Coming Up for Air (cole caufield x oc)

BONUS CHAPTER 7

𝙹𝚘𝚜𝚑

The entire flight home from Tampa Bay, Brady was relentlessly bothering Josh.

"I can't believe you didn't even kiss her," he grumbled, tossing his head back against the headrest of his seat on the plane. "Literally, I was watching and waiting and—"

"Just drop it," Josh muttered. He already hated himself for it enough.

After their game against the Lightning, where Josh scored the goal that put the Senators ahead for good, he'd met up with Tate on the lower floor of Amalie after his shower. She said something about needing to get back to Montreal early in the morning to make it to work the next night, but she'd had the best time at the game.

Josh could tell she wanted to kiss him—he knew she did—but then he got so in his head about everything that he didn't make a move. All he did was hug her good-bye and press one last kiss to her rosy cheek, and then she was gone. Probably forever.

"It doesn't even matter," Josh grumbled to Brady. "She lives in an entirely different province, so I'll probably never see her again."

"Different province?" Brady exclaimed, loud enough that it attracted the attention of several teammates. "It's like two hours away, you dumbass. The guys go there like every fucking time we have a night off because Timmy's in love with that one chick." He shook his head at Josh, who refused to meet his gaze. "Plus, as long as Cole is still seeing Freya, you're bound to cross paths with her again."

Rubbing his eyes in frustration, Josh pulled his headphones from his bag. He didn't care if Brady was right—he didn't want to hear it.

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∆ Tate ∆

By the time Tate was back at her apartment in Montreal, the memory of Josh's lips against her cheek hadn't yet faded. She wanted to claw it from her mind: this wasn't who she was. She danced naked for men for a living. She knew exactly what they were. It didn't matter how sweet Josh seemed, or how kindly he'd smiled at her—he was just like the rest of them. He had to be.

But when her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she saw his name on her screen, she was dragged right back to believing Josh was different than all of them.

Messages

Josh
you get back to montreal okay?

Tate
yes, i did
it's sweet of you to check in

Josh
of course.

...

i should've kissed you before you left

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Tate had to put her phone down for a moment. That weird, gooey feeling in her stomach was back—and she hated it. She hardly knew this guy.

So why did you want him to kiss you so bad? Why haven't you stopped thinking about him?

With a groan, Tate picked her phone back up. She needed a friend more than ever—one who wouldn't judge her or ask more questions than she wanted to answer. Fortunately, Nick Suzuki picked up right away.

"T?" he greeted, as if he couldn't believe he had read the name on his phone correctly. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," she murmured, taking a seat at the counter with a sigh.

"Are you..." Nick trailed off a moment then tried, "Do you still hate me?"

Tate's heart tightened in her chest. "I could never hate you, Nicky," she breathed.

It was true—Nick was the closest thing to a brother she'd had since Tanner died. The thought of losing him completely was one she couldn't bear. She didn't want to believe he had known all along that his teammate was breaking Jess's heart, even if she didn't understand how he couldn't have.

With a moan, Tate let her forehead fall down on the granite countertop. She remarked, "I just don't know who else to talk to."

There was some shifting on the other end, followed by the sound of a door closing, like Nick might be moving somewhere private. "What's going on?" he inquired, as kind as ever.

"I can't stop thinking about a guy," she whispered.

"What?" Nick shot back. "Are you in Montreal?"

"Yeah," replied Tate, "but he's not here."

She could almost picture Nick furrowing his brows in confusion when he prompted, "Well where is he?"

"Florida, maybe. Or Ottawa, I don't know." She shrugged, even though Nick couldn't see her, and got up to start a cup of coffee. "You can't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"Okay," Nick promised without question. "Who is it?"

Tate's hand shook as she pressed the button on the coffee maker. "Josh," she whispered.

Nick, still confused, urged, "Josh who?"

"Norris," Tate murmured, embarrassed.

"Like—Ottawa Senators, Josh Norris?" Nick stuttered. "How? When?"

Tate didn't know how to make sense of it either. All she could do was try to make Nick understand. "He came with y'all's friend Brady when he found us at the club the other night," she explained. "Then he came to check on us, and I don't know—we just started talking and then he invited me to his game yesterday and now—I don't know."

After a pause, Nick asked, "Did you guys—like—sleep together?"

"No, no," groaned Tate. "Literally nothing happened. But I—I guess I wanted something to happen."

"Have you talked to him?" Nick pressed.

"Not really," was all Tate could manage in reply. "I don't even know what I would say."

On the other end of the call, Tate heard Nick release a heavy sigh. "Look, T, I don't know Norris very well," he admitted. "He and Cole are close, though—they played together for years. Everybody always says he's the nicest guy in the league. I don't think it would hurt to tell him how you're feeling." When Tate didn't reply after a moment, he continued, "And hey—worse comes to worst, you never have to see him again if you don't want to."

"I guess," Tate mumbled in agreement. "I'm supposed to hate men."

This made Nick laugh. "I know you are," he assured her. "And you still can. But Norris is a good kid."

"So what are you saying?" prompted Tate.

"I'm saying if you don't try, you'll never know what you're missing out on."