Chapter 2
Quinn
To many, spending time in the so-called boy aquarium would be a dream come true.
Rugged, sweaty men exercising, doing sometimes lewd stretches, and generally acting like a bunch of intense, competitive golden retrievers certainly had its appeal, but for Quinn, it brought him right back to high school.
As he weaved through a crowd of increasingly loud, half-drunk sports fans, that old, familiar anxiety began to creep back in.
Why was he even here? He could have put the game on at home and finished working on his thesis. Watching counted, right? He didn’t need to show up.
But he’d promised Eren, and out of all the golden retrievers on the team, Quinn did have a soft spot for one.
Thank god Eren had gotten him box seats with the WAGs. As much as being around them gave the sense of not wanting to mingle with the peasants, it gave Quinn a secure area to put space between himself and the noise level.
Though Quinn still winced when the horns blasted, and the lights flashed, announcing the start of the game in five minutes.
Finally, with help from an attendant, he found the elevator that brought him up to the team box. He was forced to let go of the two little hands he was holding or risk being dragged along by his screaming nieces.
It was a spacious, comfortable area, with TVs set up along the back near the food and drink tables, and plenty of balcony seating that offered a clear view of the game.
A dozen people were already there, a few kids as well, and Quinn breathed a sigh of relief when the girls quickly introduced themselves and made friends.
The woman closest to the door, her honey-brown hair woven into a neat Dutch braid, caught his eye, and he noticed hers widening in return.
Quinn assumed he looked like a mess. He could feel himself sweating from stress, only slightly easing now that he had found his destination. He was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. People who were married or sleeping with NHL players, of which he was neither.
“Hi!” she called as she stepped toward him.
He couldn’t help but notice her jacket—last year’s WAG edition, a sleek, dark navy tribute to the team, with ‘Bigfoots’ embroidered in flowing cursive.
It looked less like sportswear and more like something off the rack at Louis Vuitton, but the number 31 stitched along the sleeve gave him an idea of who she was with.
Not that knowing the number would help Quinn. He didn’t even know what number Eren was.
Yes, he would much rather be home studying some of this shit instead of throwing himself into the lion’s den.
Up close, the woman was even more striking. Her makeup was minimal, giving her a naturally fresh-faced glow, especially compared to Quinn, who was dripping with sweat.
“You must be Quincey. I heard through the grapevine that you might make an appearance.”
Hearing his given name, if anything, gave him the mental clarity to get his shit together.
He breathed out a laugh and said, “Oh fuck, call me Quinn, please. Quincey is just…no.”
She grinned. “I know the feeling. My parents had the audacity to name me Beatrice.”
“Oomph.” Quinn couldn’t hide his sympathetic grimace. “Was it at least after a grandmother or an old aunt?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Nope, they just liked it.” She looked toward the girls, her eyes softening as she smiled at the six-year-olds who were undisturbed by all the ruckus. “They’ve gotten so big.”
Something settled in his chest, a small soothing touch to his frayed nerves. In the chaos of his life and the madness he’d stumbled into, he’d forgotten that these people had known his sister.
For the first time in weeks, Quinn felt less like a fish out of water.
“Call me Bea,” she grinned, turning back to face Quinn. “Let’s find a spot to sit and get some food. Those two will start asking for hot dogs the second we get comfortable.”
Quinn let her guide him to the balcony, seating him while she and another woman fussed over hot dogs for him and his nieces. Their kindness shocked him so much that he stayed frozen, fighting back tears as he watched these strangers care for two of the most important people in his life.
Once the squealing children were happily settled in the front row, munching their snacks, Quinn allowed himself to relax and soak in the moment. The game was starting, and the crowd erupted as their team was announced. Vancouver really did love their hockey.
Bea returned, balancing a toddler on her hip, two coolers in hand, with an attendant close behind. The helper quickly set up a tray table and arranged a few plates of food.
“This is Tate,” she said, setting the boy, who was about three, onto another chair and handing him a sippy cup. He was adorable with his bright red cheeks and blond hair, and he definitely took after his mother.
Tate flashed Quinn a smile and then returned to his snacks and tablet.
“He likes coming to the afternoon games to see his dad play,” said Bea. “But the attention span isn’t quite there yet.”
Quinn motioned towards the girls sitting in front of him, who were more focused on licking ketchup off their fingers than watching the game. “I feel that.”
He took a moment to look around. A few curious eyes lingered on him, but no one approached, and he was very thankful.
After his sister died, he’d come to hate well-meaning condolences.
He still did, and with it only being a few months since her passing, they felt somehow heavier and more suffocating than before.
Quinn would never forget the pain of that loss, but it was getting easier every day. He had two little reminders that brought a bit of her back into his life in their own way.
Bea nudged him, a grin spreading to her face when she caught him people-watching. “We’re not so scary, huh?”
Quinn shrugged. “I thought there might be more people here. I was worried it was going to be all ass-kissing suits, laminated eyebrows, and Botox.”
Bea snorted. “They’re playing Minnesota today, and it’s an afternoon game. Wait until the next one.”
When Quinn’s horror pinched his expression, she recanted.
“It’s really not that bad. Yes, there’s a hierarchy with the WAGs, but ever since the NHL got a little Queerer, it’s been evening out. When Logan played for LA, his captain was a late-in-life coming-out story.”
Quinn didn’t follow sports, so he had no idea what she was talking about. That didn’t appear to matter because Bea seemed happy to continue.
“Grant, the LA captain, got divorced and came out. Meanwhile, all the WAGs started fighting for the Head WAG position that used to belong to his ex, like we were in the Hunger Games. Then bam, the next person Grant dates and falls head over heels for was a man, so he slid right into top place. Picture the campiest gay guy you’ve ever met.
