Chapter 22
Two Weeks Later
“T hese Irish nachos are hitting the spot,” Poppy hums, closing her eyes as she takes another bite of her own appetizer.
Meanwhile, Paige, Maci, and I are sharing an order of nachos.
Amelia was offered some, but said, “Sour cream is gross.”
“I agree, minus your nasty jalapenos,” Paige says, nodding toward the extra jalapenos Poppy asked for on hers. “I don’t know why I’ve never been here before, especially when it’s like, what, five minutes from the stadium?”
“Four,” Poppy grumbles through her full mouth, covering it with her hand. “I looked it up when we got here to know when we’d have to leave.” She presses her finger to her phone to see the time. “We have twenty-five minutes, and then we need to head that way.”
Maci frowns, glancing at the time displayed on Poppy’s screen. “But that would have us there, like, forty minutes early.” Realization washes over her face, and she chuckles. “I forgot you like to be insanely early. My bad.”
“Yeah, I do.” Poppy nods. “And you know what I hate? Having to shuffle past a shit ton of people to get into my seat. It’s awkward, and I don’t like it. If we’re there early, we can avoid my ass having to brush past some horny old man named Harold.”
“Poppy said a bad word,” Amelia says, looking up from her coloring book. “You owe me a quarter.”
“I don’t have a quarter,” Poppy starts to tell her before her eyes light up. “But guess who does. Uncle Walker. He has lots of quarters, so you can ask him for one after the game.” She raises an eyebrow. “Better yet, ask him for ten bucks.”
“Nice save,” Maci mutters before looking down at Amelia.
Even though Maci has only been dating Amelia’s dad, Logan, for a few months after she started off as her nanny, it’s so obvious how much she loves the little girl. Not that I can blame her. I don’t have a lot of experience with kids, but she’s one of the coolest I’ve ever met.
“But Uncle Walker didn’t say a bad word. You did.” She points her tiny little finger at Poppy.
Maci takes Amelia’s hand in her own and tries to stop laughing. “All right, Amy, she gets it. Poppy will be sure to pay up next time she comes over, deal?” Maci says sweetly before handing her a few crayons. “Finish your picture for Daddy. He’ll love it after his game.”
She takes the crayon, completely unimpressed. “Fine,” Amelia huffs. “But only if he wins.”
As we all laugh because she’s the sassiest but sweetest girl in the world, my phone begins to buzz, and I pull it out to find Saylor is FaceTiming. Grinning, I swipe the screen and prepare for my friend group to all fight to talk to her first about how her job is going.
And I prepare for her to give me a jealous look because I’m out with friends who aren’t her.
Which is exactly what happens.
Typical Saylor. God, I love her.
“Goddamn you, Smith!” Logan yells from across the locker room, and I do everything I can just to keep my shit together.
Even though Gemma is just down the road and I’ve seen her a few times, it still sucks ass that she’s gone. I needed some fun. I needed a good laugh.
I needed to play a prank.
And even though Tripp was my first choice, given it’s game day, I was too scared to piss in his Cheerios today. He’s already intense. I didn’t want to make matters worse for our team. Sterns is happy-go-lucky. He’s like a golden retriever someone just threw a ball for, making his tail wag. Most of the time anyway. But right now … yeah, no. He’s walking toward me now, and he is mad .
“Told you that was too far,” Ryder mutters, plopping down beside me, but then he snorts out a laugh because even he knows it’s fucking funny.
“You hired a fucking clown to jump out at me when I walked into the building, didn’t you?” He looks around, his eyes wide, and for a guy who literally never gets worked up … he’s pissed.
“When would I have time to hire a clown?” I frown, pulling my uniform over my head. “And besides, that’s just fucking mean, bro. I know what a little bitch you are when it comes to clowns. I’d never want to scare you, Logie Bear.”
“I’m not a little bitch,” he grumbles. “I just—they’re like—I just don’t like them, okay? I mean, you don’t know who’s behind that makeup and creepy fucking hair.” He shivers. “Or in those awful shoes.”
“You’ve fucked him up for life,” Ryder whispers, staring up at a very distraught Logan Sterns. “Good job, you asshole. And right before a game too.”
“It’ll fuel his fire to skate a little harder,” I toss back as quietly as I can. “He’ll just imagine Bozo is out there, coming behind him.”
Normally, I wouldn’t tell anyone what prank I was going to do or on whom, but I had to tell Ryder because I needed some help distracting Logan in the parking lot, and Ryder loves fucking with people just as much as I do.
Standing and pulling on my pants, I shrug when I catch Logan glaring at me again.
“Wasn’t me, Sterns.” I fasten my pants and smack him on the back. “Enough about the creepy clown. Let’s go play some hockey.”
His face tells me he’s not buying my shit, but because of how dedicated he is to this team, he turns around and sulks off to get ready. And, damn it, I almost feel bad because it’s Logan and he’s always happy.
Oh well. I needed that. The past few weeks have fucking sucked.
“I can’t wait for this to be over,” Poppy groans, resting her hand on her stomach. “I have to pee, and this has got to be the roughest game ever. I want to punch that dude that just cross-checked Walker. ”
Amelia giggles, covering her mouth, and Maci’s eyes widen in an attempt to send Poppy a message to remember the little ears here, but she’s too invested in the game to care.
