in his chest, banging for a vent or something to lessen the questions and surfacing doubts.
“Can I ask you something?” Rylie asked.
Henrik peered up at him, only moderately calmed by the honest curiosity he found. “What?”
“You’ve changed this season.” The statement didn’t leave room for a response, and there wasn’t one for Henrik to give. He had changed. Jacqui’s influence had