Chapter 30
Juliet
Tonight is a Havoc game night event, the buzzing, high-energy gathering where sponsors write checks and players smile for photos and everyone pretends hockey is just a fun game instead of a multimillion-dollar business.
I’m doing my new job, following Ivy as she makes the rounds, staying visible but professional. She’s good at this, better than I expected. Natural with people in a way that makes sponsors feel special without being obvious about it.
“The Hendersons are here,” Ivy murmurs, nodding toward a couple near the bar. “Tech money. They’ve been thinking about a naming rights deal.”
“Oh, I know the Hendersons. Fancie, the wife, was one of my tennis partners back in Houston.” They’re from Texas, although I think I heard something about them moving to Seattle to be closer to Jared’s business headquarters. “Want me to introduce you?”
She eyes me. “Wow, I had no idea you were so connected!”
“Oh, well.” I flush, smiling. “I met everybody and their sister when I was a Houston WAG.”
“I’ll just bet you did. I think we’re okay right now, but keep an eye on them during the second period. If we’re winning, I’ll circle back.”
“They were a good sponsor for the Stars. I know that a team like the Havoc will blow their minds.”
“God.” Ivy grins at me. “It’s really nice to have a woman working with me who vibes on my level.”
I wink at her, my face heating under her knowing gaze.
“Oh, no.” Ivy frowns, looking at Jimbo Greene being practically assaulted by a young blonde. He looks a little uncomfortable as the blonde lays a hand on his arm and leans in, a smile on her face. “Shit, that’s my sister Opal. God knows what she’s saying to Mr. Greene. I have to go rescue him.”
As she scurries away, I smile and shake my head. It feels good to be here tonight. I’m thinking about how nice it is to be working with Ivy when I spot my parents, standing near the VIP entrance like they own the place. Which, knowing my mother, she probably thinks she does.
My mom is wearing an elegant white blouse and a tight black pencil skirt.
My dad is more casual, wearing jeans and a dark gray Seattle Havoc hockey shirt over his white button up.
This is their usual getup when going to an event: my mom looks ready to pull out a law book and start lecturing anybody who gets in her way; my dad embraces the spirit a little more but is obviously pretty uncomfortable.
Classic Melissa and Tom Monroe. “Shit,” I mutter.
My parents weren’t supposed to come tonight.
I’ve barely kept in touch with them over the last couple of months, even though I just moved back into the same city.
And yet here they are, my mother in her perfectly tailored skirt and my father sipping a foamy beer like he’s never tried one before. Just perfect.
“Hey mom,” I say, waving awkwardly.
“What?” She tenses for a moment and then smiles. “Sorry, darling. This arena is loud! I can’t believe how many people are here to see hockey.”
I suppress an eye roll and hug her, then turn to give my dad a hug too.
“Hiya, Jujube.” He gives me a one handed hug, trying not to dump his still-overflowing beer on me. God, with parents as dorky as these two, it’s a wonder that I didn’t come out with a pair of wire-rim glasses and a permanent wedgie. “We came to surprise you. Surprise!”
“I am,” I say, nodding. I herd them out of the main hallway and toward the elevator. “You should’ve called ahead. But it doesn’t matter. I’m sure that we can squeeze you into the team box.”
“Are there less…” My mom looks around, dropping her voice. “Hockey people in the box?”
“Melissa. This is an ice hockey arena. Come on. Get into the spirit!” My dad gives me an apologetic look.
This is part of their schtick whenever they’re dragged to sporting events.
Dad plays the cool one who’s in touch with the people.
Mom tries to look like she’s not dying of boredom.
It’s why I would’ve arranged for someone to escort them around and answer their questions if they had called ahead.
But I just grin and bear it. I hustle them up to the team box.
The suite is a dream; it feels less like a box and more like a private lounge floating over the rink.
A wall of glass gives a perfect view of the ice, while rows of leather stadium seats face the action.
The team placed Havoc-branded glassware and napkins in team colors on pub tables behind them.
A spread of food lines the back wall: steaming silver trays, sushi platters, charcuterie boards, and bite-sized cheesecakes beside bowls of fresh fruit.
The bar glitters with top-shelf liquor and chilled bottles of wine and beer.
My mom takes a sharp breath. My dad whistles, his hand on my mom’s back. “Now this is serious hockey viewing! Wow.”
“It’s nice.” My mom looks around, her mouth pursing. “Spotless.”
