Chapter 26
Lucky
My mom is over the moon about Winnie.
I don’t just mean she likes her—I mean she watched her eat lasagna like she was auditioning her to be the newest Branson and my mom was ready to hand her a ring.
And honestly? I get it.
Because every second I’m with Winnie, it feels like I’m watching something rare unfold in front of me. Something I never thought I’d get.
Yesterday was chaotic as we had a home game against the Vegas Spades.
We unfortunately lost, but Winnie was there with my mom and after, we hung out at my place.
Winnie didn’t stay the night, even though I tried every trick in the book to get her to.
Even my mom assured her that it was perfectly acceptable, but Winnie is a little reserved on that front, and yeah… I like that about her too.
Tonight is one of the last chances I have to spend with her before life speeds up again. Another home game tomorrow, Mazzy’s engagement on Saturday, then I’m off for four days to Seattle and San Diego.
It’s a lot. And Winnie? She’s been a trooper, learning how to navigate a new relationship with someone who’s on the go a hundred miles an hour and gone as much as I’m here.
Add to that she’s living this relationship in the public eye, which has brought down on her criticism she doesn’t deserve, and well…
I wanted to give her a night away from it all.
No comments. No cameras. No curated content.
Just us.
I pulled a few strings this morning—called Vince, one of our off-ice operations guys—and asked if I could use one of the suites tonight. There are no events scheduled at the arena.
He said he’d check, and to my surprise, he called me back to tell me Brienne Norcross said I could use the owner’s suite.
I was shocked as hell, but I accepted without another thought.
I’ve not had a lot of interaction with the ultimate boss of the Titans, but she’s clearly a romantic. I owe her big-time.
I’ve just finished the setup and I step back to take a look, proud of my ingenuity. No, this is nowhere near a normal date, but fuck it… I’m going to lean into my star power.
I set up a projector, pointed at the far wall, and pilfered a drop-down screen from our media folks. There’s a thick blanket already laid out on the floor and a pile of movie snacks I grabbed from that overpriced gas station on Carson Street Winnie mentioned was “her happy place.”
Twizzlers. Sour Patch Kids. Hi-Chews. Oh, and those weird coconut chocolate clusters she swears aren’t old-lady candy. Vince did me a solid and made sure the popcorn machine had freshly popped kernels and four different types of shaker seasonings.
The lights in the arena are low—just the glow from the Zamboni tunnel and some emergency bulbs casting a soft haze over the empty stands. I didn’t request it that way. That’s how it always is on non-event nights, but it looks romantic.
I check my watch. It’s time to go pick her up for what our followers would consider our last experiment date.
But I’m not even going there.
That little challenge died a swift death two weeks ago.
?
I’m holding Winnie’s hand as we walk through the corridor that houses the luxury boxes.
I already gave her the two-cent tour of the bottom level—the dressing room, therapy rooms, coaching offices and equipment room.
She had a million questions and I answered them all, letting her get the most out of this behind-the-scenes experience.
She’s perfect and beautiful in jeans and a hoodie, hair in a loose braid, cheeks flushed, hopefully from my mere presence. I’d told her to dress comfortable and she looks relaxed and happy.
And curious as hell.
“You won’t even give me a hint?” she asks, eyes narrowing playfully as we near the owner’s suite.
“Already gave you one,” I say, swiping us through the glass door with the key card. “I said it was iconic and romantic.”
“That could be anything. A bookstore. A planetarium. A Taco Bell drive-thru.”
“Honestly?” I murmur, pushing open the door, “this place is better than all of that.”
She steps inside and stops cold.
The arena stretches out past the edge of the box in a vast hush. Empty. Still. Lit only by slivers of soft blue light.
She takes everything in, eyes widening as they land on the projector and then flick over to the screen. “Wait… what is this?”
I gesture to the setup. “This is my version of a quiet night in.”
She stares at the rink. “You rented out your workplace for a date.”
I shrug. “Well, I didn’t have to pay money for this, if that’s what you’re asking. I give them blood, sweat and tears from my soul, so Brienne Norcross handed me the key to the owner’s suite.”
Winnie stares at me with bugged eyes, mouth parted slightly. I stare right back at her.
She turns, walks to the front of the suite that has three rows of plush, leather chairs where VIP guests can watch the game from up high. She braces her hands on the railing as she takes it in, looking back over her shoulder at me. “This is the most you thing I’ve ever seen. It’s… kind of perfect.”
Then she looks back at the projector. “Okay. Important question. What are we watching? Miracle? The Mighty Ducks?”
I smirk as I take the laptop I have hooked to the screen and tap it off sleep mode. “Try again.”
The screen lights up and she takes in the paused opening scene of You’ve Got Mail. She told me on our first date it is her comfort movie.
Her mouth drops open and she moves my way. “You remembered.”
I nab the wicker basket full of snacks. I open it with a dramatic flourish. “I took notes.”
She blinks fast, clearly trying not to melt into a puddle, and I’m pretty proud of myself. “You… made me a movie date with snacks in your hockey arena?”
“Yup.”
She turns back to the screen, sits cross-legged on the blanket, and says, “Okay. Best date ever.”
“It hasn’t even begun,” I point out, dropping beside her.
“I said what I said,” she quips as she bends over the basket and pulls out the Sour Patch candy.
