Chapter 37 – Beau
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Beau
It’s the next day, and it still feels like I’m riding the high of last night.
Momma’s backyard is exactly how I remember it.
Same sagging string lights stretched between the maple trees, the big picnic table already bowed under too much food, and the cooler half-buried in the grass with condensation dripping down its sides.
But what’s different is the people. Instead of high school friends sneaking beers when Momma wasn’t looking, it’s our teammates and their wives, girlfriends, and about six kids darting underfoot like they’re running drills.
It’s loud in a way only this family can be.
The scent of the grill drifts through the air, smoky and rich, mingling with the sweetness of cut grass and my mom’s pie cooling by the open kitchen window.
Someone’s got a country music playlist playing low from a porch speaker, the bass mixing with overlapping voices, clinks of bottles, and bursts of laughter.
“Cole, that’s not how you flip a burger,” Ramona calls, one hand on her hip.
Cole doesn’t even look up from the spatula. “It’s exactly how you flip a burger.”
“No,” Cooper says, stabbing his fork into the potato salad, “it’s exactly how you drop one.”
“That’s rich, coming from the guy who almost tripped over his own skates during the pre-game skate,” I chime in, smirking.
“Almost,” Cooper says, pointing his fork at me. “Keyword.”
“Yeah, well, the keyword for you last night was ‘retirement.’ Keyword for me was ‘shutout.’”
The pride in my voice isn’t just about me.
Last night was one of my best games in a long damn time—clean, sharp, not a single puck past me.
The kind of night you wish you could bottle and keep forever.
I gave my big brother the send-off he deserved, one last win with him on the ice, where he belongs.
Next time, he’ll be behind the bench with a whistle instead of a stick, but that night will always be ours.
“Don’t forget the glove save in the third. You made that poor rookie question his life choices. The arena went nuts,” Bower pipes up, grinning like a fool.
The table breaks into overlapping chatter about the game. Cooper’s last shift, the standing ovation, and my glove save. It’s the kind of teasing, proud noise that feels like home, half loving and half cutting at the same time.
Momma just shakes her head, setting down another bowl like she’s worried we might starve if there’s even one square inch of the table left uncovered.
I should be part of this. Eating, talking, letting myself bask in Cooper’s send-off and my personal high from last night.
But I can’t because my gaze keeps finding Alise.
Not that I’m complaining about it. Not at all.
She’s tucked between Ramona and Michele, her afro soft and full, the sunlight catching the warm brown of her skin.
She’s got a cider in her hand, one elbow resting on the table, curls bouncing as she grins at something Ramona just said.
Her headphones are looped casually around her neck instead of on her ears, a quiet safety net if the volume spikes too high.
No one else notices, but I always do. And the fact that she’s smiling through it anyway, still here in the middle of all this, hits me harder than any ovation last night.
It’s the same sound from last night, the one that cut through the noise in the tunnel and hit me straight in the chest before I even kissed her.
“Beau!” Cole snaps his fingers like I’m ignoring him on purpose. “You gonna eat, or are you planning to brood all afternoon?”
“I’m good.” I lift my beer in a lazy toast.
“You look like you’re watching a film of something you screwed up,” Cooper says, chewing slowly like he’s waiting for me to take the bait.
“Maybe he’s just trying to figure out how to say hi to his girlfriend,” Bower adds from across the table, his grin wide enough to punch.
“She’s not—” I start, but Alise glances at me, slow and deliberate, and I clamp my jaw shut.
“So, any truth to the rumor that you only came to last night’s game to see me?” Bower leans toward Alise, dropping his voice just enough to make sure I hear.
“I’d have to know who you are for that to be true,” she responds, her smile sharp and full of mirth.
The table loses it immediately. Even Momma chuckles as she passes behind Alise.
Bower clutches his chest like she’s ended his career. “Cold. Absolutely ice-cold.”
“Careful, Alise,” Cooper warns. “That’s how he plans to get you. Beau is going to talk big, then convince you to wear his jersey every game instead of mine, like he did last night.”
“I can’t imagine anyone being foolish enough to fall for that,” she says, all wide-eyed innocence.
“Hey, Beau, didn’t she—” Cole smirks.
