Pucking Revenge : Chapter 40

THE WAY the dots dance on the screen signals that she’s got another horror story coming.

I flush the toilet and turn on the faucet, even though I didn’t go to the bathroom. Not sure what’s more embarrassing: my boyfriend assuming I spent thirty minutes on the toilet, or my boyfriend discovering that I’m hiding from him and all the emotions bubbling up inside me.

Since Sunday night when Brooks gave me his virginity and then told me he loved me, I’ve been a messy bundle of nerves.

Brooks is kind and good and a freaking beast in the bedroom. Seriously, he’s the best I’ve ever had, and it only partially has to do with the bedazzled penis—and I had to go and be the first woman he ever slept with. Now he’s got high school–level feelings for me.

I don’t want high school–level feelings. I don’t trust them. It’s possible he only said those words because of the sex. Now that he’s slept with me and realized how amazing sex is, will he wonder what it would be like with someone else?

I won’t be able to handle that. Losing him after experiencing perfection with him would destroy me. I have very un-high-school-level feelings for Brooks. I like him. A lot.

He can’t possibly love me love me, though. He doesn’t know what else is out there, so how could he?

I’m spiraling. And now I’m hiding. If I don’t hide in here, I’ll probably blurt this all out and then tell him I really, really love him, not just high school–level love him, and he’ll go running for the hills.

Or toward the actual puck bunnies. Not just a woman who wears a hat that declares her as one.

His only one.

Brooks knocks on the door. “You feeling okay?”

And now he thinks I’ve got an upset stomach.

Shit.

Literally.

“I’m fine. Just⁠—”

Just what? Freaking out because sex with Brooks is the best of my life? Because the man on the other side of the door is the best man I’ve ever met, and I’m so scared he’s going to realize I don’t deserve him?

Yes. That’s exactly it.

Heart pounding in my chest and stomach churning so violently I might actually have to spend another thirty minutes locked in the bathroom, I force myself to open the door.

At the sight of him, some of my anxiety ebbs. He’s standing close, hands in his pockets, hair loose and wavy around his chiseled jaw—because, oh yeah, the man cut his hair and donated it to charity, for me, then posted about it on social media and challenged every other guy in the league to do the same—and green eyes glassy and swimming with worry.

I fucking melt. How could I not? He’s perfect, and he’s mine.

“I’m freaking out,” I confess.

His responding smile is knowing. And it’s kind, and understanding, and perfect. Just like he is. “C’mere, crazy girl.” He opens his arms to me.

With a frown and a humph, I step into his embrace. The second we connect, I feel lighter.

He bands one arm around me and smooths the other down the back of my head. I love when he does that.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I really like our sex and I really like you and what if you get bored with me because you can’t only ever want to have sex with me and you high-school love me and I didn’t love high school and I really like your penis and no one else is ever going to compare but for you I don’t have a bedazzled anything—I guess I could bedazzle my vajayjay but I don’t really love needles and would you even want that?” The words float out in one long, incoherent sentence. That’s what I do. I spill all my thoughts to him all the freaking time, like an insane person.

With a tug on the ends of my hair, he forces my head back. When I begrudgingly look at him, he’s not smiling. He’s not laughing at me. There’s no teasing humor in his expression. And he most certainly doesn’t seem annoyed by my ridiculous monologue. No, his face is marred with a concerned, thoughtful frown.

“I don’t high-school love you. I love you love you.” Now he’s smiling. It’s soft and kind. “What else? Oh right, your vajayjay is perfect. No bedazzling necessary. And Sar, I waited years to find the person I wanted to give my virginity to. I could have gone out and screwed around like the other guys, but I chose to wait for perfection. And I found it. Now that I have it, why the fuck would I want to test it out with anyone else?”

“But what if you do?” I whisper, though my concerns are seriously waning. The way he’s holding me, the way he’s caring for me, force them further from my mind by the second.

Brooks presses his lips to mine. Then he kisses my cheek. Then he moves to my chin and up to the sensitive spot below my ear. “I’m in love with you, crazy girl. Trust me to love you.”

“But what if you only think you love me because of the sex?” My voice is void of any real concern.

Brooks tips my chin up and waits for me to focus on him. “I know that for you this all seems new. These feelings, my obsession, my love. I can understand why you think that my feelings for you could be high school–level shit. But I’ve spent a year getting here. It didn’t happen on Sunday night when I sank inside you. I knew I loved you when I claimed you as my girlfriend. I fell in love with you while we sang Lake songs in my truck on the way to the beach this summer. When we made fajitas and watched Dawson’s Creek on that Wednesday night when you spilled tequila all over my lap. The day you got poked in the eye with my ‘massive dick’ and ran around my apartment like a crazy person.”