There are a few other people enjoying the accommodations, getting plates of food and having drinks made by the uniformed bartender. I nudge my parents toward a table. “You guys go sit down, or get a bite to eat. I’ll get drinks.”
“Ah!” My mom’s eyes light up. “A very dry white wine for me. Grenache Blanc, maybe?”
“We’re in a hockey stadium, Mom. I’ll ask, but they probably don’t have your favorite varietal.”
My mom heaves a sigh and wanders toward the buffet. That woman loves sushi, so I’m sure she’ll find something to nibble on. I can hear my dad as I walk to the bar. “Honey, they have fancy nachos!”
God help us all. I paste a smile on my face and order a round of drinks. Another beer for my dad, a white wine for mom, and a diet soda for me since I’m working. I take a sip of my soda as I wait for the bartender. It’s certainly no gin and tonic with four limes.
When I slip into a seat at my parents’ table, I cast an eye down at the ice. The players are out on the ice, stretching. I see Hunter in full gear, doing a stretch that very much looks like he’s trying to fuck the ice. My cheeks color.
“Thank you, darling,” my mom murmurs. “You know, it’s freezing in here. They should turn up the heat!”
I try not to sound irritated when I say, “It’s a building designed for hockey. Most fans know to bundle up.” I pause, trying to find my smile. “But if you want, I’m sure I can hunt down a Seattle Havoc sweatshirt for you.”
My mom looks mystified. “Surely not. I’m wearing Prada, Juliet.”
My dad’s attention is on the big screen tv as he sips his beer. He’s checked out already. I’m alone with my mom. I sip my soda and look down at the rink again. The guys are skating back toward the tunnel. The game is about to begin.
“Well!” My mom pushes her plate with what is probably very expensive nigiri around and purses her lips. “So how is your fiancé? Is he… playing tonight?”
I was wondering just how long it would take her to get to mention my engagement. My smile is stiff. “Yes, he’s the starting right wing, #47. They’re about to call his name down on the ice.”
“And how is all of that going? Well enough, I presume?”
“Yes, Mom.” I clench my glass a little harder. “My engagement is speeding along just fine.”
“Still no date for the wedding?”
I study her, but she plays her cards close to her chest. So I bluff, because I’m not holding jack shit.
“Nope. We’ve only been official for three months. Why do you ask?”
She gives me a delicate shrug. “Just catching up, darling.”
My ass. She’s fishing, trying to find weaknesses. Luckily, at that moment, the announcer lists off the starting lineup, who skate onto the ice. I’ve never felt such relief in my life.
My mom hates that I’ve found happiness doing something she considers low class. Can you imagine? The amount of money hockey players make, and no class.
I spend most of the first period watching them instead of the game, praying that Hunter doesn’t make too much of a big deal that I’m here. He keeps looking up at the box, sending sizzling looks my way that make my toes curl in my heels. I can’t keep the smile from my face.
He should pay attention to the ice, not whatever I’m doing.
“You seem distracted.” My mother clears her throat during the first intermission, putting on that smile she uses when she’s about to say something cutting.
“Just working, Mom. This is my job.”
“Hmm.” She surveys the crowd like she’s cataloging everyone’s net worth.
“Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing.
Though you know, sweetheart, you’re going to be too old to change careers someday.
Everyone likes a feisty young lawyer. No one wants to hire a middle-aged washup just starting their second career. ”
“Mom.” I bristle, my spine straightening. “I’m barely twenty-three. Besides, I’m not washing out of my public relations career.”
“Be serious for a moment, Juliet.” My mom grabs my chin, gazing at me. “This is not a stable career. And being engaged to another hockey player isn’t exactly wise, either. This is all very…”
She trails off. A flash of heat licks the back of my neck.
“What? Spit it out, mom. Say that you think hockey is low class.”
Her eyes narrow. “You said it, not me. And just so you know, your father feels that your fiancé hasn’t gone through the proper steps to propose to you. Right, Tom?”
“Huh?” Dad looks over from the ice. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I told her that her fiancé didn’t even have the decency to ask you for her hand in marriage!” My mom sniffs as if this is the worst behavior she can think of.
“Can you two not fight right here?” he whispers. Dad looks between us, his brows descending. “There are other people not fifteen feet away. We don’t want to spread our private family business all over.”
What a cop out. I fold my arms across my chest and look down onto the ice, furious. Hunter looks up into the box and points directly at me, that cocky grin spreading across his face.
My cheeks flush hot. He should definitely pay attention to the game, not flirting with me from the ice.