Tweetie says something to Bud. The conversation is short, but Tweetie’s good humor isn’t part of it, that much is clear. Bud looks in my direction and raises his eyebrows right before he walks through the tunnel.

  I might as well call Mr. Herington myself.

  Forty-Nine

  Tweetie

  After practice is done, I skate over to Tedi to find out exactly what Bud said to her. I saw her face, the way she paled and tried not to make eye contact with him. I’m sure it had something to do with Mason’s school visit. I’ve been tagged in a lot of photos from parents and the school itself about it.

  When he finally walked away and she rose to go back to Fletcher, I took my opportunity to make sure Bud knew the school visit was my idea and thanked him for signing off on the T-shirts for the school.

  “How are the pictures, Fletch?” I ask, giving him a fist-bump. “You’re welcome for having such a beautiful face that you don’t have to do much editing.”

  Fletcher laughs and shakes his head. “Come on by when you’re done,” he says to Tedi, eyeing me.

  “Walk with me?” I ask and skate along the boards until I get to the opening.

  I deny myself the urge to touch her. To place my hand on the small of her back to help her on the ice or lean in to kiss her on the nape of her neck.

  “What did he say?” I ask.

  She sighs. “You can’t be my protector. Not here.”

  The rest of the team is already in the locker room, so we have a little privacy to at least talk.

  “It’s instinctual. I know you’re all badass and can take care of yourself, but I’m an alpha, babe, you know that.”

  She rolls her eyes, but a smile still plays at her lips. One of my favorite expressions on her. “I think he suspects or knows about our past. He wasn’t happy about the visit to the school. But whatever, I can handle him.” She looks down the hallway. “But, Tweetie, I’m not ready to out us here. There are repercussions for me that I have to consider.”

  I understand it would be far worse for her than me. Decisions will have to be made.

  “Do we know the rules?” I ask, hoping she’s already looked them up.

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m not sure how to call HR and be like, ‘Hey, if I fall in love with one of these hockey guys, what’s my chance of keeping my job?’”

  “One, I’m not just one of these hockey guys, and two, if you fall in love?” I step an inch closer, my skates making me so much taller than her now.

  “I would like to at least show them how successful I can make this program before I cause problems. Bud is sniffing around, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s asked some people⁠—”

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. So far, we aren’t even a couple.”

  “But we’ve already⁠—”

  “No one knows that.” I look around to make sure we’re still alone. “Only you and I were there that night.”

  I can’t wait for so many more nights just like that with her. I can’t wait until we share the same home, the same bedroom. When we’re back to being his and hers. But I also know how important her job is to her, and I’d never want to be the reason she loses that. Decisions will have to be made, but it’d be great if we could delay them until after this season, until after we’re official and have some time under our belt.

  “I know I’m getting ahead of myself.” She leans her back against the wall, staring at the floor.

  “I really want to hold you right now,” I whisper.

  Her gaze lifts to meet mine, and I hate seeing the pain there. “I want you to hold me.”

  She lowers her arms, and I take the opportunity to graze her fingers with mine. It would be easy to retreat if anyone came out. “Come home with me. Take a nap with me.”

  “That’s not exactly going to keep me in the good graces of Bud Caldron. I need to work here. Make you look all alpha and leaderly.”

  “Man, your job is easy.” I laugh, and a door opens down the hall.

  Both of us glance to see who might be coming, but no one does.

  “Hey, um…”

  Her eyes narrow when she hears the hesitance in my voice.

  “My mom and Georgia are coming to the game tonight.” I cringe.

  She smacks me in the stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I forgot. It’s been planned for a while, and you distract me. My mom called me this morning to tell me when they’re flying in and where they’re staying. But they’ll be seated right by you, and I wanted to warn you before you… I’m assuming you’re going to the game tonight, right?”

  She laughs. “Do you want me to come to your game?”

  “Since you started going, I’ve had some pretty awesome games.”

  “And that’s the only reason? Because it makes you play better?” Her eyebrows lift.

  I inch closer, my fingers running down the length of hers. “No.” I shake my head. “It’s more selfish than that.”

  She tilts her head.

  “It calms me when you’re there,” I say.

  “Why?”

  My fingers tighten around hers and the side of my body leans into hers. “Because seeing you in the stands reminds me that the best thing in my life isn’t the game—it’s you.”

  “Tweetie!” She pushes me with her free hand, and I stumble back until I catch myself.

  “What?” I hold up my hands.

  “You can’t say stuff like that. Not yet.”

  I wish no one was around so I could grab her hand and tug her into my chest and tell her we can take this slow, but it’s the truth. After she was no longer in the stands, I’d find myself looking to where she used to sit, and I realized I’d thought hockey was my number one, but it turned out it was my number two. I’d sacrificed my first love for my second. I was just too dense to see it.

  “Sorry?” My tone suggests I’m anything but.

  She narrows her eyes. “Go shower and sleep. I have to go get this handled with Fletcher.” She shakes her head as she walks ahead of me down the tunnel.