“Don’t,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to. The muscle in my jaw jumps, my grip on the edge of the table tightening until my knuckles ache. My pulse kicks, hot and quick, and I can feel the weight of her attention on me even if I don’t look at her.
The word hangs in the air like a slammed door, and for a beat, the entire table feels it before the conversation shifts, everyone pretending it never happened.
But I won’t take them back. I see the flicker in her eyes—curiosity, maybe guilt, maybe nothing at all—and it hooks into me.
My jaw tightens, the same stupid flare of possessiveness tightening in my chest. She shouldn’t have been wearing his jersey.
I don’t care that it was his last game or that he’s my older brother.
Alise shouldn’t be wearing anyone’s jersey but mine.
The thought is reckless, possessive, but it digs in and refuses to let go.
I shift in my seat, shoulders tense, trying to ignore the fact that my heart’s still thudding like I’m about to take a slapshot to the chest.
The conversation moves on like nothing happened, but the air between us doesn’t.
A little later, Momma calls for more lemonade, and I move around the table, my attention already pulled toward Alise.
She shifts back to give me room, and her knee brushes mine under the bench—a warm, deliberate graze.
The contact is nothing and everything at the same time.
My forearm grazes the bare skin of her arm as I stretch past her.
Heat flares where we touch, sharp and instant, and I’m gone.
I want more than I should, more than I can afford.
My fingers twitch, wanting to thread into her halo of hair, to pull her closer to see how she’d look flushed and breathless for me.
I fight it, not because I don’t want to, but because the urge is so sharp it scares me. If I give in now, I know I won’t stop.
The air between us is hot enough to burn.
My pulse is still hammering from the kiss last night, from the feel of her mouth under mine, from the way she’s looking at me like I’ve just given her something she’s been waiting for.
I don’t want to let her go, not now, maybe not ever.
But she’s watching me, unblinking, and it’s not just my pulse that trips.
There’s a weight in her gaze, like she’s testing me, daring me to be the first to break.
“What?” I murmur, my voice lower than I intend.
“Nothing.” She tilts her head, lips curling like she knows exactly what’s going through my mind.
It’s a lie, and we both know it, but two can play at this game. The corner of my mouth lifts, but there’s no humor in it. I lean down, slow enough for the space between us to thicken, my voice skimming her ear. “Better be nothing.”
Her breath has the smallest hitch, punching through my restraint.
Every muscle in my body is tightening with the urge to close that inch between us again.
I’m about to kiss her, audience be damned.
God help me, I need to, but before I can push it further, a loud, drawn-out whistle cuts through the moment.
“Get a room,” Kyle calls from across the yard, grinning like a kid who knows he’s just lit a fuse. Darius is right behind him, balancing a plate stacked high enough to qualify as an engineering feat.
“Seriously,” Darius adds, eyebrows raised as he drops into the seat across from Alise. “Some of us are trying to eat without choking on the tension.”
Heat floods her cheeks, and she shoves back from the table. “I’m going to… check on dessert.”
She’s halfway to the house before I even think about stopping her.
My grip tightens around the glass, the cool condensation slick against my palm, jaw locked as I watch her retreat.
Each step she takes away from me feels like a dare, like she knows I’m not built to let her walk off like that, and she’s right.
I push back from the table, standing too fast, my chair legs scraping against the patio. I grab the lemonade pitcher, refilling my mom’s cup just to keep my hands busy. When I hand it back to her, she takes a sip and eyes me over the rim like she’s not buying a single ounce of my fake composure.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” she says, her tone all warmth and just a hint of suspicion.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Cooper asks, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing like he already knows.
“Yeah,” Cole adds with a smirk. “Gonna give Alise a private lesson in… stickhandling?”
“Stickhandling? Is that what we’re calling it now?” Kyle barks out, unable to hold back, and even Ramona leans back in her chair, grinning like she’s about to chime in with something worse.
“Just make sure you put the pitcher back, lover boy. Some of us actually want lemonade.” Bower shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me but can’t hide his smile.
The table bursts into laughter. Even Alise, halfway to the porch, shoots them a look over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, eyes sparking, before turning away quickly.
“Eat your food,” I mutter, not bothering to give their comments a second thought, and hand off the pitcher. “You’re all nosy as hell.”