: Chapter 11

“Fuck, man. I can’t believe you’re out for at least two weeks,” Silas says as he sits next to me in the locker room.

I just got done with some painful treatment, thanks to Grace, and I figured I’d visit with the guys before letting Blakely know that I’m ready to go back home. I want to give her some time in her office before I pull her out.

“I know, but Grace thinks if I stick to my treatment plan and don’t miss one thing, I’ll be ready to come back.”

“I don’t want you to reinjure it.”

“I won’t,” I say. “You know Grace, she tapes us up with what feels like steel rods.”

“True,” he says as he leans back on the bench. “Hell, tonight is going to be rough without you though. Are you staying to watch?”

“No, going to watch from my apartment. I actually asked Blakely to watch with me.”

He slowly turns his head and faces me. Whispering, he asks, “Did you tell Posey this?”

“No, why?”

“He’s going to be so fucking obnoxious that I don’t think I can bear him knowing.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“He’s seemed really chill in the Frozen Fellas group, but he’s been bragging up a storm in a separate text about how he’s the best matchmaker to ever walk the goddamn planet. Of course, Pacey let him have it last night and said he shouldn’t be celebrating while our center is laid up with a bad ankle. We haven’t heard from him since but if he knows you have a date planned—”

“It’s not a date.”

“Oh, he’ll call it that. Like Jesus, he’s been insufferable. It’s almost as if he’s trying to avoid something in his life so he’s incessantly involving himself in ours.”

“That’s probably the case,” I say just as OC walks into the locker room.

“Oh shit, man, how are you doing?” he asks, coming up to me and taking a seat.

“Good. Slightly in pain, but just got done with treatment.”

“I can’t believe you rolled your ankle fighting over an air mattress.”

“Yeah.” I pull on my hair. “I need to come up with a better story, because it doesn’t sound great.”

“To me it does,” Silas says with a smirk.

“How was everything last night?” OC asks.

“Good.” I glance around the room. “Don’t say this to Posey, because his head might explode, but I shared my bed with Blakely last night. Nothing happened but this morning, she said it was the best night’s sleep she’s had in a while. She said it was probably because she felt comfortable sleeping next to me.”

“Dude.” Silas slaps my chest. “That’s huge.”

“She really said that to you?” OC asks.

“Yeah.” I can’t hide my smile. “It was the first sign I’ve gotten from her where I thought . . . maybe there could be something there.”

“There’s definitely something there and, now that you get to spend all of this time with her, Posey was right, this is the perfect chance to make your move,” Silas says.

“Yeah, I think it is, but I’m going to take it slow. Feel her out and then, maybe when the time is right, I’ll ask her out.”

OC shakes his head. “I swear, if this all works out and you end up marrying this girl, Posey will never, and I mean never let us live it down.” Fuck, he’s right. But if I were to end up with Blakely, would overpower the utter happiness I’d feel.

something I still can’t even imagine “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I say.

“THIS SMELLS AMAZING,” Blakely says as she grabs a piece of cheese pizza and puts it on her plate. “I don’t think I’ve ever ordered pizza from here before.”

“It’s my favorite,” I answer before taking a bite of pepperoni. We ordered half cheese, half pepperoni and I don’t know why, but I think it’s fucking cute that she wanted just regular cheese.

The game is on in front of us, the announcers in the background talking about my absence from the game and how it might affect the team, but I tune them out.

“Do you always get cheese?” I ask her.

Her eyes are fixated on the TV, most likely listening in.

“Hey.” I nudge her foot with mine, drawing her attention. “Ignore them. They’re paid to talk, but they’re not necessarily paid to state the facts. The boys reassured me that they will be fine without me.”

“You’re right. Sorry.” She turns toward me. “Yes, I always get cheese, I love it. Perry hated that I wanted cheese and so he’d get pepperoni and make me pick them off and put them on his.”

My brows draw together. “How is that fair to you?”

She shrugs. “I’m pretty chill. But this is true cheese and it’s so good.”

As long as this woman is in my life, I will make damn well sure that she always has just plain cheese pizza as an option. What a fucking douche.

When she’s finished chewing, she swallows and says, “So tell me, what would be going through your mind right now if you were on the ice warming up?”