My god, the drama was so good. The NHL can be like high school, but you just have to find your place. ”
Quinn’s eyes moved back to the rink, keeping his breathing steady and calm.
It did sound like high school. This is why he preferred attending art school at university, where more people shared his own way of thinking.
No politics and fighting to be arm candy, just a bunch of unmedicated drama queens or former goth kids like himself.
The crowd reacted loudly as someone on Vancouver’s team almost scored, and Quinn looked to the Jumbotron screen to watch the replay. He really should have learned the names of Eren’s teammates if he was trying to blend in.
But did he really want to?
Quinn sipped his cooler, his nails glinting against the neon lights of the arena.
He’d just gotten them done the other day; they were black, but they glowed in the dark, so they appeared pink now.
He knew he was far from that goth kid he’d been in high school, but with his shaggy brown hair, skinny jeans and leather jacket, he didn’t feel like he fit in with the hockey lifestyle, either.
His eyebrow and nose were both pierced, and his many tattoos were hidden beneath layers of clothing. But it wasn’t about appearances—it was a question he felt in his gut. Did he want to fit in, or not? He hated…peopling.
“Uncle Quinn?” Emira turned in her chair to face him, giving him the grumpiest look a child could muster. “Why hasn’t Daddy scored more goals?”
Bea chuckled and offered no help to answer, so Quinn was left alone to explain.
“Because the…other team is full of meanies?”
There was a bubble of laughter around him from the other WAGs sitting close enough to hear.
Alara also turned to look at him, cheeks puffing dramatically. “I think Daddy needs to try harder.”
Quinn barely heard the collective mock gasps and the tittering laughter following her comment. He was too busy getting lost in memories of his sister and the indignant way she often spoke of her husband.
The twins had their father’s blue eyes, but they were all Esme. They may have carried Eren’s last name, but they were Harlows at their core.
The girls returned to watching the game, leaving Quinn alone to mull over thoughts of his sister and how much he fucking missed her. She should be the one watching Eren’s game with her daughters, not him.
For the thousandth time, he asked himself what he was doing there.
An arm hooked into his, tugging Quinn into a warm, solid body.
“It’s all good,” said Bea. “We’re right here.”
Quinn squeezed his eyes shut to stop the burning, only opening them once he was sure tears weren’t going to fall.
Bea continued to hold onto him while she socialized with the others, making sure to introduce Quinn to everyone as conversations carried on. The names were lost on him for the most part, but he appreciated her attempts to make him feel welcome.
When the first part—period, he reminded himself—was nearly done, Bea asked him if he wanted to bring the girls and join her when she went downstairs. Sometimes the moms took the kids during intermission to greet the players and help pump them up.
The thought of taking a break from sitting and talking brought a flood of relief.
“Thanks for showing me the ropes,” Quinn told her as he checked to make sure the girls didn’t have ketchup on their clothes or hands before they went to see Eren. “I know the girls are used to this, but this is my first time.”
Bea touched his arm as a gesture of comfort. “I’m hoping it won’t be the last time you watch a game with us. I’ve been enjoying your company.”
Quinn nodded and ducked his head to hide his blush, ruffling Alara’s hair until she whined and swatted him away.
“I’ll think about it,” said Quinn.
Bea’s smile suggested that she knew he would be back, so she didn’t push any further as she, Quinn and two other moms got on the elevator with all the kids, taking them downstairs.
Quinn hadn’t noticed on the way to the box, but the elevator had glass walls on the inside, showing a reflection of himself, Alara and Emira standing on either side of him.
They were mirror twins, so they were the same as Quinn and his sister in many ways.
They both had dark hair and creamy skin, but their appearance was opposite.
Emira had a freckle under her left eye, and Alara on her right.
As they’d started getting more dexterous, Quinn had seen that Alara was left-handed, Emira right-handed.
One often led while the other followed, and to nearly everyone, sometimes including their father, they were identical.
Once they stepped off the elevator, Bea led them through a narrow chute, pausing at a section roped off on either side of a rubber mat to the rink.
Media and cameras bustled around them, along with team assistants and the team’s social media staff.
Quinn tried not to pay attention to them as the buzzer sounded, and tall, muscular figures in blue and green began making their way off the ice.
Quinn was surprised when a lot of the players paused to wave at the kids, gently fist-bumping them or asking for high-fives.
Emira pulled him forward, prompting Alara to follow as she ducked under the rope to approach the players, showing no fear in a situation that he would have found scary as a kid.
“Daddy!” Emira cried. She almost succeeded in making a break for it, causing Quinn to stumble in his effort to stop her.
Thankfully, it was Eren, not some random player she was trying to run to. His handsome, sweaty face broke into the biggest grin as he knelt to greet his girls, the large white C on his chest setting him apart from the others.
“You came,” he said, looking at Quinn as he stood. He slipped off his glove and gently booped Alara on the nose, making her laugh.
Quinn shrugged. “I told you I would. Besides, they’re having fun.”
“I appreciate it,” Eren said, and the sincerity shone through in his voice.
An unspoken moment passed between them, a shared grief that stung like a shard of ice to the gut.
A day at the boy aquarium? Yeah, Quinn would tolerate all that and more for the three people his sister had loved above everything else.
A shadow moved behind Eren, and Quinn glanced past his brother-in-law to see the final player coming off the ice with the aura of an angry storm cloud. He was massive even standing fifteen feet away from them, and Quinn knew that he’d tower over Eren’s six-foot-three height effortlessly.
When the man pulled off his helmet, revealing ironically snow-white hair, his ice-blue eyes met Quinn’s, stealing the breath from his lungs.
August Snow.
Fucking hell, it was just like high school.