THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA.
I knew that letting Crew come up with the plan was a terrible idea, but I’d gone along with it because Michael and Danielle believed it was the right thing to do. And because I know they helped him with the details.
And because I don’t have a better idea.
Other than just letting people think whatever they want to about me.
I’m used to not caring what other people think. I’m used to being regarded as one of “those guys” who can get away with doing whatever I want to. I’ve had a life filled with privilege and I know it. But there are now three people in my life who I do care about. I care very much what Danielle, Michael, and yes, even Crew think of me.
I not only want them to respect me, but I want them to trust me. I want them to know that I’m here for them and that I believe in them.
That’s why I’m here at the Racketeers arena, getting ready to walk down the steps in section one to take my seat with Danielle and Michael and listen to Crew’s “spontaneous” press conference.
He’d come to practice today and then posted on all of his social media channels that he had something to say afterward if anyone wanted to come hear it.
Specifically, he’d said, I know you’ve all noticed the adorable redhead I’ve been hanging out with. Well, I’ve got something big to tell you all about today. See you at the arena after practice.
His teammates had shared it. The Racketeers social media account had shared it. Thousands of fans had shared it.
The arena had been opened fifteen minutes ago and it was already full. People were talking, laughing, speculating, the noise almost louder than a pre-game crowd.
Of course, social media was jumping as well.
The leading theory is, obviously, that Crew’s going to propose to Danielle.
And honestly? If he does, I won’t be surprised. And Michael will owe me two hundred dollars.
Crew is the wild card, the spontaneous one, the fun one who keeps us on our toes.
I will be fine with his big, crazy, impulsive proposal.
I will also, obviously, go directly to a jeweler and spend ten times whatever Crew has spent on a ring.
And then Michael will talk us both into buying something together because Danielle will wear one ring from all of us rather than three separate rings.
He’s the reasonable one, and God help us—God help Danielle—if he’s not around.
I spot Danielle standing at the top of the stairs that will lead down to the seats Sammy is reserving for us.
I hang back as more people are still filing into the arena. I want to walk straight up to her, wrap her in my arms, dip her back, and kiss her passionately.
And reclaiming my right to do that is what this ‘press conference’ is all about.
But Crew hasn’t spoken yet, and I’d rather not stir anything up before it’s time.
Michael is down on the ice, stalling on the bench until it’s time for him to take his seat with us.
Finally, Crew walks out onto the ice. He’s taken off his skates and is wearing blue jeans and a Racketeers t-shirt with a huge Sammy face on it. He’s also got a microphone in hand and one of his big, charming, of-course-I’m-the-reason-you’re-all-here grins on his face.
I shake my head. I swear sometimes I’m paying him millions of dollars for that grin as much as I am for his ability with a hockey stick.
Danielle starts down the steps, Michael sees her and moves toward the seats.
So I take a deep breath and follow her down, ignoring all the murmurings that slowly rise in volume as people start to notice us.
Michael meets her at the seats and pulls her in for a hug. The crowd noise gets louder.
Sammy stands up and bows, gesturing toward the seats, then tips his hat. He steps out into the aisle, making a show of giving me as large a berth as possible.
The crowd laughs lightly, but again, the noise of conversation gets even louder because now they realize who I am, and that I’m with Danielle.
Too.
I step into the row, take the seat that puts her between Michael and me, then lean over and kiss her cheek.
The crowd noise now becomes a little less oh-my-gosh-isn’t-that-Nathan-Armstrong-what’s-he-doing? and a little more that’s-Nathan-Armstrong-with-Crew’s-girlfriend-that-bastard. Followed with a side of who-the-hell-is-that-other-guy?
Danielle reaches over and takes my hand. I almost resist, but then I take a breath and let her link our fingers. I look over to give her a smile. I want her to know that I’m happy to be here. I really am.
I mean, I’m not. At all.
But I’m happy to be with her. I’ll do anything for her.
Even this shit show.
Michael is holding her other hand.
And we are, of course, up on the jumbotron.
I’m going to take that fucking thing out of this fucking arena, I swear.
“Hey, hey, now,” Crew says into the microphone, pulling everyone’s attention to center ice. “I thought you were all showing up here for me.” He gives the jumbotron camera a grin and now his face is huge and has everyone’s attention.
I let out a breath. My chest is tight. I just want this over with.
“It’s okay,” Danielle says softly. “Crew’s got this.” She squeezes my hand.
I can’t believe that I’m actually to the point that I’m sharing the woman I love with Crew McNeill, but now I’m also trusting him to solve our PR issue. Love will fuck you up, in the strangest ways possible.