I glance over at the TV where the guys are skating around, doing some stretches. “Probably wondering if anyone is recording me while I stretch my inner thighs.”

She laughs. “Oh, you mean the move where it looks like you’re humping the ice? Uh yeah, people are recording you. Haven’t you seen our social media?”

“I try to avoid it. You learn pretty quickly that social media is a blessing and a curse. There is so much love to drown yourself in, but there’s also the negative. It might be few and far between, but the negative comments and posts, they’re like freshly soiled seeds in your brain, planting themselves without even giving you a choice. And they grow and root themselves deep inside. That one negative comment becomes all you can think about—despite the love, despite the praise, despite the accomplishments.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way since we’re always posting positive things. Although, there are some comments on our posts that people will be sure to say how much the team sucks.”

“Those comments are just rowdy fans from other teams,” I say. “It’s the other ones like . . . the wrong twin died.”

“Stop.” She sits taller. “Please don’t tell me that’s true.”

“Unfortunately, it is,” I say, unsure why I went from how good this pizza is to the dark thoughts that capture my mind daily. Because there are many times that I believe that narrative.

And when you read that someone else thinks that way, it’s hard to ignore.

“That is such a shitty and awful thing to say.”

“Confidence runs rampant when someone can hide behind a keyboard. It’s why I ignore social media. I get my energy from the present fans, the ones I meet outside of the arena or at special events, because those are the ones that matter.”

She shakes her head. “You’re right, but how freaking disgusting. I’m so sorry people think it’s okay to treat others with such disregard.”

I just shrug. “Only makes us tougher.”

“But you shouldn’t have to put on a layer of armor to face the world.”

“Some might say it’s the price we pay for being in the spotlight.”

“No.” She sets her pizza down. “You might be in the spotlight, but you’re a human first. Being treated like that is unacceptable.”

“Thanks.” I love how much she’s defending me. It’s very true, the spotlight can be a distant, dark place where loneliness quickly creeps into your soul. But no need to get into that. To lighten the mood, I say, “Maybe you should be my bodyguard and snap at the people who wrong me.”

“Oh, I would. I can be a keyboard warrior. I can put people in their place no problem. Just direct me where to go.”

“Why does it feel like if I unleashed you and Penny on the anti-fans that you would end up making them cry in minutes?”

“Because you’re aware of our superpowers. No one messes with us or the people in our group.”

“Am I in your group?” I ask.

“I mean . . . you and Sherman are for sure in the group. Maybe Sherman a little more than you.”

“I want to say I’m insulted, but I also understand the connection.”

“Is it weird that I was looking up plant clothes today? There was nothing, but I did find some bowties made for stuffies that could work for him. It would be adorable. A purple one for game days. He would be dressing up just like his daddy.”

“What did I say about that? He doesn’t call me Daddy.”

“As far as you’re aware.” She takes a large bite of her pizza. The melted cheese extends out as she pulls the pizza away. I reach out and help her, snapping the cheese string in half. She smirks up at me and my heart seizes in my chest. It’s the most beautiful smile . . . ever.

Her eyes light up.

Her lips are full of grease and cheese.

And there’s a tiny dimple cutting into her right cheek.

I like this girl so fucking much. The more time I spend with her, the more I realize it.

She isn’t just beautiful—on the outside—but on the inside, she has this uplifting spirit. Her warm personality makes you feel like you can be yourself without any passing judgment. It’s easy to relax with her.

It’s why I find myself letting my guard down and talking about Holden. I haven’t wanted to search for a book to escape into.

“Do I have cheese on my face?” she asks.

“Huh?” I’m shuffled out of my thoughts.

“You’re looking at me as if I have cheese on my face.”

“Oh sorry, no, I was just impressed with that bite.”

“Oh yeah?” She wiggles her brows. “Well there’s more where that came from.” She opens her mouth wide and takes a giant bite of her pizza. Impressive. She can unhinge her jaw and shove the pizza in there.

“Impressive, but check this out,” I say before attempting to shove the entire pizza into my mouth . . . but failing miserably when the pizza hits the back of my throat and my gag reflex kicks in, causing me to pull the whole thing out.