  “Only if you do that again.”

  She swivels around, walking backward. “What?”

  “I hate it when you walk away from me, but I still enjoy the view.”

  She continues to shake her head, and when she gets to the end of the hall, she glances both ways before bringing her hand to her lips and blowing me a kiss.

  Fuck, I love that girl.

  Fifty

  Tedi

  I’m in the stands with all the usuals—Kyleigh, her dad, Eloise, Jade, and Bodhi. The guys are in the middle of their warm-ups, and I’m fairly sure Tweetie has positioned himself right in front of me because he knows how hot I get when he does that. The few sly looks he’s given me over his shoulder when he changes positions confirm my suspicions. But I have a little surprise of my own for him.

  I might not be able to wear his jersey to the game, but I have on a T-shirt with his name and number under my sweater. I made sure to take a picture and send it to him before the game. Hopefully he checks his phone after warm-ups, before he comes out to play.

  “Tedi,” a woman says, and a smile comes to my lips.

  “Melody.” I stand, and Tweetie’s mom’s arms are already out and ready to embrace me.

  She’s taller than me, her hair more gray than blonde. With a kind smile, she pulls me into a warm, welcoming hug. “I missed you. And I’m not the only one.”

  “I missed you too.” We pull away from one another, but she continues to hold my hands. “How have you been?” I ask.

  There’s a knock on the glass, and we both look to find Tweetie there. His smile is big and wide because he loves his mom and his sister.

  “Tedi,” Georgia says, and we hug. “I see he still keeps tabs on you.” She laughs.

  Melody goes to the glass and tells him to have a great game.

  I lift my phone to signal to him to make sure he checks his, and he nods, skating away.

  “Let me introduce you, unless…” I walk them over to all the girlfriends and wives of Tweetie’s best friends.

  “Kyleigh. Jade,” Melody says.

  Her words are like the quick sting from a whip, reminding me of our time apart. Of course Melody and Georgia know Kyleigh and Jade.

  Eloise gets up out of her seat and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Eloise, Conor’s wife.”

  “Wife?” Georgia says. “That boy moves as fast as my brother.” She eyes me. Her similarities to her brother always surprise me. There’s no denying they’re siblings.

  Melody moves down the line, hugging Conor’s dad hello. Was that hug a little long to be a friendly one? I think so.

  Everyone catches up with each other as I finally sit down in my seat. Georgia is next to me, and it appears we lost Melody to Conor’s dad. She’s decided to sit at his end, and everyone slides over one.

  “So…” Georgia elbows me.

  “What?”

  She crosses her legs and arms, waiting for me to tell her.

  “Did you talk to your brother?” I ask.

  “I did, and he’s about as tight-lipped as you’re being, but I take it as a good sign that you’re here.”

  “I’m here for work. Social media thing.” I ease past the other stuff that Georgia really wants to know about.

  “And now you’re in the first row of the wives and girlfriends section, telling my brother to check his phone when he gets into the locker room?” Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raise.

  “I hate that you’re a cop.”

  “Detective,” she says. “Which gives me a lot of resources, so either you give me the dirt, or I search it up on my own.”

  “And here I was excited to see you.”

  She laughs. “I was pretty damn excited when Tweetie brought up your name.”

  “So he warned you ahead of time?” I ask, the lights going dark, which means they’re about to announce the teams and start the game.

  We both stand, and she leans over and whispers in my ear, “I heard your name before you ever landed in Chicago.”

  I must give her a look, because she takes my hand. “You were always his one, and after the first breakup, he needed a confidant.” She raises her hand. “That was me. Which probably wasn’t great since I was going through a divorce.” She shrugs. “But I’ll tell you one thing, and I don’t say this so you take my brother back, but he never stopped.”

  My forehead wrinkles. “Stopped what?”

  The announcer comes on the microphone, and the crowd cheers.

  “Loving you, silly. He was just too hurt and too proud to chase. I’ll give you a little warning. That doesn’t hold true anymore.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me into her side. “Welcome back into the family.”

  She laughs just like Tweetie does, and when they announce his name, she jumps and hollers, cheering on her brother as tears well in my eyes. God, since when do I cry so much?

  When the third period comes around, the score is tied. The clock is winding down, and my stomach twists, unable to shake the fear that they might actually lose. And his mom and sister are in the stands.

  “I absolutely hate this part,” Eloise mutters, gripping the edge of her seat.

  St. Louis gains possession on a breakaway. I almost want to close my eyes—Conor’s an incredible goalie, but there’s only so much one guy can do. Their center winds up for a shot. He shoots it hard and fast, but Conor blocks it and it flies to the right.

  “Oh, thank God.” Eloise exhales, pressing a hand to her chest.

  But our relief is short-lived. The rebound lands right on the stick of St. Louis’s right wing. He snaps a quick pass across to the left wing, who fires off another shot. Conor stretches, and it deflects off his shin pad. The puck pops into the air, and our defenseman tracks it, smacking it out of danger and down the ice.

