Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
B eatrix
I think I’m more nervous than the day we found out that Butter and Rosemary was getting a Michelin star.
“Why am I all jittery? I’m not the one playing,” I tell Archer, who gave me little choice but to bring him as my date.
“It’s just what happens. I feel it too.”
We’re sitting at center ice right behind the plexiglass, which means that I have the best view in the house. I feel the chill coming off the ice, hear the constant roar of the spectators getting restless before the players appear. Nachos and pretzel smells mix with a pervasive hoppy smell of beer. The excitement builds all around us as the clock ticks down toward game time, and music starts blasting through the arena, getting fans amped.
I’m in Ren’s game jersey, which is huge on me, despite the new roundness of my early baby bump, and as I look around, I see lots of other fans with Renaldi jerseys. I feel a mixture of pride in Ren’s career and nervousness over the impending matchup against Calgary.
It’s just as well that it’s my grouchy older brother by my side because he views this outing as just another sporting event, albeit one where we have seats near center ice, right on the glass. He wouldn’t understand the first date feeling rumbling in my chest, nervous that something will happen tonight and change the course of my life. It’s ridiculous because Ren has already changed my entire trajectory. Watching him play is like a dab of icing on top. Barely noticeable.
“Plus, you’re about to see your boyfriend in a whole new light. In a sport where everyone’s a badass, he’s among the select few that will be remembered for it. If you weren’t in love with him already, you will be after tonight.”
Oh. Okay.
So, watching the game with my brother won’t just be a normal sporting event. We’re going to do this sibling bonding thing—here at the game, which is about to start in ten minutes. I could feign a bathroom emergency and eat up those ten minutes easily, but if the past few months have taught me anything, it’s that I need to lean into uncomfortable situations.
“Those are some lofty pronouncements. You sure you’re not a little bit in love with Ren yourself?” I ask.
“More than a little bit,” he says in all seriousness. “It’s a guy sports thing, a bromance.”
“Does it count as a bromance if he doesn’t love you back?” I tease.
Archer’s forehead creases while he considers the question. “I think he’d love me if he got to know me.”
“I’m sure.” I’m happy to talk about my brother’s hockey crush all day long if it keeps him out of my business, and the change of topic seems to be accomplishing that nicely. I reach for the bottled water in the cupholder and unscrew the cap. The announcer calls out the names of the Calgary players as they skate onto the ice. There’s some polite applause and a lot of booing.
“Nice sportsmanship,” I mutter.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, sister. It’s gonna get brutal.”
The fury of the crowd rises in volume as Calgary’s star forward skates onto the ice, followed by the goalie. I can’t make out the various catcalls amid the booing, but the arena is vibrating.
Then, the Otters take the ice. At first, I can’t tell the players apart with all the padding and loose shirts. I look at the numbers and spot Ren as he skates around the ice like he owns the place. Hot enough to melt the ice right off the floor.
Ren has barely touched the puck, and I can tell my brother is right. There’s no way I’ll make it through an entire game with him looking like that and not fall a little bit in love. I know just how muscular he is under that jersey, yet he skates with effortless grace and passes the puck back and forth with his teammates as they warm up.
Then they start to play.
Ren is like a bull on the ice, skating fast and slapping the puck so hard, and I react like it’s his hand on my ass. I swear, if my brother wasn’t sitting next to me—not to mention an arena full of fans—I’d be touching myself right here up against the glass. I blame the pregnancy hormones a tad, but mostly it’s Ren.
By the end of the first period, the Otters are up by one. The team seems to have settled into a rhythm, and I have my hands squeezed together in a fist. “Just gotta get through two more periods for a win,” I shout at no one.
Archer answers dryly, “Thanks for the recap.”
“Quiet, or I won’t invite you back.”
He leans back in his seat and sips his beer innocently. “So, has it happened yet?” he asks.
“Has what happened?”
“Falling in love.” He points to the ice, where Ren starts yelling when a Calgary forward knocks down one of the Otters’ defenders. The referee says something to him, and he gets in his face, pointing and gesturing. The fans around us start yelling, too, loving Ren’s bravado and cheering even louder. “Your man. He fucking owns the place.”
My gaze hasn’t left Ren, who skates away and gets back into the game. Calgary takes a shot, but the Otters goalie deflects it. They try twice more, and my heart starts pounding. “Get ‘em out of there!” I yell, feeling the pressure on the goalie and the inevitability of the puck getting past him after that many shots.
Finally, Ren gets the puck and races past the Calgary defense, lines up a shot, and scores a second goal.
With a two-point lead, the fans go nuts. The blare of the air horn fills the arena, and everyone is on their feet, shouting and applauding. Ren’s teammates fist-bump him, and he skates in a circle, basking in the glory of a perfect shot. He skates right past the glass where Archer and I sit and hits me with his cocky smile, a little salute, and a wink, like that goal was a little hockey demonstration just for me.
“Hope you don’t mind if the entire world knows about you two.” Archer nudges me with an elbow.
“Why do you say that?”
He points, and I see my face on the jumbotron for a second before it switches back to where Ren skates back to take his position. It didn’t occur to me that the cameras would follow Ren after his goal and zoom in on the person he was saluting. “That little display had girlfriend written all over it. If he hasn’t said anything to the press already, there are going to be questions.”
And that’s when I feel it—I’m falling hard for the guy. Archer is right. If it’s not love, it’s sure headed in that direction. It’s not the foolish, reckless dive bomb into love that I experienced at twenty. This is a slow, delicious slide into something deep, unpredictable, and solid. It’s love for the same man, but it’s somehow deeper and more substantial this time around, and it has nothing to do with us having a baby. I have the overwhelming sense that I do want to be his girlfriend. Or maybe something more permanent. I know it may come back to bite me in the ass, but right now, it’s what I want.