Mouth slightly full, she laughs, tears springing to her eyes. She takes deep breaths as she chews and then swallows. She washes it down with a lime La Croix and says, “Oh my God, you’re such a man. That gag reflex is strong on you.” She leans forward and elbows me like we’re chums. “Not something I ever had to worry about.”

Jesus.

Christ.

Didn’t need to know that.

Because now that’s all I’m going to think about.

That and the way she was able to unhinge her jaw.

“Ooo, was that TMI?” she asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “Just surprised, as I haven’t met a girl without a gag reflex.” I pause and tilt my head. “Shit, that sounded bad.”

She chuckles. “Ooo, tell me more.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not.”

“Damn.” She smirks. “And the conversation was just about to get good.”

“DO you think if you played tonight, they would have scored more?” Blakely asks, turning toward me in bed.

The boys won but by the skin of their teeth. Pacey was working overtime in front of the net, not letting one goal pass, while Hornsby and Posey defended the goal well. Silas scored the one goal for the team, leaving it to a one to zero win.

I was pretty nervous there for a second.

“I don’t know,” I say. “The Yetis seemed like they were on their A game today. They’re a quick team. I’m honestly surprised Posey and Hornsby were able to keep up.” I consider it. “Probably would have scored a goal.”

She chuckles. “Ooo, a little bit of cockiness. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me that would probably surprise you,” I reply.

“Is that a challenge to ask you a question?”

“Could be,” I say.

“Hmm, okay. Well, I know that you like blueberry-flavored things. I know that you like to read and, despite liking to read, you don’t have bookshelves for all of your books, which drives me a little nutty. I know that you somehow formed a bond with a plant named Sherman.” If only she knew the truth about that. Although, when I pass by him, I do feel a kinship toward him now. “I know that you’re protective and kind and care about your friends and was a bit of a hellion when you were younger. That seems like a lot.”

“Only the tip of the iceberg,” I say.

“Well, I will say this, you’re not as shy as I initially thought you were. More just quiet, but it seems like when you’re comfortable, you open up. Does that sound right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So that means you’re comfortable with me?” she asks.

“I wouldn’t let you in this bed or take care of Sherman if I wasn’t comfortable with you.”

“Makes sense.” She shifts an inch or so and I can feel her body heat—it lights my skin on fire. “So tell me something I don’t know.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know. Be more specific.”

“Okay.” She pauses, giving it some thought. “What’s your best memory?”

And here I thought she was going to ask something like what my favorite color is, but she’s diving deeper. I like that.

“Best memory? Well, I have a few but they all revolve around the same thing. Playing hockey out on the frozen pond with my brothers Hayden and Holden.”

“Oh right, you have an older brother. Do you see him much?”

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip. “No. I haven’t seen him since Holden’s funeral.”

She sits up on her elbow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing down the emotion traveling up my throat.

She’s silent for a second and her hand connects with my arm. “Is this hard for you to talk about?”

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Okay, well we don’t have to talk about it,” she says. “We can talk about something else or go to bed. Or I can tell you about my first period to defuse any uncomfortable feeling. I can make you feel even more awkward with a story about how I got it in the grocery store and what I thought was a melted strawberry popsicle on my pants . . . wasn’t.”

I lightly smile. “That’s okay. I can talk about it.” I turn my head so I can get a better look at her beautiful face in the moonlight. A shadow casts on the right side of her face, but the left is easy to make out. Her eyes are penetrating. It makes me lose every boundary, every wall I’ve ever erected around myself. “Losing Holden took a big toll on my family. My parents divorced after his death. Hayden and I haven’t been able to speak to each other, let alone look at each other, and I can’t remember the last time there was a family gathering. Well, I guess it was the funeral.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, rubbing her thumb over my forearm.

“It was silent that day,” I continue. “Not a sniffle, not a single moan of sadness. I think we were all still in shock. We went through the motions, receiving hugs and condolences. We didn’t say a word to each other and once we lowered him into the ground, we went our separate ways. Nothing and no one has been strong enough to pull us back together because the person who could do that, is the person we lost.”

