11. Breck
11
Breck
The scent of vanilla and butter wafts through Birdie's cozy apartment as I pipe another perfect jersey number onto a cookie. My hands are surprisingly steady for someone who just finished a brutal morning practice. But there's something soothing about the repetitive motion, the way the royal icing flows smoothly from the bag.
"The guys are going to flip when they see these," I say, admiring our handiwork spread across every available surface. Dozens of hockey-themed cookies await their final touches—pucks, sticks, and of course, the personalized jerseys for each player.
Birdie grins, her blonde ponytail swinging as she nods. "It's tradition. Can't start the season without my lucky cookies."
I can't help but smile. For all her bubbly exterior, Birdie's got a streak of superstition that rivals any hockey player I know. "You know, most people just wear the same underwear or something."
She wrinkles her nose. "Gross, Breck. Besides, this is way more fun."
I laugh, reaching for another cookie. "Can't argue with that. Although I'm pretty sure half the team is only in it for the sugar rush."
"Hey, whatever gets them hyped for the game," Birdie says with a wink.
We fall into a comfortable rhythm, our hands moving in sync as we decorate cookie after cookie. I'm surprisingly good at this, my fingers deft from years of helping out at my family's bakery. It's a side of me that most people don't expect from the rough-and-tumble hockey player. I’m not exactly what one would call “refined”.
I’m usually the first guy to drop gloves when someone starts shit. Leading the team in penalty minutes isn’t exactly a badge of honor, but it’s a role I’ve embraced. Off the ice, I’m chill as fuck—a goofball, even—but on the ice? I’m a bit of a goon. A necessary evil, or so I like to tell myself.
"So," Birdie says, breaking the comfortable silence. "You nervous about the big game?"
I pause, the piping bag hovering over a half-finished cookie. Am I nervous? The first game of the season always brings a mix of excitement and anxiety, but this year feels different. Maybe it's because I'm wearing the 'A' now. It could be because we’re starting off with a rivalry series: Hawthorne v Riverton, one away game, one home game. Or maybe it's just the weight of expectations.
"A little," I admit, focusing intently on piping a perfect number 22—my number—onto the cookie. "But I think we're ready. The team's looking good in practice."
Birdie nods, her eyes warm with understanding. "You guys are going to crush it. I can feel it."
Her confidence is infectious, and I feel some of the tension ease from my shoulders. This is why I love hanging out with Birdie—she has a way of making everything seem manageable, even the pressure of a new hockey season. Sure, she’s a few years younger than me and Jett’s little sister, but that’s never mattered. From the moment we met two years ago, she’s been one of my closest friends. We’d just clicked.
Jett hadn’t been thrilled at first—finding out his seventeen-year-old sister was spending so much time with me didn’t exactly put him at ease. But once he saw that our friendship was purely platonic, he backed off. Now, it’s just how things are: me, Birdie, and an unshakable bond.
It’s funny, thinking back on it. I’ve never really questioned how easily we became friends—it just was . Like we were meant to be in each other’s lives. Platonic soulmates, maybe? I’ve heard people talk about that idea, how there are certain people you meet and it’s like the universe is saying, Here. This one’s for you. They’re the people who feel like home, no matter how little time you’ve known them. It was like that for Micah and I, too.
The thought makes me pause. If I believe in platonic soulmates—and I do, because Birdie and Micah are proof they’re real—then is love at first sight really such a stretch?
The way I feel about Del, the way I’ve felt about her since that first moment, defies logic. Hell, I barely even know her, but the way I feel when I’m around her? It defies logic. It’s like some part of me recognized her before I could even figure out why.
Is that a thing?
"Thanks, Birdie," I say, offering her a grateful smile. "Now, let's finish these cookies before your brother shows up and eats them all."
She laughs, and we dive back into our work. As I'm carefully shaking out the sprinkles that will make up the crowd on this cookie, Birdie clears her throat. "So, um, how are things going with Del?"
My hand jerks slightly, creating a small avalanche of rainbow sprinkles. I try to play it cool, but my heart rate picks up at the mention of Del's name. "Oh, you know," I say, aiming for nonchalance but probably missing by a mile, "it's going... okay, I guess?"
Birdie raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my act. "Just okay?"
I sigh, setting down the sprinkle shaker. "It's complicated. She's so focused on her skating, and school, and everything she has going on, and I've got hockey. We're both busy, and sometimes it feels like we're speaking different languages, you know? I don’t… I don’t want to push too hard and lose her for good."
Birdie nods sympathetically, but before she can respond, her phone buzzes loudly on the counter. Her face falls as she glances at the screen, and I immediately know who it is.