My heart squeezes so tight it aches. “It really is a monster of an appendage.”

He chuckles and caresses my chin with his thumb. “I’m in love with you. I have been. I’m in love with who you are, the way you make me laugh, the lightness that hits me when I’m around you. You’re my favorite person in the world. If we’d never kissed, if we’d never had sex, I would still love you.”

The vise that’s been clamped around my chest loosens, and I let out a light sigh. “But the sex is a nice bonus, right?”

With a deep laugh, he moves in until our lips are only a breath apart. “Yeah, crazy girl. The sex is definitely a nice bonus. But it’s only this good because it’s with you. Because you’re the woman I’m crazy in love with. I don’t need to test that out to know it’s true.”

“It’s true, you know.” I pull back a little, my confidence growing. “No one else would be as good as me.”

His resounding laugh is silenced when I crash my mouth to his. We’re going to be a little late to meet my family.

“Now who’s the nervous one?” I tease as we stand outside the door to my mother’s apartment.

“I just—” Brooks straightens and stares me down. “I’ve never met a girlfriend’s family before.”

My heart flips over in my chest. Because he’s never had a girlfriend.

I squeeze his hand. “They’re going to love you. It’s just my mom and Ethan.” I take a deep breath and search his face. “Ethan has MS.”

Brooks’s broad shoulders lower, and suddenly, instead of me easing his nerves, he’s the one comforting me. A squeeze of my hand, a palm slipped around the back of my head. Then he’s pulling me close until his lips land on my forehead with a gentle kiss.

Is this what it’ll always be like? Us being there for one another. Us as a team? Because that’s what it feels like.

“It’s one of the many reasons my job means so much to me,” I admit. It’s time to give him this piece of me.

He deserves to have more of me than anyone else. My worries, my concerns, my truths.

I take a deep breath and swallow past the lump in my throat. “It’s just Ethan and my mom and me. We don’t have a big family like yours, and we never had much. My mom works herself to the bone every day for Ethan. My job makes it possible for me to help her pay for his care. It means he can have more than I ever did.”

“You’re an amazing person, Sar.” His words are soft, but his gaze is intent, heavy with meaning. “Thank you for bringing me to meet them.” He leans in and kisses me softly. “Thank you for opening up to me.”

Stronger than either of us were moments before, we smile at one another.

“Ready?”

He nods and turns toward the door. “Ready.”

The apartment hasn’t changed since the last time I was here. Pillows with sayings like thankful and blessed adorn the second-hand brown couch my mother bought when I still lived at home. The beige recliner in the corner is worn, and the wall behind it is covered in photos that span my entire life. The scents of crisp apple pie and fall hit me as I step farther into the room, and the sound of my brother’s cheers make me smile.

“He must be playing Xbox,” I tell Brooks, gently leading him through the open space, going in search of my family.

The apartment is small. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a modest-sized living room. Since he moved from a crib to a regular bed, my brother has had his own room. For years, my mom and I shared.

It’s not glamorous. It doesn’t resemble Brooks’s life in any aspect. But it worked for us. It still works for them.

My mother pops out of the bathroom with a surprised squeal. “You’re home!” She lunges at me and wraps me in a tight embrace. The feel of her arms around me is a comfort, and I immediately sink against her. We’re about the same height and build. Her hair is the same blond color mine was until a few days ago, and she has it pulled back in a ponytail.

I squeeze her once more, then pull away. “Mom, this is Brooks, my boyfriend.”

Brooks holds out his hand and smiles.

My mother beams back at him. She’s practically glowing when she gives me a quick assessment, but then she’s focused on him again. “It’s so nice to meet you, Brooks. We’ve certainly heard a lot about you.”

His responding grin is boyish and almost shy. “Thank you for having me over. It’s nice to finally meet Sara’s family.”

“Sar, why don’t you go introduce Brooks to your brother, then come help me with lunch?” my mother suggests. “I’m sure you two don’t have a ton of time before the game tonight.”

“No rush, ma’am.”

My mother swats at the air between her and Brooks. “Don’t ma’am me. Makes me feel old. Call me Nancy.”

“All right, Nancy.” He gives her a sheepish smile and a nod, but I’m already dragging him down the hall in search of my other favorite person. “She’s nice,” he says softly.

I stop outside my brother’s room and knock.

“Come in,” he shouts.

The moment I open the door, my inner lunatic emerges again, and I dart for Ethan. I tackle him and squeeze him tight, drowning in relief and excitement at seeing him after months apart.