“Halsey, I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing really to say. That day will forever leave a mark on my life. I didn’t just lose my brother, I lost my family. It’s why my boys are so important to me now. And they get that. They understand that I need them more than they probably need me. It’s why they let me be who I want to be when we’re up at the cabin or when I’m in the locker room quietly reading. They know I need my space and I need my escape. There are times where they push me out of my comfort zone, but they also get me, and they know when they’re pushing too hard.”

“They know your limits.”

“They do,” I answer.

“Do you usually let new people into your life? Or are you afraid you might also lose anyone new?”

I look her in the eyes and say, “You’re new and you’re here. Does that answer your question?”

Her lips turn up. “I guess it does.”

“I do fear the unknown though. I like to know where people are, the people who are closest to me. I like to make sure they’re safe. It’s why I’ve gone out with the guys, not because I want to, but because I feel more at peace if I know what they’re doing, if I can make sure they’re being safe.”

“That makes sense. Are they aware of this fear?”

“Probably not.” I stare up at the ceiling. “Hell, I think I’ve divulged more to you than any of them.”

“Really?” she asks.

I look over at her. “Really. And maybe it’s because I know you won’t give me shit about what’s on my mind.”

“Ooo.” She cringes. “That’s where you’re wrong. I very much will give you shit. I just need to find the right thing to give you shit about . . . like . . . the books. For the love of God, Halsey, get bookshelves.”

I chuckle. “Maybe it will be a project I take on while I’m healing.”

“As long as someone else is building them and anchoring them into the wall, then sure, sounds great. The last thing we need is Bob the not-so Builder putting up his own bookshelf and having it fall on top of him, breaking a wrist because you have no business putting together anything.”

“I built the nightstands.”

“Wow, where’s your tool belt? We need to gild it in gold.”

I let out a low laugh. “It’s in the hall closet. Put it in a shadowbox while you’re at it.”

She pokes my side. “Okay, funny man.”

“WANT me to bring dinner over to you since you’re icing?” Blakely asks.

“Sure.”

She made tacos tonight and I tried helping but she wouldn’t let me, of course. I sat on the counter for a little bit, keeping her company, but my timer to ice went off, which put me on the couch. It’s an off night for the boys so we decided to eat dinner and watch a movie . . . my choice.

I decided to make a very shocking—hear the sarcasm—choice and picked the movie, . She asked me the other night what my favorite hockey movie was and it was no contest. I get chills at the end of the movie every time.

Blakely walks over with a cookie tray full of plates, taco shells, beef, lettuce, salsa, and cheese, as well as drinks. I let her sort everything out and when I reach for a plate, she swats at my hand.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll put together your tacos for you.”

“You know, I can do it, right?”

“I know, but I do it best.”

My brow raises in question. “Says who?”

She grins. “Me, of course. Now, tell me what you want.”

Letting her win, I say, “I’ll take the works.”

“Ooo, just the way I like my tacos too.” She starts with cheese on the bottom of the shell and then adds the meat, then the salsa, and finishes off with the lettuce.

“Smells amazing. Thank you, Blakely.”

“Of course. I’ve been craving these for a while. Perry never really liked tacos so I’m excited to share these with someone else.”

“He didn’t like tacos?” I ask, confused. I feel like tacos are a universal food that everyone likes. I can’t imagine one single person saying they don’t like tacos.

“Well, he was more into a fancier taco. Like . . . he needs refried beans and rice and olives and fajita veggies.”

“Isn’t that more of a burrito?” I ask.

“That’s what I told him.” She hands me my plate. “But he’d try to shove it all into a taco shell and it would break. He’d then get so irritated and just start piling everything into a bowl and crunching the taco shell on top. At the end of the day, he wasn’t eating a taco and it just . . . it irritated me. Sometimes simplicity is key.”

“I agree,” I say right before I take a bite, letting the flavors wash over my tongue. “These are really good.”

“Thank you. My secret is freshly grated cheese. Other than that, there’s nothing special about them.”

We both laugh. “I knew it had to be the cheese. Truly elevates the meal.”

“And elevation is key when eating tacos.” She holds up her finger cutely, as if teaching a lesson.

“Besides adding fajita veggies and refried beans and all of that, right?” I eye her.

She smirks. “Exactly.” After she takes a bite, chews, and swallows, she says, “I got an email today from Huxley.”