“Be interested to see how he answers them,” I say.
Archer laughs, a surprising sound coming from a guy who’s more tightly wound than me. He’s the hardest working sibling in the family, and I often feel bad that the entire burden of running Buttercup Hill has fallen on him. He never asked for it. Never said he wanted to be a winemaker. But when the need arose, he stepped up for our dad and the rest of us.
His grumpy attitude is a lot to deal with, but I have to remind myself that he and I aren’t so different. We both put work first and look around at what’s left over for ourselves once the obligations are satisfied. Of anyone, I know how hard he has it.
I don’t realize I’ve been staring at him until he raises his brows. “What?”
“Thanks for coming with me here tonight. And not being too annoyed that I don’t know squat about hockey.”
“How did you date the guy for a year in college and not learn about hockey?”
“I wasn’t dating him for the hockey knowledge,” I deadpan.
“But you went to games, right?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t pay that much attention to the game. I just watched my hot hockey boyfriend and cheered when other people did.”
“Well, I guess you can do the same thing here. Thanks for inviting me.” He gives me a partial smile, which, from Archer, is like finding a gold nugget in a muddy river. He gestures to the ice with a nod of his head. “You know enough. And whatever you don’t know, I bet that guy’d be happy to teach you.”
Ren is right when he promised I’d see a fight. I just didn’t expect him to be the one in the penalty box after the ref missed a call. The entire arena sees it when the defender trips him and sends him skidding across the ice, right into the stick of a Calgary player. The crowd goes nuts, yelling and booing, and Ren wastes no time skating up to the guy, getting right in his face, and yelling. That’s when the defender loses his shit and gives Ren a shove.
I don’t blame Ren one bit for getting riled at the guy and pushing him back. Three other teammates join the scrum, but it’s mostly yelling and a little bit of shoving for show. “Why aren’t the referees doing anything?” My high-pitched voice sounds as scared as I feel.
“It’s part of the sport. They’re giving fans what they want.” The fight fuels the fans like nothing I’ve ever seen. For a second, I get a little nervous. It feels like the place is rocking off its foundation. “Fans don’t fight with each other, do they?” I ask Archer.
He puts an arm around me and pulls me close. “I’ve got ya. No one’s messing with you or my future niece or nephew.”
The referees let the melee go on for a few seconds longer before pushing the players apart. They throw Ren and the defender into their respective penalty boxes.
“Your boy just earned the respect of everyone in here for keeping his cool after the ref missed that call. He’s gonna have a swollen jaw later on. Be nice to him.” Archer has never taken the slightest interest in anyone I’ve dated, not that there have been many, but still. He’s legitimately on Team Ren, and I’m here for it. I vow to take Archer to every home game I can because this is the best time I’ve ever had with him.
“Got it. Be nice to Ren.” I say the words robotically, as if there’s any question.
The final buzzer ends the game with a win for the Otters, and the crowd erupts once more in raucous cheers and applause. The players take it all in, and Ren does a lap around the ice, slowing down near the glass in front of us to blow me a kiss. I feel my face turn crimson as the camera following Ren lands on me. I bend down like I’ve dropped something important. “They’re gone. You’re safe now,” Archer laughs. Finally, the team skates off the ice, and Archer and I head down to the clubhouse, where Ren said to meet him.
He shows up an hour later in a navy suit that fits him like a glove. His broad shoulders pull at the fabric of the coat, which tapers to his slim waist. The top two buttons of his white shirt are unbuttoned, showing off the contour of his pecs and a hint at the smooth skin that lies beneath the fabric. All I can think is that I’d like to tear every stitch of it from his body.
Seriously, hormones, I hear you loud and clear!
Even Archer seems to know how hot I am for Ren because he pets my head like a puppy. “Down, girl. You’re panting.”
“Am not.”
“Right. Guess it was me.” He actually looks nervous as the Otters file in one by one and find their people in various corners. They swipe beers off a tray near the door and spend a few minutes more shaking hands with various VIPs in the room—friends of the owner or investors, according to Archer.
“I had no idea you were such a hockey fanboy. When did this happen?”
“I like sports in general, you know that.”
“Yeah, but this is next level.” I wave to Ren, who’s coming our way from across the room.
Archer shrugs. “We all have our things.”
“Ha. I’d say you have more than one.” I’m thinking of his type A personality and his obsession with running, to name two. But I’m liking this side of my brother. Seeing him relaxed and enjoying the scene gives me a window into what Ren must see when I let my guard down and mess around with him.
Ren kisses me hard and wraps me in his arms. He doesn’t seem to care a bit about my brother sitting two feet away or the peering eyes in the room. He hums as he backs away from my lips. “Best part of my day.” He keeps me in a tight grip and turns to Archer, who extends his hand to shake.
Ren wraps him in a bear hug, and the tips of my brother’s ears go a healthy shade of pink. “Thanks for coming, man.”
“Great game. You killed it.”
“Ha. Almost got killed, but that’s part of the fun.” Ren sits on a stool at our table, and I get a good look at him for the first time. He rubs at a spot half-hidden by the stubble on his chin, and I notice how swollen it is.
“You took a good one,” Archer says, proudly holding up his beer in a toast.
“Looks painful. Are you okay?” I ask, gently touching the spot. Ren takes my hand and moves it to his lips, kissing it.
I laugh as Archer grimaces. “Get used to it. I’m stuck on this one, so you’re stuck with me.” He says it so casually, so full of the usual Renaldi charm that I allow myself to believe Ren wants to be with me for the long haul. And the longer I sit here, watching his easy banter with my brother and thinking about him spending time with the rest of my family, the more I realize I want that too.