I don’t know how I already forgot what it feels like to watch Drew play—the thrill and the terror that volley back and forth leave me exhausted, like I’ve run a marathon even though all I’ve done for the past forty-five minutes is squeeze Lauren’s hand so hard I worry she’s going to be bruised tomorrow.
Graham is sitting on the other side of Jameson, who’s explaining all the technicalities of the game to him, blissfully unaware of my turmoil. Instead, he’s thrilled each time Drew comes off the ice and glances up, giving him a nod.
But right now, I feel like I might have a heart attack, because Drew is only about ten feet from our seats when he passes the puck to one of the wingers and is slammed into the boards by Colorado’s captain. Words are exchanged, Drew pushes Leland Alistair away from him and tries to skate off, and Alistair follows him across the ice.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
“Didn’t they used to be teammates?” Jules asks, as confused by this behavior as I am.
“Yeah,” I say. “He hasn’t really talked much about his time in Colorado. But we all know they weren’t the best years of his career.”
“It was bad,” Lauren says quietly as she leans over. “I don’t know all the details, but there was something between the two of them that involved Alistair’s wife.” I don’t know what she sees on my face when she says this, but she quickly follows it up with, “But it wasn’t Drew’s fault.”
I always think of the Rebels as Jameson’s thing. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Lauren works for the team and is good friends with the general manager, AJ. While a lot of people would try to leverage that job for social capital, Lauren’s always been so understated about it.
“How do you know it wasn’t his fault?” I ask.
“Because he told AJ everything.”
Everything…from his point of view. But there are always two sides to every story. And he’s going to tell his GM the story in a way that paints him in the best possible light. Could he have actually had an affair with his teammate’s wife?
I take a deep breath and remind myself that just because my mind is going to the worst possible scenario, that doesn’t mean it’s what happened. And it doesn’t track with the kind of person Drew has shown me he is. I release my breath, trying to expel any negative thoughts.
The ref blows the whistle, and Drew lines up for the face-off, then Alistair skates into the circle opposite him. He sets his skates forward and puts his blade on the ice, and though we can’t hear what he’s saying, it’s clear that he’s chirping at Drew.
Drew sets his own blade on the ice, and the ref holds the puck above their sticks, but before he can drop it, Alistair raises his stick between Drew’s legs and pulls forward so that the blade connects with the back of Drew’s knee, making his leg buckle as his leg is pulled out from under him by Alistair’s stick. He ends up on the ice and the whistle is blown, but the entire rink erupts into chaos as Boston players fight with Colorado players in retribution for Alistair’s offense.
Drew’s up on his feet, gloves off in a matter of a second, but the refs are already on Alistair and sending him to the penalty box. As fighting is a standard part of hockey, normally they’ll let the players get into it. It’s almost like they anticipated this and were already planning to prevent the fight.
Drew looks like he wants to kill someone as he skates back toward the bench, but right before he gets there, he looks up and we lock eyes. I don’t know what to make of the smirk that crosses his face, until he pulls at the jersey where it’s stretched over his chest pads. I told him I wouldn’t be wearing his jersey, and there’s no way he didn’t notice when he saw me before the game started, so why he waited until near the end of the first period to make a point of it is beyond me.
I went for more of the Wives and Girlfriends look tonight. I’m wearing a pair of navy-blue skinny pants that hug the curves Drew says he loves so much, a fitted white long-sleeve t-shirt with a deep V-neck, and a gray-blue blazer that matches the Rebels’ blue. I was entirely happy with this outfit, except now a chill runs through me and I wish I’d worn something warmer.
Less than a minute later, the buzzer sounds to mark the end of the first period, and Drew glances up one more time as he heads to the hallway that will lead back to the locker rooms.
“What the hell just happened between Drew and the Colorado guy?” Jules asks Jameson. I lean forward to hear his response, but he gives us a curt shake of his head, like he’s saying, Not here.
“Excuse me, miss?” I hear as someone taps my shoulder from behind. I turn to find a guy probably about my age in Rebels sweats and a sweatshirt with a lanyard around his neck.
“Yeah?”
“Uh, Drew Jenkins thought you looked cold and asked me to give you this.” He hands me a black parka with a big white Rebels logo embroidered on the back. If I thought wearing his jersey would be noticeable, this would be like wearing a flashing neon sign—because this is very clearly a player’s jacket.
I’m momentarily paralyzed. If I accept the jacket, I’m sending him the message that I’m his, and I’m okay with everyone knowing it. If I don’t accept it, it’s one more time I’m rebuffing him when he’s clearly trying. The second option feels petty. I do want Drew and me to end up together; I just want it to happen in a measured and thoughtful way. I want him to choose me because he can’t live without me, not just because we have a kid together.
“Tell him…” I swallow, as I reach out my hand to accept the offered jacket. “Tell him I said thanks.”
I slide my arms into the warm jacket, feeling incredibly conflicted about wearing something that is so obviously his while in this arena. It feels so personal, like he’s claiming me as his in a public way, and I’m not certain I’m ready for that.
Leaning back against my seat, I hope that between the hood and the seat back, no one will be able to see the big Rebels logo. Then I sweep my hair over one shoulder, trying to cover the place over my chest where Drew’s last name and number are embroidered.
