Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Calliope
I’ve been to Houlihan’s numerous times over my life, many times with my family, a few times when Rafe and I were dating, but never on a game night. Since the Cold Fury franchise came to Raleigh in 1997 when I was just four years old, they set up Houlihan’s as their hangout since it’s right across the street from the arena.
There is a large segment of fans that don’t bother going to the games but instead come to Houlihan’s where they camp out at the bar and dinner tables, knowing that many of the players come to hang out after the game.
Over the years, it’s become a tradition, and the players rub elbows and mix with the commoners. It’s supposedly quite a treat, but it’s also a packed madhouse, so you need to be prepared to wait forever to get a table, and if you’re lucky enough to land that, then you have to wait forever to be served your food and drink.
Mostly, it’s just people elbow to elbow, standing around, drinking beers and munching on chicken wings, waiting for the team to come in after a glorious five-to-two victory over the Boston Eagles to take game two of the second round of the playoffs. The atmosphere is electric, the mood jubilant.
I check my phone and see a text from Rafe. Be there in five minutes.
I have to wonder what I’m doing here. Not just in Houlihan’s, waiting to meet Rafe after he played an amazing game, racking up two assists. But here in general, at Rafe’s request to watch the game and then join him after at Houlihan’s so he can, as he put it, “introduce me to the team.”
That smacks of relationship to me. Says he wants me to be at the game to cheer him on, and he wants his new mates to get to know me. It goes far beyond the boundaries I laid out regarding how this would be a relationship focused foremost on sex and would not move into any questionable type of intimacy.
In fact, I had mentioned that to Rafe when he handed me the ticket he’d bought for me and said, “I’d really love for you to come to the game.”
“But why?” I asked, actually confused. It happened to be my day off, and he’d stayed all night. When the subject came up, he was in the process of pulling on his pants, wanting to get home to have breakfast with his mom and dad before he headed off to the arena for a light morning skate.
“Because,” he said simply, “I want you there.”
“This is just sex,” I pointed out, sitting in bed and bringing the sheets up over my naked breasts. He’d just finished thoroughly wrecking my body with a morning quickie.
Rafe spun on me, his eyes flashing with…something. Anger? Amusement?
I couldn’t tell because he was back on me, and I was under him, pinned to the mattress. His face hovered, blocking out everything as he leveled me with a feral smile. “That’s not true, Poppy.”
“Is so,” I whispered.
Rafe shook his head. “No. You said we were friends with benefits. The benefit is sex, I’ll give you that. But we’re friends first and foremost. That comes before the sex. It always has, and as my friend, I’d like you to come to the game tonight. And after the game, assuming we win—which I know we will—I want you to come to Houlihan’s to meet my teammates.”
“But—”
He kissed me to shut me up. It worked, and I got distracted, but then he pulled back and rolled off the bed. Snagging his shirt and shoes from the floor, he moved to my door and threw one last look at me. God he was so gorgeous with his hair tousled and day-old stubble on his face. “Come as my friend, Calliope. But if you don’t, then I’ll get the message. It really is just sex and nothing more.”
Man, those words had punched into me hard, leaving me so breathless I couldn’t even respond. Didn’t matter...he left, taking away any opportunity to even argue with him.
And now here I am.
I totally enjoyed myself at the game. By mere virtue of knowing Rafe my entire life and watching him play hockey for most of it, I’m a true fan. Dedicated to the Cold Fury, who have been a staple in our household since I was a small kid. Rafe and I used to watch them together on the TV with our dads, and on the rare occasion we’d get a treat...tickets to an actual game.
I would admit to no one how excited I was when Rafe got his first assist. It felt like a victory for me. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs... “That’s my friend out there on the ice !”
My lover.
Used to be the love of my life. My best friend.
But now...just a friend that I have sex with.
I realize how ridiculous that all sounds, but really, I’m just protecting myself. We can phrase it however we want, and we can put it in a pretty package with a bow and call it a friends with benefits deal. But when it boils down to it, I’m merely protecting my heart from Rafe. I don’t want it to be broken again.
If you’re protecting yourself, then why the hell are you even here? Why are you letting him draw you back into his world?
I have no answers, only that I want to be here, and I fully believe that I’m merely being a good friend by doing so.
I move farther into the crowd, trying to make my way to the bar, but it doesn’t take me long to realize there’s no room for purchase. People are packed in like sardines.
But then something happens. The noise level rises incrementally, and the crowd seems to swell and shift. Things loosen up, and I even spot a small path right through to the bar.
It’s then that I realize the swell of people are actually moving like a tide toward the doors, and it hits me then that some of the players must be coming in. I rise to my tiptoes, able to see nothing but the tops of the heads of the Cold Fury players. There’s no way I’ll be able to even get near Rafe with the throng of fans pressing in on them.
I pull out my phone and whip out a quick text to him. I’m in the back of the restaurant near the restrooms.
