Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Parker
Beck hoisted the Cup high above his head as he carried it off the ice and down the tunnel. The signal was clear: the celebration was shifting to the locker room, where the real party would begin.
Bowen scanned the crowd, his eyes narrowing. His brow creased, worry pulling at his features. “Where’s my mother?”
A soft smile pulled at my lips as I placed a gentle hand on his arm, hoping to reassure him. “She’s with my security detail,” I said, my tone calm, soothing. I felt the tiniest bit of tension drain from him. “She’s giving us a moment,” I added, squeezing his arm lightly to show that all was well. “But she sends her congratulations.”
Relief softened his expression, his shoulders relaxing. The worry in his gaze melted, replaced by a glimmer of gratitude.
“But before you go, I have to tell you something.” I gripped Bowen’s biceps, my fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath his jersey, a rush of urgency and excitement tightening my hold.
“What is it?” His tone was steady but laced with concern.
“My parents were here.” The words tumbled out. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t expected. I could hear the tremor of trepidation that betrayed my uncertainty about his reaction.
A shadow darkened Bowen’s expression, his jaw tightening as he scowled. “What did they want?” The question probably came out harsher than he’d intended.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, willing calm into my tone. “My father…reconciled with me. He said he would honor my decisions about my life.” My heart fluttered, each beat a strange, intoxicating mix of disbelief and hope. I hadn’t dared to imagine this moment, this possibility, yet here it was. “He even wished us the best.”
Bowen’s eyebrows shot up, his initial scowl giving way to surprise. He studied me, his gaze sharp, assessing. “Do you believe him?” he asked quietly, a hint of skepticism coloring his tone. There was no judgment in his eyes, just a careful curiosity, a need to protect me from further disappointment.
“Time will tell,” I admitted softly, almost tentatively, “but…I believe he’s sincere.”
He reached up, his hand gentle as it cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin with a touch so tender it made my heart ache. “Then I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt,” he reassured. “I’m happy for you. For us.” We stood in a pocket of stillness amid the bustling arena, the crowd’s energy fading into the background.
He lifted my chin with one callused finger. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me. His eyes, intense and full of something that made my heart pound, locked onto mine. “See you at Scrimmage’s?” he asked, carrying the weight of a promise.
I nodded and pulled him down for a quick kiss. It was brief, but it was enough—enough to warm me to my cold toes, enough to remind me of the love we’d declared so publicly. The moment was sweet, and I clung to it, not wanting to let go.
But Bowen broke away and his gaze shifted, catching something behind me. “She’s yours now. Take care of her.” With one last peck on my nose, he skated away, leaving me full of pride and longing.
I turned to find Eric standing there, an all-access pass hanging on a lanyard around his neck. He looped another pass over my head and offered his arm for me to latch onto while we crossed the ice. “Reporters are everywhere,” he warned, steady and protective.
As if on cue, a video camera was thrust in my face. “Parker!” a broadcaster shouted, cutting through the noise. “You declared your love for Bowen Monroe. What about your fiancé?”
Before I could process the question, Eric was already moving, shoving the video camera to the side with a firm hand and guiding me off the ice. We navigated through the Zamboni tunnel and through the lower level of the arena, the sounds of celebration still echoing in the distance. Outside, a blacked-out SUV idled by the players’ exit, its presence a reminder of the life I was stepping back into.
I hesitated. “It’s only a short walk to Scrimmage’s,” I said, the words filled with a wistful longing for a simplicity that no longer existed.
Eric’s gaze was focused, his voice firm. “And it’s a mob from here to there. I can’t keep you safe under those circumstances.” He opened the back door of the vehicle, and I slid inside beside Darlene, my shoulders slumped. I was right back where I’d started: I was Parker Brevos, living my life under a microscope.
But as I clicked my seatbelt into place, a steely determination built within me. The Blazers had won the Stanley Cup tonight, and nothing—not the press, not the cameras, not the scrutiny—was going to take that joy away from me. More than that, I had something even more precious than the victory on the ice. I had Bowen. I had genuine, lasting love. The kind of love Whitney wrote about in her books. A smile flickered to life across my lips.
The SUV moved smoothly through the heavy traffic, Blazers car flags waving and horns blaring. The driver pulled around to the back of Scrimmage’s, where the employees’ parking lot was tucked away from the throng of fans. Eric ushered us inside through the familiar employees’ entrance, the nostalgia of my past life as Parker Smith hitting me like a wave. But with it came the realization that there were benefits to being Parker Brevos, too.
I could go public with my love for Bowen.