But I blow out a breath and nod. “If he doesn’t, we’re screwed,” I say. Because, honestly, Crew is the best one to do it. If he can’t pull this off, no one can.
“I’m so glad to see you all here,” Crew says. “That was a very good choice on your part. Everyone got your phone out and stuff? Where are the reporters?”
Crew looks around, and a bunch of people in the front row across from us start waving.
“Oh, good. But I don’t know.” He turns a three-sixty, addressing the whole arena. “Social media can be even better. And faster. So… you all ready?”
The crowd starts cheering, and it seems that every person in the building lifts up a phone.
He faces the three of us, walks straight for us with one of his big Crew grins, then stops about ten feet from the glass in front of us.
Then he says, “I’m in love. With Danielle Larkin.” He points at her.
I look at her. Her cheeks are bright red, her sweet pale skin flushing with the entire arena’s attention on her, but also with pleasure.
“That gorgeous woman right there,” Crew says. “Who is sitting between, and holding hands with, her other two boyfriends.”
Crew pauses, and the entire arena seems to gasp as one.
He nods. “I know. Cool, right?” He grins. “This girl is so amazing, so fascinating, so damned sweet and perfect, that she had three guys fall in love with her all at the same time.”
The crowd is murmuring around us, people are literally on the edges of their seats, and phones are up, recording everything.
“And she has such a huge heart, so much love, so much humor, and compassion, and well…” He gives Danielle a wink and his grin grows. “…she’s so sexy, that she’s actually able to love all three of us at the same time.”
Again he gives the crowd a moment to process that and react.
There’s laughter, gasping, louder murmuring, and one woman calls out, “Lucky bitch!”
Danielle actually laughs and turns her face to press it against Michael’s shoulder.
“So yes, I’m in a relationship. With three other people,” Crew says. “They’re my family.” His tone and his expression suddenly gets serious. “And Chicago…” He blows out a breath. “Fuck, man, I gotta know that you’re gonna be cool about it.” He glances at the reporters and says, “Sorry about the cussing. Can you just edit that part out?”
People laugh and I realize that damn, the guy’s doing it. He’s winning them over.
“Anyway, as I was saying, Nathan, Michael, and I all love the Racketeers. This team means the world to all of us. And you all are a part of that. The fans are integral. And you know I love sharing parts of my life with you. From pre-game fun on the plane with my teammates and friends, to trying a new amazing donut place, to thinking about getting a guinea pig and then deciding against it, I’ve shared a lot with you all outside of this arena. But…”
He does that three-sixty turn thing again, including everyone in the arena.
“If you fuck with my family, I’m gonna stop. All you’re gonna get is Crew McNeill, number 17.” He shrugs. “I mean, I’ll still be MVP and high scorer and all that…”
Lots of laughter again. And another Crew grin.
“But that’s all I’m giving ya’, Chicago. Just hockey. But if you’re cool, the way I know you can be, I’ll share my family with you too. Vacation photos, Sunday brunch videos with recipes—Michael is an amazing cook by the way—and I’m ready right here and now to start a who-gives-Dani-the-best-gifts contest against Nate and Michael with you all as the judges.”
Cheers erupt in response to that.
I find myself smiling too. That would actually be hilarious. Bring it on, McNeill.
“And trust me,” Crew says when the noise dies down a little. “You want to be a part of our family. We’re really damn awesome. Fun, and smart, and hilarious, and sexy.”
He gets more cheers then.
He grins and looks directly at the three of us.
I look over at Michael. He grins at me. Then we both look down at Danielle.
She’s crying.
We both sit forward and lean in.
She shakes her head and smiles. “I’m happy,” she assures us. “Really, really happy. He’s doing so great.”
I sigh and sit back.
But he is.
“So you have a chance here, Chicago,” Crew says. “Show us that you’re the amazing, fun, open-minded, accepting city I know you are. Follow along with the coolest hockey family ever. And…” He pauses, and his grin is huge on the jumbotron. “Be very jealous of Danielle Larkin.”
He winks.
The arena goes crazy.
And…holy hell.
I think Crew just became the MVP of our family too.
Dammit.
But I’m grinning as he drops the mic—literally, and that’s probably going to cost me—walks up into the stands, gives me a bro-hug, gives Michael a bro-hug, and then lifts Danielle up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and kisses the hell out of her.
On the jumbotron.
Of course.
Wade (Sammy the Malamute)
Wow.
I did not see that coming.
Mr. Armstrong is in a poly-relationship.
He doesn’t seem like the type to share anything, let alone his woman, but I guess he has a whole other side to him.
I mean, he’s still scary.
But turns out he’s kind of a cool motherfucker, too.