  Rowan gets it first, skating hard, but instead of taking the shot, he passes to Henry just before a St. Louis defender crunches him into the boards.

  Jade winces. “I hate those hits.”

  The worries and nervousness from the women who love these men send me back to the game when Tweetie was injured the worst—on the ice, clutching his knee, his face twisted in pain, the trainers rushing out. The way he was carried off, unable to put weight on his leg. I shake away the memory.

  Tweetie gets the puck, but two St. Louis players pin him to the boards. He battles, fighting for space, but he’s trapped. Rowan loops around, wedging in, his stick joining the other three. He digs the puck free and passes it to Henry, who’s waiting.

  St. Louis is on them, though, giving them no clearance for a shot. They pass and move, trying to shake the defense. Rowan, Tweetie, and Henry weave in and out, circling the net. I can see Tweetie’s mouth moving, no doubt chirping to someone on the ice and living up to his nickname.

  “Come on, guys,” Georgia urges, her voice tight.

  I glance at the Jumbotron to see that there are less than twenty seconds left.

  Finally, Rowan shoots, but their goalie is just as good as Conor, and he blocks it. The crowd groans, thinking it’s over, but Tweetie rebounds the puck. The goalie can’t recover fast enough before the puck goes in, and the buzzer sounds right before the timer runs out.

  We all jump and cheer and hug one another.

  “I have no idea how you do this all the time.” Georgia has a hand to her chest.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re in more danger on a day-to-day basis being a detective.” I wind my arm through hers. “Let’s get you to the family room and wait for Tweetie to come out. You can calm your heart down.”

  Right before we turn to the stairs, I glance over my shoulder to see Tweetie still celebrating, but his eyes are on me as one of the St. Louis players talks to him. Both of us smile. I forgot how much I loved it when he sought me out when he should be enjoying the moment.

  “You’re coming to dinner with us, right?” Georgia asks when we reach the elevator to take us down to the restricted area.

  “If I’m invited.”

  Another rule lined out. I’m not being very good at adhering to my own damn rules.

  “My brother didn’t invite you?”

  “In his defense, I told him dinners were off the table. We’re supposed to be taking this slow.”

  She laughs and laughs and laughs until we’re off the elevator. “You two. Someone should write a book about you guys. You’re both so naively funny.”

  “Gee, thanks, Georgia.”

  “I’m just saying, when is enough enough? You guys have been through so much shit, and here you are again.” She puts her hand on my arm, stopping us in the hallway. “Just be happy and live. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

  Melody comes by, and Georgia walks with her. I stand there for a moment and contemplate Georgia’s point. There’s just a lot to the equation of us that we need to figure out.

  “Great game, huh?” Bud walks by me on his way to the media room or the locker room, maybe. “Come, walk with me.”

  I fall in line with him. “Amazing win.”

  “He just promotes himself.”

  “Does that mean that you’re signing him again?” How could they not?

  He glances at me, and we come to the point where I go into the family area to wait, and he continues on. “Why don’t we each stick to our own jobs, Tedi?”

  Without a goodbye or telling me whatever it was he wanted me to walk with him for, he continues down the hall. I want to take off my shoe and throw it at the back of his head. He’s a fool to not sign him, and I hate that he’s acting as if there’s some other left wing who’s better than Tweetie. He not only has the best but also a player who will give his all and is a leader on the ice.

  Bud’s going to blow it, but what kills me is that Tweetie will be the one who’s hurt most.

  Fifty-One

  Tweetie

  I’m lying in my bed alone after our dinner with my mom and Georgia. I’m meeting them for breakfast tomorrow before they head back to Colorado.

  I pull up Tedi’s contact and hammer out a text.

  Were you trying to kill me before the game?

  I study the picture she sent me again. Her tits straining the number—my number across her chest. I’m not sure there’s a hockey player alive who doesn’t want his girl to wear his jersey to a game. It’s as if it’s ingrained in us to want to show off what’s ours, and I feel no different. I want her decked out in the number eight like she used to be. I want to look at her through the glass and see my number on her because it’s a sense of belonging. To her.

  That was the point.

  I almost followed you home.

  That’s stalker behavior.

  Can you blame me? I want to see you in that T-shirt and nothing else.

  That can be arranged.

  At a later date.

  I’m staring at this picture like I’m thirteen again. Your tits look amazing.

  I did perk them up a little. Age…

  They are still one of my favorite parts of you.

  So are we going to keep up this texting thing all night? I think you might need a free hand soon.

  I pull the phone away and press on her number.

  She answers on the first ring. “I wondered how long you’d wait to use my number.”

  “I was giving you space.” It’s the truth. I went to call her a couple times, but I didn’t want to infiltrate her life too fast. “I’m trying to be a good boy.”

  “Not even a finger touched my thigh under the table tonight. Kudos to you.”

  “Did you not see my napkin in shreds when we left?”