We hurried down the hall, the familiar sights and sounds of the bar flooding my senses. The breakroom, the storage room, Jack’s office—they were all the same, yet somehow different now that I was seeing them through new eyes. The kitchen was alive with shouted orders, the sizzle of the grill, and the clanking of dishes. The scent of spicy hot wings and savory onions wafted into the hallway, reminding me of countless nights spent there. Bittersweet memories washed through me.
Eric pushed open the swinging door to the bar, and a wall of heat and noise hit me. The place was packed, bodies pressed together in a sea of red Blazers jerseys, the air thick with the yeasty smell of beer and the sound of raucous celebration. Cheers, conversations, and booming rock music clashed in my ears. I winced at the thought of my former fellow servers trying to manage the crowd, but Eric took it all in stride, clearing a path through the revelers with ease.
Darlene and I followed in his wake, jostled from side to side by the celebrants, but eventually, we made it to the back patio without incident. Livi, who was manning the entrance, gave us a quick nod and allowed us to pass into the private area reserved for the players and their families and friends. Eric slipped away, but I knew he was close by, ready to step in if needed.
The WAGs arrived in groups; their excitement was palpable as they joined us on the patio. Soon Hope, Emily, Avery, Brynn, and Whitney were there, and we ordered champagne—sparkling cider for Whitney—and sipped while waiting for the team to arrive. Large TV screens around the patio broadcast scenes from the locker room, where the players were celebrating in full force. They doused each other with champagne, laughing and cheering as they drank from the bowl of the Cup. I spotted Bowen in the midst of it all, a bottle in hand. I snickered, knowing we’d be waiting a while before he made his way to us.
“So-o…” Emily drew out the word, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Your signs were a success.”
Laughter erupted from the group, and Hope winked at me, making my face heat. But beneath it all, my chest felt light, as if a weight had lifted. Yes, they were successful. And the best part was that everything I had done that night, every risk I had taken, had been worth it. And I couldn’t wait to make love when we got home and express myself physically. Just the thought warmed my belly.
After what felt like an eternity, the noise in the bar rose to a deafening roar, the kind that made the walls vibrate and the floor hum beneath my feet. The energy was contagious, sweeping through the room like a tidal wave as the anticipation built to a fever pitch. The team began to spill onto the patio, their broad smiles and flushed faces revealing the effects of an hour of celebration. They searched for their significant others—or a companion for the night.
And then there was Bowen. Even amidst the chaos, he stood out, his presence commanding attention without effort. His gaze locked onto mine the moment he stepped onto the patio, and he didn’t hesitate. His gait was loose, his reactions a bit slower than usual, but there was no mistaking the determination in his steps as he headed straight for me.
He swept me into his arms with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. His grip was firm but tender, and the world seemed to fall away as he pulled me close. Our lips met in a deep kiss, and I melted into him, the taste of sweet champagne lingering on his tongue. It was intoxicating, a blend of celebration and something deeper between us, something that made my head spin in the best way possible.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes sparkled with triumph and affection. The corners of his mouth quirked up in that familiar way that never failed to make my heart flutter. “Hello,” he said, a little hoarser than usual.
I chuckled. “You’re drunk.” Maybe we wouldn’t be making love after all. I’d be taking him home and putting him to bed to sleep it off.
He swayed and pinched two fingers together, a smidge apart. His tone was playful as he admitted, “Just a little bit…tipsy.” He shook his head as if trying to clear the fog. “But s’okay. No game tomorrow.” The realization seemed to hit him all over again, and he lifted his arms high in the air, the movement exaggerated in his drunken state. “We won! Woo-hoo!”
Laughter exploded from my chest. The childlike glee in his voice was infectious. I wrapped my arm around his waist, feeling the warmth of his body against mine as I steadied him, though I wasn’t sure if I was holding him up or simply wanting to be close. “You’re going to have such a headache tomorrow,” I said with affection.
Darlene playfully punched him in the shoulder. “I taught you better than that.”
Bowen’s lower lip pushed out in a pout. “Sorry, Mom.”
I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped me as Darlene grinned.
A commotion caught our attention. Beck noisily stumbled away from our group to the center of the room. “Hey!” He shakily climbed onto a chair and spread his arms wide. “Hey, motherfu—everyone!” he called out, slurring a bit. “Can I have your attention for a sec?”
A few cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd, and Beck chuckled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
“I know I’m not usually the one giving speeches,” he began.
The audience hooted and jeered good-naturedly.
“Assholes,” he said evenly. “But tonight, I want to say something important.”
He glanced around the room, his gaze softening. “This season was one hell of a ride. We’ve had our ups and downs, wins and losses. But through it all, there was one constant...our support group.”
