Chapter 21
BEN
THEN
“Hi, Ben,” the three girls sing in unison as they pass our table—for the third time in twenty minutes.
I give them a nod. I don’t know their names. Don’t care. They hang around after games, lingering near the locker rooms, pretending they’re not waiting to be noticed. A couple of the guys elbow me, teasing in high voices, laughing. They love giving me shit for the attention, like it’s some big joke.
I glance at Maddy beside me. Her eyes track the girls as they whisper by the bar, their heads tipped toward each other, laughing.
And I hate it. I hate that she doesn’t feel at ease here. She’s my favourite person, the person I want at my side for everything, and I know she doesn’t want to be here.
I lean in close, voice pitched low over the thump of bass. “Hey. You okay?”
She lifts her head, gives me one of those soft smiles that doesn’t even try to convince me. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Fine. That’s the same crap I say when I pretend it doesn’t bug me that she skips my games. Like I don’t notice her empty seat when I look up in the stands. I get it—her course load is heavy, and she hates crowds. She hates the way girls look at me even more.
Not that any of that matters to me. They could all disappear, and I wouldn’t care. The only person I want is sitting right here, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Babe,” I murmur, trying to hook her attention back to me. “We don’t have to stay. If you’re not into it, we can head out.”
Her eyes flash to mine, wide and a little wounded. “You don’t want me here?”
“Of course I do,” I say, a little too fast. “I just don’t want you forcing yourself if you’re miserable.”
She drops her gaze, fingers tracing lazy circles on her glass. “I want to be here for you,” she says, and the words sound too much like an obligation.
I swallow the lump in my throat. For me, not with me. There’s a difference.
The guys are still talking and carrying on, oblivious to us.
I know she hates the attention I get. I know it bothers her when girls smile at me or try to talk to me after games. I know she thinks she doesn’t fit in with the other players’ girlfriends.
And part of me wishes she would. Wishes she’d try harder to belong in this world I’m building. I’m about to go pro and sometimes I feel like she’s looking for the nearest exit.
But none of that changes how I feel about her.
I reach under the table, catch her hand, and lace our fingers together. She looks up in surprise.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
This time, she smiles back for real. And the knot in my stomach relaxes.
We’ll be fine. The draft’s coming up. They’re saying I’ll be called in the first round. Once I’m picked, everything changes. New city, new place, new life.
Maddy will catch up.
Everything will be fine.
NOW
“Surprise!”
The dark bar floods with light as the entire Ottawa Otters team screams “Happy birthday” at me. Everyone is here—the players, the coaching staff, hell, even a few of the higher-up management.
While the guys didn’t tell me when my surprise party would be, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.
My actual birthday was three days ago and aside from Will singing me an off-key a capella version of Happy Birthday after practice, no one really acknowledged it, which is unusual for our team. Especially for a milestone birthday.
Then there’s the fact that every time the annual Otters Halloween party was brought up, my teammates’ eyes always seemed to seek me out involuntarily. Just for a moment, like they were gauging my reaction, then they’d look away just as quickly.
The private room at Jinx looks the same as it always does except for the massive banner hanging from the ceiling that reads Happy Birthday Ben!
Subtle. Real subtle.
“Happy birthday!” Beth runs into my outstretched arms and I lift her off the ground in a hug. She’s dressed in a blindingly pink bunny suit and glasses.
“Wow, Bug. This is amazing. How did you pull this off?” I think I’m doing a pretty good impression of someone who’s shocked when my sister narrows her eyes at me.
“Okay,” she says, flatly. “Who told you?” Her penetrating gaze moves to Will and Foster.
Will, who is decked out in a full Santa suit and beard, immediately points one white-gloved finger at Foster.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Foster confesses without hesitation as he pulls Beth into his arms. “I tried to keep it a secret, but your brother read my damn face.”
“Ugh.” She appears to be trying her best to scowl at him, but it turns into a halfhearted pout. “You’re lucky I like your damn face.”
“So lucky,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to her forehead, erasing the lines caused by her frown.
“Even though it wasn’t a surprise, I still really appreciate you planning all this,” I tell her, waving my hand around the packed lounge. “I love the banner.”
“My kids made it!” She beams. Beth teaches 5th grade at a local elementary school. “They worked on it all week.” Upon closer inspection, I see that in addition to the text, there are drawings, hand tracings, and my number, #6, sketched in various places on it.