“Jeez, Sar. Let me breathe!” he teases. But when he drops the controller and swivels in his gaming chair so he can throw his arms around me, I know he’s just as excited to have me home as I am to be here.

I sigh and squeeze him tighter. “You look good.”

He stiffens in my arms, probably spotting Brooks behind me, and wriggles free of my hold. “Holy crap,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth. “You’re really dating Brooks Langfield.”

Brooks’s bellowing laugh from the doorway makes me smile and sends my heart soaring. “Believe me, I’m amazed she agreed to be my girlfriend too.” He steps into the room and nods toward the screen. “That NHL 22?”

Ethan’s smile splits his face. “Yeah.”

“Have another controller?”

“You play?” my brother breathes, his brows in his hairline.

“Not as often as I’d like, but yeah, I think I can keep up.”

Ethan laughs. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, Brooks is taking the proffered second controller and settling on the floor beside Ethan.

I’ve essentially been dismissed.

“I guess I’ll go help Mom with lunch.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder and back toward the doorway.

Neither of them so much as acknowledges me. They’re both 100 percent focused on getting Brooks set up.

At the door, I rest my head on the frame and soak in the sight of them for a moment. My brother may not be able to do all the things the Langfield kids can, but the instant Brooks met him, he found a way to bond with him. I shouldn’t be surprised. Even so, it makes my heart all gooey.

“You’re very smiley,” my mother says as I enter the kitchen.

I am, in fact, very smiley. My heart is still melting, and I’m pretty sure I floated my way down the hall to get here.

“Ethan looks good.” I sidle up beside her.

She’s standing at the counter, plating an absurd amount of food.

With a frown, I take it all in. There’s chicken and side dishes and rolls and even a plate of cookies. “Is someone else coming over for lunch?”

“You’re dating a big hockey player. He needs to load up on carbs before the game.”

With a laugh, I rest my head against my mother’s shoulder. “That’s very cute of you.”

“Your brother is so excited to go to the game.”

I warm at the thought. “I’m glad you guys are coming. It’ll be fun.”

“And things with Brooks…” She picks up the platter of chicken, but she doesn’t move. She just tilts her head and takes me in. “Are they serious?”

“I think so.”

Her eyes go wide. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend, and I’ve certainly never brought a man home to meet my family. I’m fiercely protective of them.

With a nod, she takes the platter to the table. “He better be good to you.”

“He is, Mom.” I pick up the basket of rolls and follow. “He’s one of the good ones.”

With a nod and a small smile, she leans out into the hall. “Ethan, time for lunch.” She shuffles to the fridge and pulls out a jug of lemonade, then returns to the table. “I’ll probably have to call him four more times before he’ll really hear me. He gets so lost in the game.”

As we’re plating the food a minute or two later, Brooks and Ethan appear. Of course this perfect man would turn off the game the moment he’s beckoned.

“This looks great,” he says, gripping my waist.

“You have a lot of work to do tonight, so eat up.” My mother motions for us to sit.

Brooks pulls out my chair and waits until I’m seated before pushing it closer to the table. Then he presses a kiss to the top of my head and settles beside me. He places his napkin on his lap, and with one hand wrapped around mine, he uses his fork to cut into his chicken with the other, as if he can’t possibly let me go.

It’s adorable.

“What’s it feel like out on the ice?” Ethan asks, his tone wistful and a little sad.

“Feel like?” Brooks scans the room for a moment, really considering the question. “It’s a lot like what I think flying feels like. If you close your eyes while you’re gliding.”

Ethan closes his eyes, almost as if he’s visualizing it, and Brooks squeezes my hand.

My little brother opens them again, picks up his fork, and gives Brooks a small smile. “Cool.”

“So, Brooks,” my mother says, “tell us about your family.”

“Brooks really went all out, didn’t he?” my mother says, tugging on her blue Bolts toque. She’s also wearing a brand-new jersey.

My brother is decked out in a jersey emblazoned with the number 13 as well. He’s beaming so brightly I swear there’s a spotlight set on him. We’re standing behind the plexiglass, watching the guys warm up. His eyes are huge, and he hasn’t stopped bouncing since we stepped foot in the arena.

“Do you see the Leprechaun, Sar?” He tugs on my shirt and points at Aiden.

With a laugh, I wave at Aiden. He flashes me a grin and waves back, officially making my brother believe I’m the coolest girl he’s ever met.

“I can’t believe they all know you,” he says, his tone filled with awe.

I muss his hair. “I am the coolest.”