But ten minutes later, when the players return for the next period, Drew looks up at me, and there’s no mistaking the look on his face when he sees me in his jacket. It says, You’re mine.
AUDREY:
Sorry I left the game with your jacket. It’s cold out. I’ll make sure to get it back to you before you leave on Sunday.
I glance at my phone, noting that Drew hasn’t replied yet, then I look over at Jules where she sits next to me on the couch. She’s on her laptop, getting some supply ordering taken care of. She’s a total night owl, so I know she’s spending her Friday night doing this so she doesn’t have to do it in the morning.
“Did you decide when you’re headed back to Maine?” I ask.
“I think I’m going up next week. We’re doing the kitchen cabinet install next Monday and Tuesday, and I want to be there for that. I’ll probably head up on Sunday, and just stay for a couple nights.”
“Are you regretting taking on this project yet?” I tease. I’d warned Jules that a project renovating a historical home on the coast of Maine was going to be more trouble than it was worth. All of our other projects so far have been local in the Boston area, and the distance and her need to be there to see that things are being done properly mean she’s got to go up there frequently.
“Nah,” she says. “I don’t mind the drive, and this is going to be such an amazing property to add to our portfolio.”
I glance back at my phone when another text from Drew comes in.
DREW:
Game’s over.
AUDREY:
I know, I watched the end at home. Congrats! That was an amazing goal at the end!
DREW:
Thanks. I’m going to shower and then come over.
AUDREY:
You’re really not going out to celebrate with your team?
DREW:
I’d rather see you.
AUDREY:
It’s late, Drew. And I really need to sleep.
What I really need is for him to go make nice with his teammates so that the team bonds with him, and management wants to keep him around for another contract.
DREW:
That’s fine, I need to sleep too.
“What is that face you’re making?” Jules laughs. “It’s like smiling skepticism?”
I tell her about Drew’s texts. “They’re having a stellar start to this season, and he should be spending time with his teammates after this win.”
“Audrey.” She says my name so sternly my back stiffens. I feel like I’m a little kid again and in trouble. “A professional hockey player who just scored the winning goal in the home opener wants to come over and spend time with you rather than going out and celebrating. What the hell is wrong with you that you’d say no to that?”
I press my lips between my teeth. “I just know how important it is that he gets off on the right foot with this team. I still don’t know what happened in Colorado, but I don’t want him to have that experience here. And…”
“Don’t even think it,” Jules says, her voice low and hard, warning me off my train of thought.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Of course I do. You’re questioning why he’d rather spend time with you than go out and have a hundred women fighting for his attention.”
“Okay…maybe you do know what I’m thinking.” I’m not sure how she always seems to know what’s going on in my head, whereas I’ve never had to really consider what she’s thinking because her lack of filter means every thought comes out of her mouth.
“You’re gorgeous and kind and a great mom to his kid. He’s been nothing but clear about wanting a relationship with you. Don’t let your own insecurities get in the way of your happiness.”
I take a deep breath, knowing she’s right. Knowing that I’m letting my past—my dad ditching us, Drew not responding to my calls years ago, Scott leaving me and Graham after we’d already started talking about marriage—get in the way of my future.
AUDREY:
Okay. Come over whenever you’re done.
“Alright, I told him to come over.”
“Good,” she says. “I guess that’s my cue to relocate to my bedroom.”
“He’s still got to shower and stuff. It’s not like he’s going to be here any minute.”
“I bet he will be. I bet he already has a car waiting for him, and he’ll be here in less than half an hour.”
Sure enough, Jules is right. It’s not even thirty minutes later when Drew is knocking on my front door.
He’s in his game day suit, and I literally feel like I can’t breathe as I look at the perfectly tailored navy blue pants and jacket, with the crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His brown hair is still damp at the ends, like he got dressed after his shower and left the arena as fast as he could. Good thing my place in the South End isn’t far from where they play.
“You’re…” I don’t even know what words I intend to follow that up with. Here? Sweet? Gorgeous?
He watches me, a smile tugging up one corner of his lips as I struggle for words. “You need me to finish that sentence for you?”
I lean against the door frame. “Go ahead and try.”
“…so crazy about you that I couldn’t take my eyes off you during the game?” He takes a step closer, his toes meeting the threshold of the door, and even though I’m a step above him, I still have to look up to see him now that he’s so close. “…unable to stand the thought of not seeing you again tonight?” He wraps one arm around my waist and tugs my body against his. “…looking forward to falling asleep with you in my arms?”
Stomach fluttering incessantly, I rest my forehead against the base of his neck, inhaling his clean, masculine scent. It would be so easy to let go, to throw caution to the wind, and let him sweep me off my feet. But I’m too pragmatic for that. I need to know there’s a solid foundation under us first, and I need to not be afraid to fall.
“You’re really determined, aren’t you?” I murmur against his shirt.
He raises his hand, sliding his palm along my neck until he cups my jaw in his hand. The sensation has me practically moaning against his palm. Then he tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him, and it’s a struggle not to get lost in the depths of those big brown eyes.
“I’m determined not to hide how I feel, Audrey. I know I fucked up in the past. I know I missed out on the baby years and raising Graham with you. I know you’re scared, and I know you’ve been hurt, and I know you’re not going to give me your heart easily. But I’m here until you’re ready, however long that takes.”