He gestured with his flute of champagne, nearly sloshing it over the top of the glass. “To the wives, girlfriends, families, and friends, thank you. Thank you for being our rocks. For putting up with late nights, early mornings, and sometimes not seeing us for days on end.”
A hum rippled through the room, and Beck smiled warmly. “We wouldn’t be here without you. You kept us grounded. You reminded us why we do what we do. And even when we came home after a tough game, feeling like shit, you were there to lift us up. That meant more to us than you could ever know.”
Beck grew a bit more emotional, and he paused to compose himself. “It’s easy to think that this sport is just about the players, but it’s not. It’s about the sacrifices you all make, the love and support you give. You’re the unsung heroes of this team.”
He raised his glass high, a determined look on his face despite the alcohol that must have been buzzing through his veins. “So, here’s to you. To the people who made it all possible. We lo-ove you,” he sang. “And we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Cheers!”
The room erupted into applause and cheers, glasses clinking together as everyone raised their drinks to the heartfelt toast. Beck, still standing on the chair, took a swig from his glass, a satisfied smile on his face. I glanced at Hope and found a broad smile despite the tears welling in her eyes.
Beck jumped down, staggered on the landing, and made his unsteady way to his girlfriend. He gave her a long, deep kiss that deserved privacy, and I averted my gaze.
As I turned away, Livi appeared at our table to drop off another bottle of champagne, her hair escaping from its ponytail in loose, sweaty tendrils. She was clearly frazzled, perspiration beading on her forehead as her eyes darted anxiously around the room. The players’ calls for more champagne were growing louder, more demanding, and Livi was doing her best to keep up.
“Hi, Liv—” I began, wanting to offer a quick word of encouragement, but she was already rushing off to the next table, too harried to answer. My heart went out to her; I knew all too well what it was like to be overwhelmed by a crowd like this. Yet, as she hurried away, a wave of relief washed over me. For once, I wasn’t the one rushing around, trying to keep up with endless demands. I could relax and enjoy the celebration, basking in the warmth of Bowen’s presence beside me.
But that relief was short-lived. The familiar sight of Jack, pushing his way through the crush of bodies on the patio, sent a jolt of worry through me. His hair was a mess, his hand shaking as he ran it through the messy strands. “Parker!” he called out, and I could hear his desperation. He finally reached me, holding up an apron as if it were a lifeline. “I need you! I’ll pay you triple to work tonight. It’s all hands on deck.”
My jaw dropped at his nerve.
Bowen growled, low and dangerous. “After how you treated her? Fuck off.” He blocked Jack from my sight with his big body.
I stepped around Bowen. I didn’t need him to fight my battles. “I’ve got this,” I said to Bowen. I shook my head at Jack and clenched my fists. “I’m sorry your servers are swamped—I feel for them. But I don’t need or want this job anymore. I’m building a new life.” I didn’t know exactly what that looked like yet, but I knew it would be a better life. A better life with Bowen. I pointed to the bar and the crowd inside. “Why don’t you put that apron on and get to work?”
For a moment, Jack just stood there, his face turning a deeper shade of red with every passing second. His jaw clenched tight, and I could see the frustration and disbelief in his eyes as he realized I wasn’t going to bend to his demands. Finally, without another word, he turned and stalked away.
As he disappeared into the crowd, a collective cheer went up from my group of friends, glasses raised high in celebration. Bowen’s hand landed on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring, and he gave me a squeeze that sent a ripple of warmth through my entire body.
I let out a long, relieved sigh and reached for the champagne bottle, ready to refill my glass and toast to this newfound sense of freedom. But as I turned toward Bowen, my foot skidded on a wet spot on the floor. The world tilted, and before I could catch myself, the flute slipped from my grasp. The glass seemed to fall in slow motion, tumbling end over end, sending a cascade of champagne splashing down the front of Bowen’s pristine suit. The tinkling sound of broken glass filled the air as it smashed against the tile, and for a split second, everything around us fell silent.
Champagne dripped down the front of Bowen’s suit and onto the floor.
Horror consumed me. I’d done it again. “I’m so sor?—”
Bowen threw his head back and laughed a full, deep belly laugh.
My eyes widened. I’d wanted to make him laugh since I’d first set eyes on the reserved, grunting hunk. Who knew I just had to spill a drink on him—twice? A chuckle rose in my throat, but I couldn’t contain it. Soon I was laughing freely with him as he wiped tears of glee from his eyes.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, his laughter subsided. He grinned, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “Maybe we should make this a tradition.” His expression softened, and he pulled me closer. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, clumsiness and all.”
I rested my hand on his chest, feeling the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, grunting and all.”
I never imagined that spilling my secret would lead to a future beyond my dreams.