“You did?” I ask, feeling my skin start to crawl. I almost forgot about the whole new job thing. Fuck that billionaire—can’t he cool his jets? Jesus, let the girl breathe.

“Yeah, he was asking what I thought about the offer. I told him it was a great offer, but I was nervous about moving and also leaving my current job. He told me he understood and reassured me that the office was one of the best places to work and that all moving expenses would be paid. He’d also have someone on the team help me find a place to live.”

And just like that, my anxiety rears its ugly head, making my skin break out into a sweat.

“That’s, uh . . . nice of him,” I say, trying to stay calm, even though panic is racing so fucking hard in my chest.

“I do think it’s a little odd that he’d want me to relocate. Then again, if he gave me the option to work remotely, I feel like I’d let the team down. Like I don’t want to be that one asshole that doesn’t work in the office, you know? Employees are bound to resent that person.”

“I think times have changed,” I say. “I think technology has allowed us to expand what working in an office really means.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I asked him when he needed to know by and he said I had some time, but that he was just checking in to see if I needed more money. I laughed and told him more money is always good and he came back with a salary of three hundred thousand dollars.”

What is his game?

Sure, Blakely is amazing at what she does, but three hundred thousand? That has to be life-changing money for her.

“Wow, really?” I ask, feeling dread consume me.

“Yeah. I feel like that’s unheard of for a position he’s trying to fill, and I’ll never see that kind of money with the Agitators, but I don’t know, I still have to think about it.”

“Probably smart,” I say, trying to sound as understanding as possible and not like the one-sided asshole that’s firing off in my head. “Take your time, think it over. And hey, if you don’t think you want to take the job, that’s fine. It’s really about what you want. I know you like living here.”

“I love it here. One of the reasons I didn’t follow Perry to Australia is because of how much I like it here. And because of my job. I feel like it would be weird if I left Vancouver for a new job.”

Even though it pains me, I say, “You can’t think about it that way. You have to look at the job, at the living conditions, and figure out what will make you the happiest.”

“You’re right,” she says on a sigh. “At least I have some time to decide. But boy is he making it harder and harder to say no.”

“Seems like a great opportunity,” I say, despite knowing I’d fucking miss her if she left, if she moved. I’d be irritated and gloomy. Mad and angered. Sad that I didn’t shoot my shot.

Maybe that means I need to expedite this process a lot sooner than expected.

I’ve made progress with her, I can feel our bond growing, but I wouldn’t say it’s anything that would hold her in place.

“We shall see.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Hey, did you see that new cookie place opened up around the corner from your apartment?”

“No,” I answer. “What was it?”

“Pie Cookies, something like that. They looked so good.”

“Yeah?” I ask, pulling out my phone and typing it in. Pie Cookies comes up immediately and I see that they deliver. “Want Frederick Garrlo to order some and have them delivered?”

She chuckles. “Do they deliver?”

“They do.”

She sets her plate down and immediately scoots in close to me so she’s leaning on my arm. “What flavors do they have?”

I chuckle and open up the menu for us both.

“Ah, Halsey, they have a blueberry cream cheese cookie. You love blueberry.”

“Adding that to the cart,” I say as I click on the plus sign.

“Hmmm . . . oh look, rocky road with a marshmallow center. Yes please. Add.”

“Should we each pick one more?”

“I don’t think we’d be doing the cookies justice if we didn’t.”

“I think you’re right.” I scroll slowly and end up adding a strawberry cheesecake, sticking with a theme, and she grabs one that’s labeled chocolate desire, giving me the heads-up that this girl really likes chocolate.

Once they’re ordered, we go back to our tacos while noting how excited we are about the cookies and that they better be good. It’s casual, fun, and feels so right, like I’ve been sharing meals and conversations with this girl forever. And as we talk about stupid things like why the Smurfs are blue and is it because they eat too many blue things and will that happen to me because I like blueberry flavored things, I think to myself . . . Holden would fucking love her.

He would be sitting back, legs propped up on the coffee table with one crossed over the other and a giant smile on his face, watching me interact with Blakely, knowing deep down that she’s perfect for me.

I knew it the day I first met her.

The moment I looked her in the eyes.

And with every day that I spend with her, I’m just confirming that feeling. She’s everything I could ever want.