Half an hour in, we’ve made it through most of the popcorn and half a bag of Hi-Chews, which I’d never had before but are quite addictive. Winnie’s shoulder is pressed against mine, her knees tucked up, and every so often, she makes a running commentary about the movie.
“Meg Ryan’s wardrobe was peak nineties librarian chic,” she murmurs.
I look at it with a critical eye. “She looks like she runs a feminist bird-watching society.”
Winnie snorts and swats me with a napkin. “That’s exactly what makes it iconic.”
We fall into a comfortable silence again. Her head dips to my shoulder. Her hand finds mine.
I feel more at peace right now than I have in… maybe ever. Why is that? It’s a chick flick that I’m not all that crazy about, but somehow, I’d do this date over and over again if I could.
While I’m ninety-nine percent over the moon with these new feelings, that one percent terrifies me because my life has officially changed and the future is so unknown.
Granted, I’m running full steam ahead toward a future that includes Winnie, but…
well, we still have our differences we need to overcome.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Can I say something?”
I shift so I can see her better, the movie continuing without our attention. “Always.”
She chews her lip for a second. “When you were on the road trip… I missed you. Like, really missed you. And it scared the hell out of me.”
My stomach tightens. “Yeah. Same.”
Her brows rise. “Really? You’re scared.”
“First… it’s scary because I feel like you’re reading my mind.” I cock an eyebrow at her. “You’re not some sort of witch, are you?”
She scrunches her face. “Buttermilk seems to think so.”
I laugh and tip my forehead to touch hers briefly. “Winnie, I texted you about twenty times a day while I was gone and made my mom cook you dinner the second I got back. I’m pretty sure I’m halfway to obsessed.”
She lets out a quiet laugh, but there’s emotion behind it.
“I think,” I say slowly, “that walking you in here tonight… bringing you into this space… it felt like letting you into the last part of my world.”
She watches me carefully.
“This rink is where I’ve always felt the most like myself,” I admit. “And lately… that’s started to shift. Because I feel most like myself when I’m with you.”
She doesn’t say anything at first. Just squeezes my hand.
“I’m not as good with words as you are, but what touches me most is that I feel completely safe expressing my feelings to you.
They might be hard to get out, but I don’t fear your dismissal.
And that’s something I’ve never had with a man before.
I feel safe with you and that right there tells me that this is the most real thing I’ve ever felt. ”
?
As the credits roll, I pull her up from the blanket. After a soft kiss, I advise her, “I’ve got something else to show you.”
She motions to all the stuff left behind. “Do we need to clean up?”
“Nah. My man Vince said he’d handle it.”
“Who’s Vince?” she asks as I lead her out of the suite.
“Someone we’ll have to name our firstborn after since he helped set up this epically romantic date,” I quip, and then inwardly cringe. Did I just proclaim we’re having children together?
Luckily, Winnie snorts as if it was a joke, but I’m not so sure it is. How can I even be thinking of that right now? Part of me wonders if it’s because she’s my first real relationship. Am I so enamored, I’m not even considering that there could be someone better?
Wait! Fuck no… it won’t ever get better than Winnie.
Regardless, I let it go as I lead her back down to the ice level and through the tunnel.
I open the wooden gate and she plants her feet at the edge, pulling back against me.
“I’m not going on the ice. It’s slick and I’ll fall and probably split my pants and that’s not a sexy look and then you’ll dump me. ”
I bark out a laugh and tug her forward. “Stop being a drama queen. I’m a pro on the ice, after all. I’m not going to let you fall and split your pants.”
She comes without hesitation, confirming what I already knew—that she trusts me. We carefully walk along the perimeter, one of her hands on the boards and the other clutching mine. We get to the Titans’ bench and I lift her up and over the short wall and then follow behind her.
We sit and she leans forward, crossing her forearms along the boards. “It’s so quiet,” she observes. “Some might say eerie, but it’s peaceful. And the hush is so at odds with the noise of a game. Almost otherworldly.”
“And you say you’re not good with words,” I tease, rubbing her back.
We sit together at the edge of the ice, quiet. She studies everything, lifting her gaze to the stands and bending back to check out the rafters and hanging banners and retired jerseys.
“I was terrified the first time I stepped on this rink,” I say, staring out over the ice.
I feel her eyes on me. “Felt like the lights were going to swallow me. But I skated out anyway. I survived. I got stronger. And I built a life here.” I glance over at her.
“I want to build something with you too. Off the ice. In the real world.”
Winnie doesn’t respond right away. She just turns to me, eyes luminous. She leans in and kisses me.
It’s soft. Slow. Certain.
Her hands curl into my jacket and I pull her gently into my lap, arms wrapped around her waist.
We sit like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, both of us fully accepting that something deep and real has settled between us.
Eventually, she whispers, “You’re not going to start reading me old hockey stats now, are you?”
I laugh, brushing a kiss to her jaw. “Nope. But if you want me to tell you the first time I ever scored in this building, I could make it sound really dirty.”
She groans and snuggles into my neck. With her warmth pressed close, the arena around us silent and still, I understand what’s most important.
No camera. No likes. No noise.
“You about ready to go?” I ask, and she lifts her head.
“Where are we going now?”
I grin at her mischievously. “I’m taking you to Orgasm Town.”