"Your ex again?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
She nods, her earlier cheerfulness evaporating. "Yeah. He just won't take a hint."
I feel a surge of protectiveness. "Birdie, let me talk to him. This isn't okay. After what that asshole did—"
"Breck, it's fine," she cuts me off, but I can see the pain in her eyes.
I'm about to argue when a thought hits me. What if I'm doing the same thing to Del that Birdie's ex is doing to her? Am I pushing too hard, not respecting her boundaries? The realization makes me feel slightly sick. Maybe I should back off, let her take the lead for now.
I mean, she texted me first the other day. That has to count for something. Right? But, still…
"You sure?" I ask Birdie, trying to focus on her problems instead of my own swirling thoughts.
She nods, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm sure. Now, let's finish these cookies. We've got a game to get ready for, remember?"
I nod, picking up my piping bag again. But as we return to our task, I can't shake the feeling that both Birdie and I are avoiding some hard truths about our relationships.
Birdie sighs, and I know this conversation isn’t over yet. "My friends think I need to... you know, get over him by getting under someone else." She rolls her eyes, but I catch a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
I raise an eyebrow, piping bag hovering over a half-frosted cookie. "Is that what you want?"
She shrugs, her gaze fixed on the cookie she's decorating. "I don't know."
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the soft squish of frosting bags. I want to say something comforting, but what? My own love life is a mess of confusion and missed signals. Who am I to give advice?
"Well," I finally offer, "there's no rush, right? You've got to do what feels right for you."
Birdie nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Breck. You're a good friend."
Friend. Right. That's what I am to everyone these days.
??????
A few days later, I'm trudging down the stairs of the hockey house in my half-assed Sloth costume. Not the animal, the sin. It's basically just me in a onesie with a mask, but hey, at least I showed up.
The party is in full swing, the bass thumping through the floorboards and making my teeth rattle. As I hit the bottom step, I'm assaulted by a sea of masked faces and bare skin. So much skin.
I know this party is sin personified, but these girls just use it as an excuse to walk around in what basically amounts to lingerie.
"Yo, Breck!" someone calls out. "Nice... um, what are you supposed to be?"
I gesture vaguely at my outfit. "Sloth. Obviously."
"Right, right. Creative."
I roll my eyes behind my mask. Like I had time to put together some elaborate getup with everything else going on. Between hockey practice, classes, and obsessing over every text from Del, I'm lucky I remembered to show up at all.
But I can’t exactly skip out on this. It’s a tradition, after all. The night before our first game of the season, we host the Seven Deadly Sins party. It’s one of the team’s oldest rituals—a wild, over-the-top celebration where everyone’s outfit is themed around one of the sins. Lust, greed, gluttony, wrath—you name it. And masquerade-style masks are a must, because it’s not truly debauchery if everyone knows who you are. It’s chaotic, ridiculous, and absolutely the kind of thing that bonds a team before we hit the ice.
As I make my way through the crowd, I can't help but wonder if Del would enjoy this kind of thing. Would she dress up as one of the sins? Which one would she choose? The image of her as Lust flashes through my mind, and I nearly trip over my own feet.
Focus, Monroe. You're here to support your team, not daydream about a girl who's probably not even into you. But as the party rages on around me, I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing out on something. Or maybe someone.
I squeeze past a guy dressed as Gluttony, his fake belly jiggling as he downs another beer, and dodge a girl in a green Envy costume who's giving me the eye. The kitchen's just ahead, and I'm hoping to find a familiar face or two.
And, I’m in luck.
Birdie stands out like a beacon in the crowded room, her stunning purple dress catching the light. A peacock capelet drapes elegantly over her shoulders, and a tiara sits atop her blonde waves. She's Pride personified, and I love it.
"Breck!" she calls out, waving me over. "Come here, you lazy bum!"
I can't help but grin as I make my way to her. "Hey, Birdie. Looking... regal."
She does a little twirl, the peacock feathers shimmering. "Thanks! Unlike some people, I actually put effort into my costume."
Before I can defend my admittedly lackluster outfit, Axel sidles up beside us, drawing every gaze in the room like a human magnet. And, holy shit, he’s practically naked.
"Breck, my man!" Axel grins, clapping me on the shoulder with zero shame. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of red boxer briefs slung low on his hips, a gold masquerade mask perched on his face, and an air of shameless confidence that only Axel Sinclaire—better known as “Sin”—could pull off.