He shrugs me off and points to Brooks. “Look, he’s skating toward us.”

He sure is, and I can’t contain the smile that takes over as I watch him approach. I’m fan-girling just as badly as Ethan is. No matter how many times I see Brooks play hockey, I’m enamored by him. Captivated. That extends to his every move off the ice too. Though when he’s in this setting, his cockier side comes out, and damn, is it hot.

As he gets closer, those green eyes dance, making my stomach flip, and a smile tugs on his lips. “Hey, Sar.” Even the way he says my damn name makes me swoon. “Bring Ethan to the bench for me.”

My mother and Ethan turn to me in unison. My mother is biting down on her bottom lip, nervous. Ethan’s eyes are bright and curious. Since the moment they met, he’s hung on my boyfriend’s every word.

I guide him to the gate and wave to the staff, making sure my employee badge is visible, since this isn’t our home arena. Once they’ve waved us through, I lower myself to give my brother instructions. “Stay back and out of the way. The guys are all in skates. They’ll crush your toes if they step on you.”

Ethan’s eyes are wide as he gapes at our surroundings. The huge hockey players preparing for the game, the coaching staff talking in whispered tones to one another, the guy out on the ice barreling toward the boards—the same one motioning for me to bring my brother closer.

“You want to fly, Ethan?” Brooks hands his hockey stick to one of the staff and holds out his gloved hand.

“You sure about this?” I ask, shuffling closer so Ethan can’t hear me. “Seb might lose his mind.”

Brooks shakes his head. “Even he’s not that much of a dick. Come on, take my gloves and help your brother over.”

I yank the glove off his right hand, then he tears off the left. With them tucked under my arm, I wave Ethan closer.

“What do you say?”

He doesn’t hesitate. With all his might, he throws a leg over the boards. He wobbles back, but I steady him. When he’s upright, Brooks scoops him up under the arms, then instructs him to stand on the tops of his skates.

“All right, Ethan. Time to fly.” With a wink at me, Brooks pushes off, and then they’re flying.

I cover my mouth and will my heart not to leap right out of my chest as my two favorite guys maneuver around the ice. Every one of our guys out there circles the pair, and Brooks starts pointing like he’s introducing them all to Ethan. Then they’re taking off again, the whole group staying in a circle formation and gliding together.

“If he fucking falls with that kid…” Seb mutters.

“They could skate blindfolded.” Fitz laughs. “They’re fine. Sar, you want to get out there? I can get a picture.”

“No.” I shake my head, unable to take my eyes off the ice. “But good idea.” Phone in hand, I tap the screen and hit record. Not for the team. Not even for me. This is for Ethan. His face is so bright, and his cheeks are rosy from the cold. God, he’s never looked happier.

When Brooks brings him back to the bench, my throat is so tight I can’t speak.

“That was amazing!” my brother yells.

Once Ethan is on his feet on my side of the boards. Brooks hovers so close his skates tap the barrier between us. He grasps me by the neck and ducks low so our mouths are a breath apart. “Enjoy the game, crazy girl. I love you.” Then he kisses me. It’s quick and chaste. When he pulls back, he shoots me a wink and snags the gloves I still have tucked under my arm.

He’s skating away and getting into position before I can process the significance of what he’s just done for me and for Ethan. Before the impact of those last few words he spoke can register.

It isn’t until he’s in place that the way he said I love you sinks in. The phrase left his lips like it was second nature. Like he’d easily say it every day for the rest of his life. Like he truly loves me.

In a daze, I clasp Ethan’s hand and guide him back to where my mother is standing at the glass, beaming just as brightly as my brother.

“That man is something special, Sara.”

I nod woodenly, still at a loss. He is special.

And so much more. He’s my best friend. The man who does whatever he can to make me smile. There’s no ask too big. No favor too much.

He finds out I was supposed to cut my hair for charity and can’t, so he cuts his and dares the league to join in. The challenge has gone viral. He did that for me.

My brother asks what it’s like to skate, and rather than just describe it, Brooks brings him out to experience it for himself.

He’s the best person I know. And he loves me.

For the past year he’s spent his nights beside me on the couch, watching every rom-com ever put out on VHS. He’s humored me and let me cry on his shoulder during season after season of Dawson’s Creek. He took me to a Lake Paige concert and snuck me backstage to meet her. He makes dinner for me and laughs at my insanity.

I think maybe he’s always loved me.

And maybe I’ve always loved him.

Oh shit. I love him.

I love him.

My heart pounds out a rhythm in my chest. One that feels a lot like I told you so.

I have to tell him.