Once sent, I move that way, intent on waiting for Rafe to have time with his jubilant fans. I watch in amazement, wondering if he’s used to this kind of fame and adoration. It’s a life I would have led with him, but who knows if I would have ever gotten used to it. Right now, it seems alien and slightly scary, being at the center of such a huge spotlight.
I lean against the wall that separates the entrance to the alcove that holds the bathrooms and watch the celebration at Houlihan’s play out. Then I sense the crowd seem to swell again, pushing outward and then miraculously splitting apart.
Suddenly, there’s Rafe, eyes locked on me, walking purposely toward me. People try to get his attention for photos or an autograph, but for the moment, he ignores them all.
When he’s ten feet away, he reaches a hand out to me, and I’m powerless not to reach back. Our fingers touch, and then they lace together. Rafe steps into me, lowers his head, and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Didn’t want to leave you alone. Let me sign a few autographs, and then we’ll get a drink.”
“Okay,” I murmur, completely thrown that he’d even bother to make me a priority right now. He’s got fans to cater to.
As soon as I’m tucked into his side, he lifts his head and smiles openly at the first fan approaching. A woman—very pretty—standing with three of her girlfriends. She holds out a game program and a Sharpie, silently requesting an autograph.
Rafe signs her program, then her friends’. They gush and welcome him to the team.
“Can we get a picture with you?” one girl asks and hands her phone off to a fellow fan to take the picture.
“Sure,” he replies easily and moves to stand in between them. Two women flock to each side, and he puts his arms around them, giving a wide smile as they get their picture taken.
People start to swarm, moving in front of me, wanting to be next in line to get Rafe’s attention. He sees it happen and immediately jumps into action.
Pulling away from the women he was taking a photo with, he shakes his head and chastises the crowd. “Hey...hey...she’s with me. Don’t push her back.”
Everyone freezes, and then Rafe is once again reaching for me, his hand locking tight on mine. Once again, I’m by his side, and he resumes catering to the fans.
A mere forty minutes later, he has me at the end of the bar and is buying us beers. The furor has died down, most of the fans now back in their groups, drinking and celebrating.
A couple joins us, and Rafe introduces me to Garrett Samuelson, one of the best players in the league.
After we shake hands, Garrett introduces me to the beautiful blonde at his side. “This is my wife, Olivia.”
We barely get our own handshakes and pleasantries completed when more of the Cold Fury team starts to crowd in around us. It’s a bit overwhelming, meeting these stars that I watch on TV, and it’s utterly surreal that they treat me like the closest of friends because I’m here with Rafe. It’s clear by some of the knowing looks that I get that Rafe may have told them something about the history of our relationship, or at the very least that we are lifelong friends.
Regardless, I’m about to lose my shit when the crowd parts again and the incredibly beautiful and insanely intelligent general manager of the Cold Fury, Gray Brannon, starts walking our way. Beside her is one of the best goalies of all time, her husband, Ryker Evans. He retired about a year and a half ago from the Cold Fury, and he’s now the goalie coach for the team.
Talk about hockey royalty.
Rafe is amused when I get tongue-tied during introductions, but I manage to compose myself when Gray asks me what I do for a living. We chat for several moments, and I forget she’s the head of a dynasty. Ultimately, she pulls out her phone, and I get to see pictures of her son, Milo.
“You know,” she says, leaning in to me. My eyes move over to Rafe, who’s busy chatting up Zack Grantham, his second-line teammate. When I look back to Gray, she’s got an understanding smile on her face. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been an immense support to Rafe with everything he’s going through.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I tell her, just vague enough to keep things, well...vague.
“I heard there was a time you were a lot more,” she replies. And, yeah...Rafe must have spilled the beans to some of his teammates.
I take stock of how that makes me feel, and I realize it doesn’t make me feel anything one way or the other. It’s the absolute truth. There was a time when we were everything to each other, and then we weren’t. Rafe made a mistake and ended things, believing with a foolhardy nature that he knew what was best for me.
“We’re just friends now,” I hasten to reassure her.
“I think you’re more than that,” she replies with so much surety, I have to wonder if she has magical powers to see the future or something. I want with every fiber of my being to argue with her, but before I can, she continues on. “People make mistakes, and some deserve forgiveness. Others don’t. That’s up to you to decide. Regardless, I think it’s remarkable that you can put that aside and be here for Rafe. You’re the best type of friend a person could have.”
And just like that, Gray is pulled off into another conversation, and I move over to Rafe. I try to join in on the banter he has going with Zack and his wife, Kate, but my mind won’t stay on point. I keep thinking about Gray’s words, trying to figure out if it was wise advice that I should listen to, or just chalk up to her being a nosy busybody.
Except I have a pretty solid feeling that no one in their entire life has ever thought of or called Gray Brannon a busybody.