"Have you seen Bauer?" he asks, unfazed by the double takes and whispers that follow in his wake. Axel’s the guy everyone talks about, whether they’re jealous of him, mad at him, or plotting to hook up with him. He thrives on it, revels in the chaos. As much as I loathe to admit it, he has this kind of charisma that's more than earned him his “campus catnip” reputation.
I blink, trying not to gawk. "Uh, no. Sorry, dude."
Axel's face falls. "Damn. If you see him, let me know, okay?"
“Dude,” I can’t hold it back. “What the fuck. Are you serious with this shit?”
“Obviously,” he says with a wink, completely unapologetic. “Why mess with perfection?”
That’s Axel in a nutshell—zero shame, infinite charm, and a confidence that could bulldoze through a brick wall. He’s the life of every party, and he knows it. Sin, indeed.
“Text me if you see Bow Wow before I do, okay?”
“Are you worried?”
“Nah. I just haven’t seen him in a minute and I want to make sure he’s good.” He disappears into the crowd, leaving me slightly dazed.
Birdie laughs, bringing me back to reality. "So, what's the deal with your costume? Or lack thereof?"
I shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Not really feeling it this year, I guess."
She studies me for a moment, her blue eyes piercing even through her mask. "Well, I've made a decision about my ex," she says, her voice taking on a determined edge.
She has my full attention now. "Yeah?"
Birdie nods, a mix of excitement and nervousness in her expression. "I'm moving on. Tonight."
I swallow hard, a mix of concern and protectiveness washing over me. "That's... that's great, Birdie. I'm happy for you." The words feel hollow in my mouth, but I mean them. She deserves to be happy after everything that asshole put her through.
"Thanks, Breck," she says, her smile softening. "I'm nervous, but I think it's time."
I reach out and squeeze her shoulder. "Hey, you've got this. But listen, if anything goes sideways—anything at all—you call me, okay? I’ll be there before you even hang up."
Before I can say anything else, she throws her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. The scent of her perfume—something light and floral—lingers as she murmurs, “You’re the best, you know that?”
She pulls back just enough to rise on her tiptoes and press a quick kiss to my cheek. And then, just like that, she’s off, disappearing into the crowd with a wave over her shoulder.
“Wish me luck!” she calls, her voice fading into the hum of costumed partiers.
I watch her go, a fond smile tugging at my lips despite the chaos around me. Birdie’s like that—always charging ahead, leaving people in her wake. She’s family, not by blood but by bond, and I’d back her up in a heartbeat.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I glance at the screen, my heart skips. Del.
Hey, how's the party?
I can't help but smile as I type back.
Loud. Crowded. Wishing I was talking to you instead.
As soon as I hit send, I start making my way towards the stairs. The thought of escaping to my room and having a real conversation with Del suddenly seems infinitely more appealing than this party. I dodge another guy dressed as Gluttony, complete with a fake belly and pizza slice hat, and narrowly avoid colliding with a girl in a black and red Wrath costume.
My phone buzzes again as I reach the bottom of the stairs.
Call me?
"Breck! Man, where you goin'?"
Micah's voice cuts through the thumping bass, stopping me in my tracks. I turn to see him, dressed as Pride in a tailored black suit with a shimmering gold cape draped over one shoulder, a crown tilted jauntily on his head. His devilish grin only enhances the whole over-the-top look. He's flanked by a couple of giggling puck bunnies, their costumes leaving little to the imagination.
"Uh, just heading up to my room," I mumble, glancing longingly at the stairs. "Calling it a night."
Micah's eyebrows shoot up. "Already? Come on, the party's just getting started! We need our sloth!" He gestures dramatically at my admittedly lackluster costume.
I force a chuckle, but my mind is already upstairs, imagining Del's voice on the other end of the phone. "Sorry, man. I'm just not feeling it tonight."
One of the puck bunnies sidles up to me, her fingers trailing along my arm. "Aw, don't go," she purrs. "I bet we could make you feel something."
I step back, irritation burning. "Thanks, but I'm good. Really."
Micah studies me for a moment, then a knowing smirk spreads across his face. "Ah, I get it. Go talk to your girl."
My stomach does a little flip. Am I that transparent? "It's not... I mean, we're just..."
"Save it, Romeo," Micah laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. "Go get your girl. But you owe me a beer tomorrow."
Relief washes over me. "Deal," I nod, already backing away. "Have fun, guys. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
As I bound up the stairs, Micah's voice follows me: "That doesn't leave much off the table, Monroe!"
I can't help but grin as I reach my room, closing the door on the party's chaos. My fingers are already dialing Del's number, my heart racing with anticipation. Maybe it's not the most exciting way to spend the night of the Sins Party, but right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Except maybe at her side. But, she’s traveling with the university team tonight.