“This is a barn burner,” Paige says, her eyes bouncing from the clock to her husband. “Kolt looks like he could have another heart attack.” She pauses. “That wasn’t funny. I take back what I just said. What I meant was, my husband looks very, very intense.”
“Pretty sure that’s just his face,” Poppy mumbles, amused.
She’s not wrong; I’ve seen Kolt a lot the past few weeks, and each time … his face looks the same.
Intense. Grumpy. Intimidating.
Even though I wish Saylor were still living in Portland and could join all of us tonight, I’m having a good time—especially with all things considered.
We chat among ourselves, but just like my eyes remain on the jersey with the number eight on the back and Sawyer above it the majority of the time, they all have a certain jersey they watch too—besides Paige because Kolt is still benched. Instead of being on the ice, he chews furiously on a piece of gum with his body basically pressed against the plexiglass where the team sits. Kolt doesn’t sit though; he stands with his jaw tense.
I’ve seen Smith a handful of times in the past few weeks. A few days ago, he even gave me a lift to my parents’ for Christmas. Since he was going home for Christmas anyway, it made the most sense. But it was weird and hard to say goodbye to each other when he dropped me back off at the apartment. He kissed my cheek, and I fought the urge to invite him in for the night because I knew what would happen if I did. And that’s not what I need right now.
Every single time I see him again, my stomach erupts with butterflies, and I want to run toward him and wrap my arms around him and let him pull me in because I crave the comfort. But I’m doing okay—aside from not sleeping well, but that’s nothing new, and my therapist assures me it will take time.
Day by day, I find myself getting stronger and feeling more like myself, but I think the final piece of the puzzle will be Smith. I’m figuring out fast that I’ll never be happy if he’s not beside me. But everything I’m doing, it’s all for him .
Smith defends Tripp as three opponents skate toward him, ready to make a play with the puck. It’s slapped to the right winger, who looks unsure for a second before sending it toward the goal. Before Tripp has to stop it, Smith does, sending it to Ryder. Even though Smith no longer is in possession of the puck, his opponent body-checks him, clearly out of frustration, sending Smith into a pile on the ice.
I shoot up from my seat, staring down at him and waiting for him to get up.
“He didn’t see that coming,” Paige whispers, covering her mouth. “He never would have gone down that hard if he did.”
She’s right. A hit is a hit, but Smith is incredibly strong, and it takes a lot to get him down. The referees skate toward him, and it feels like my heart stops beating. It’s been a long time since I have seen him take a hit that hard—and after hearing what happened to Kolt a few months ago, I feel like I might throw up, realizing something like that is a possible injury.
The entire arena grows quiet as we all wait for Smith to get up or do something to tell us he’s okay. A tiny hand clasps mine, giving it a squeeze.
“He’s going to be okay,” Amelia’s sweet, small voice whispers. “Uncle Smithy is very tough.”
“Yes, he is, sweetie,” Paige says, and I’m not sure if it’s Amelia or me she’s trying to convince. “He’s gonna be just fine.”
What seems like an eternity later—but, in reality, is only a matter of a few minutes—Smith sits up. The refs attempt to grab his arms to help him, but he shoves them off him and shoots up. I know why he’s in a hurry to get up, and I’m sure the refs are starting to put it together, too, because they rapidly scramble to call out something and send the opponent to the sin bin. Before they can, Smith starts toward him, his shoulders tense and his body language hard.
I can read him like a book, and I know he’s out for revenge.
Smith’s hand grips down on number nineteen’s shoulder, when, suddenly … he turns his neck toward where all of us girls are sitting. His eyes land on mine, and I swear I see him grimace. Within seconds, he lifts his hand off the other player, and he turns hastily on his skates, moving away from him.
He wanted to fight him, he wanted vengeance, and yet he didn’t follow through because he thought I wouldn’t like it .
I told him before, and I’ll say it again—Smith Sawyer has done some serious growing up. And now … he really is a better version of himself.
That makes the waiting so much harder.
The coach brings him out of the game—I’m sure as a precautionary after that hit. As time runs out and the Sharks bring home the victory, my heart won’t stop pounding quickly in my chest.
I know hockey is a dangerous sport. Even back in high school, it was hard on Smith’s body. But seeing the type of hits these players take in the pros leaves me sick to my stomach, and I glance over at Paige, knowing damn well she must be scared for the day her husband goes back onto the ice. After all, the last time he did, he had a freaking heart attack.
I can’t imagine watching something like that happen to Smith. I hope I never have to either.
Even though the Sharks are victorious and do their share of celebrating on the ice, Walker’s, Logan’s, Ryder’s, and Tripp’s first concern is Smith and checking on him before they show their excitement over winning the game. Even Kolt stands by Smith’s side, making sure he’s okay. It’s so obvious this is his family now. And when I look at the group of girls I’m with, I hope I’m lucky enough to always stand among them because they are incredible.
In the midst of the chaos, Smith looks up at me, and finally, he turns his lips up in a crooked grin, somehow letting me know he’s fine. My heart flips, and I smile like a giddy teenager. We might not be together, but he’s the only person on the planet who could get that sort of response from me.
There’s no denying how in love I am with that man.