“It’s amazing.” I grin, making a note to record a quick video thanking the kids. I snap a picture of it with my phone to show Sam when I see him next week. He’ll probably roast me on how old I am.
“Where is your costume, roomie?” Will demands, taking in my game day suit. “I would have lent you my elf costume.”
I shudder at the thought of being forced to endure tonight dressed in yellow tights and a pointy hat, like some tragic extra in a low-budget holiday movie.
Will’s always been a great friend. When I called him and asked if I could crash at his place for the foreseeable future, he didn’t even pause before saying, “Hell yes.” No questions.
He’s been a good host, too—welcoming, laid-back, and he seems genuinely happy to have me around.
That said, he does have some quirks. Like blasting Christmas music at full volume before I’ve even had my coffee.
Or his absolute refusal to watch any kind of sports, no matter what game is on.
Instead, he’s obsessed with a reality baking show called Project Gingerbread, which he watches religiously.
I reach my hand into my jacket pocket and produce a red ball that I place over my nose. “I’m Rudolph.” I give the ball a firm squeeze and it lights up.
Will looks seriously disappointed in me as he crosses his arms over his over-padded belly. “You suck, Birthday Boy.”
I feign offense. “That’s a fine way to treat the reindeer who saved your jolly ass, man.”
Next he turns on Foster who, like me, is also wearing his game day suit. “And you?”
“I’m Hans Gruber from Die Hard,” he states without feeling. Leave it to Foster to dress as the bad guy from his favourite action movie and call it a costume.
To my shock, a grin lights up Will’s face. “That’s…that’s perfect.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, smiling like a loon, snaps a picture of Foster, then appears to send it to someone.
What? Foster put in less effort than me and Will doesn’t give him crap about it. At least my costume comes with a holiday accessory.
Foster seems just as confused as I am. “I figured you’d be mad.”
“Mad?” Will laughs as he adjusts his floppy red hat. “Why would I be mad? Couple costumes are my absolute favourite.”
I look back at Beth in all her pink, bunny glory, but she doesn’t seem to know what he’s talking about either.
Will just continues to look super pleased with himself as he sips his beer through his fluffy white beard.
“Fozzie Bear!”
Austin joins us, barefoot and grinning like it’s Christmas morning. He’s wearing loose-fitting olive-green cargo-style pants and a tank top that was likely white at one time but now is caked with dirt.
The realization hits all of us at the same time with Foster scowling murderously as Beth and I keel over with laughter.
“Oh my god,” my sister wheezes, leaning against Foster for support. “He’s John McClane.”
Austin throws his arm around a now miserable-looking Foster as Will starts snapping pictures on his phone again.
“Say ‘Yippee ki yay, motherfuckers!’” Austin crows as he poses for the camera.
Foster shudders. “Absolutely not.”
Austin seems undeterred. “What about ‘Welcome to the party, Pal?’”
Foster shakes his head. “Pass.”
“Please forward all of those to me,” Beth tells Will, still trying to catch her breath from laughing.
“I like your costume too, Beth, but…” Austin tilts his head regarding her. “A puck bunny isn’t very Christmassy.”
My sister’s expression morphs from merry to pissed in half a beat. “I’m not a puck bunny! I’m Ralphie from A Christmas Story!”
It’s Foster’s turn to smirk. “I told you.”
“Watch yourself, Gruber.” Beth warns him. “You’re lucky Nakatomi Plaza isn’t real or else I’d throw you off of it.”
My best friend beams at her like she just professed her undying love for him. Their playful banter, while amusing, makes me miss Maddy.
I’ve been giving her space, as promised. The fact that we just got back from a string of away games helps.
Still. Every morning, I wake up in a bed that’s not mine thinking about her. It’s torture.
But at least I know where she is and that she's safe.
I wish she were here tonight. My hand hovers over the phone in my pants pocket, itching to reach out. Should I invite her? No. It’s too late and I wouldn’t want her to feel like an afterthought. Besides, she probably wouldn’t come anyway.
I do my best to get into party mode and surrender myself to the crowd. For the next thirty minutes, I exchange handshakes and hugs with everyone who showed up to celebrate my birthday.
It’s the weirdest party I’ve ever been to. Picture the North Pole on acid. Classic Halloween music plays from the clubs loudspeakers in direct contrast to the sea of mostly red and green costumes.
After I’m pretty sure I’ve said hello to everyone, I sneak out to the balcony for some air. Instead, the breath in my lungs is stolen away from me.