“Mom.” Emotions swirl through me as my chest tightens, the ache almost unbearable. My heart is about to beat out of my damn chest if I don’t say these words aloud. I grip her shirt and pull her back toward the ice. “I have to tell him.”

“Tell who what?” When all I do is gape in response, she points at the box where we left our things. “Honey, our seats are over this way.”

“You go.” I release her. “I’ll be right back.” Taking the stairs two at a time, I dodge fans locating their seats and run toward the ice. We’re seconds away from the puck drop, and the music is already playing. The guys are lining up, so I push myself faster.

I have to tell him.

Arms in the air, I wave them wildly as I dart for the glass. Brooks doesn’t see me. He’s in the zone, settling into his position, knees turned inward, head tucked, completely focused on the players at center ice.

“Brooks!” I shout, desperate to get his attention before play begins. “Brooks, wait!”

He doesn’t hear me. The music is loud and the fans are still milling about and getting settled in, but I don’t stop calling his name. My sole focus is getting these words off my chest.

I practically slam into the plexiglass, pounding my fists against it and screaming like a lunatic. “Brooks!”

At center ice, Tyler swivels, ignoring the ref moving to the center line, puck in hand.

Aiden straightens next, eyeing Tyler. When he spots me, I point to Brooks, tapping my finger harshly against the glass, desperate to communicate that I want his attention.

When McGreevey spots me, he taps his stick on the ice to get Brooks’s attention. Once he has it, he points his stick at me.

As if in slow motion, Brooks turns in my direction. The moment his eyes lock on me, I freeze.

Oh God. What do I do now?

The entire team is now staring at me. Their opponents too.

Brooks leaves the crease and skates toward me. I can’t make out his features beneath his mask, but his shoulders are high and his posture is rigid in concern.

“Thirteen, get back in position!” Seb yells.

The ref blows a whistle.

Fans scream in surround sound.

I’m not sure if they’re booing or cheering. The buzzing in my ears from the adrenaline rush makes it impossible to tell.

Brooks stops with his face inches from the glass and peers down at me, green eyes filled with worry as he catalogs every inch of me. Like he’s truly afraid something has happened to me in the few minutes since we parted. “You okay?”

“I love you.” The words hurtle out of my mouth.

Brooks blinks and holds his gloved hand up to his ear. “Come again?”

“I love you!” I scream it this time, hands splayed against the glass. “I love you so much, Brooks Langfield. I’m in love with you. And it is a high school kind of love. It is. And I’m glad it is, because it’s the kind of love that’s usually only possible before you’ve had your heart broken. The kind you believe is forever.

“A Pacey and Joey love. Like with the painting on the wall. Before they broke up. But we won’t break up, because we know better and we don’t need all that drama. And I love you.”

I tip my chin up and laugh. The love I have for him makes me effervescent. Like I might just float up to the rafters. And it feels so damn good to finally tell him.

“It’s a good love too.” I clutch my hands to my chest, savoring the way my heart aches. “Innocent and pure and good. Because that’s what you are. You’re a good person, Brooks. The best. And I’m in love with you.”

He tears his gloves off and slaps his hands to the glass. I hold mine up to his.

“I heard you the first time, crazy girl. Just wanted to hear you say it again.”

I shake my head, smiling so wide my lips might crack. “I love you.”

He drops his helmeted head against the glass. “I love you too.” He lets out a long, almost relieved breath.

The whistles blow again, and he jumps. He whips his head around, then turns back to me. “I gotta game to play, but maybe we can talk about this later, yeah?”

Elation flows through me, but it’s instantly replaced by trepidation. Because suddenly I realize the entire arena is watching us. Our images are magnified on the Jumbotron. The refs are going ballistic. So is Seb, along with the coaches from the other team.

“Shit. Are you going in the sin bin?”

Brooks is smiling wide as he picks up his gloves. He shakes his head and skates backward toward the net. “Worth it,” he shouts.

Tyler is already headed toward the penalty box. McGreevey’s daughters never schooled me in the protocol for when a goalie delays the game, but I learn quickly that in place of Brooks, one of his teammates must sit for the penalty.

Tyler waves at the crowd as he takes one for the team, quite literally.

I mouth an “I’m sorry,” and in response, he points to me, then presses his gloved hand over his heart.

On my way to my seat, while my heart is still pounding and a thrill zips up my spine, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

It’s a text from Lennox.

I smile as I climb the concrete steps. Some of the fans I pass cheer, but most are Carolina fans who are sure to boo loudly. Even so, I hold my head high, feeling awfully proud of myself too.

And happy. So damn happy.