Chapter 29
Lucky
There was a time—hell, most of my adult life, really—when I thought proposals were for guys wired differently than me.
The ones who bought matching pajama sets as a couple, who remembered anniversaries, who saw a ring and thought of forever instead of panic.
Living in the hockey world with a bunch of other single playboy types shaped a lot of that.
Then last night happened.
I watched Foster commit himself in the boldest way possible, and instead of feeling cynical or indifferent, something cracked wide open in my chest. Like maybe that kind of love isn’t as unreachable as I’ve always assumed. Like maybe it could happen for a guy like me.
I fell asleep next to Winnie still thinking about it—about her sleepy smile and the way she curled into me.
Like we belonged together.
Now, walking into the Titans’ private terminal lounge with a travel coffee in one hand and my duffel slung over my shoulder, I’m still smiling like an idiot.
It’s early, just past seven, and the lobby buzzes with low conversation, the crinkle of breakfast wrappers, and Kace Elliott trying to stack doughnuts on top of his hockey stick for a TikTok. I think I’ve inspired him.
“Look who finally showed,” Atlas says, eyeing the branded bakery bag in my hand. “What’s in there, Branson?”
“Pumpkin scone and hazelnut latte.”
“No goodbye breakfast with your girl?” he asks with a smirk.
“She’s apparently doing brunch with the girls.
” It was something they all decided after several celebratory drinks last night.
Besides, she was sleeping so peacefully when it was time to get up, I didn’t have the heart to disturb her.
I slipped out after a soft kiss and pinned a note to the outside of Buttermilk’s cage so she’ll see it when she wakes up.
That is, if the damn rabbit doesn’t eat it first.
I drop my duffel, plop down in a chair beside North and pull out my phone. “Here… hold this,” I say to him.
He blinks in surprise but takes my phone. I angle his way. “Turn the screen toward me,” I instruct.
He does so and I put the camera on me and press record. North rolls his eyes as he realizes he’s become my cameraman.
“Packing for a four-day road trip, hockey edition,” I narrate as I pull my bag onto my lap and start pulling out items. “Winnie swears by this lip balm.” North snorts and shakes his head.
“I brought a Sudoku book, even though I suck at it.” I rummage further.
“Oh, here’s a water bottle Win made for me with my name in bubble letters and a shamrock.
” I hold it out to the camera, rotate it.
“So cute. And look… a neatly folded hoodie that definitely isn’t mine.
I swear I didn’t throw that in there because it smells like Winnie. ”
Atlas leans into the camera frame. “Tell me you’re in love without telling me you’re in love.”
I shove him playfully and smirk at the camera, gesturing to the pile. “I don’t know… what do you think it says about me?”
I wink and then stop the recording. North shoves the phone at me. “Thanks, man.”
“You’re so weird.” He chuckles and Kace claps like it’s the most emotional moment in sports history.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” I say, waving to the guys. “I accept tips.”
I start placing the items back in my bag, resisting the urge to sniff Winnie’s hoodie. North shifts and leans my way.
“Hey,” he says, voice low but clear. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“It’s not a huge deal, but… Farren mentioned something to me last night and I think you need to know about it.”
I turn, the smile fading because his tone is grim. “Yeah?”
He hesitates for half a beat, then just says it. “Winnie ran into a couple women in the bathroom. Said some pretty awful stuff to her. About the TikToks. About you. Did she tell you about it?”
My body stills. “No. What was said?”
North’s eyes harden. “Farren heard most of it. They told her she was delusional and there’s no way you like her.”
“She knows that’s not true,” I say, defending myself and Winnie’s common sense.
North nods. “One lady called her a TikTok whore.”
Rage sweeps through me so swiftly, I swear I see red.
I blink. Once. Twice.
An ugly knot twists in my chest.
“Farren confronted the women, but Winnie didn’t say much. She told Farren she was fine and that it was par for the course. Farren got the impression that Winnie was holding it close to the vest, but I wanted to mention it to you so you know it’s going on.”
Par for the fucking course.
Christ, is she really seeing so much of this negative backlash?
“I’ve seen the comments,” I admit quietly. “Some of them are nasty. I’ve even replied to a few. But I didn’t know anyone was saying it to her face.”
North nods. “She’s recognizable, so I imagine that was bound to happen.”
I think back to when she returned to the couch. She seemed okay but she was quiet. I was talking to Rafferty and she just listened, holding my hand. Did I miss something important?
I rise from my chair and clap North on the shoulder. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Always, my brother. I got your back and hers too.”
I move over to a quiet corner, away from the rest of my teammates. My thumb hovers over my phone. I want to call her. Ask outright. But something holds me back.
I need advice first, so I call my ma.
She picks up on the second ring. “Honey? You at the airport?”
Of course she knows I’m here. She knows it’s a travel day and has watched me play enough, she knows the flight would be early. “Yeah. Hey, real quick—can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she chirps.
I tell her what happened.
The bathroom. The women. The way Winnie didn’t say anything.
“She gets a lot of positive comments, but some of them are really nasty, Ma. And now people are confronting her. I don’t know what to do.”
There’s a pause on the other end, then she says gently, “You can’t protect her from every mean girl or troll on the internet. But you can be the voice she hears louder than the rest.”
I nod, swallowing the frustration rising in my throat. “For the most part she acts like it’s part of the game, but… I’ve got to assume it really bothers her. She’s a sensitive person, and well… I don’t want this shit to drive her away.”
“She’s strong,” my mom says. “But strong people still bleed. Just quieter. You should talk to her about it.”
“I will. I’ll call her right now.” I close my eyes for a second. “Thanks, Ma.”
“Tell her I said hi. And don’t forget—she’s the one choosing to stand beside you. You make sure she knows she’s not standing alone.”
“Love you, Ma.”
After I hang up, I pace a small circle, going over in my mind what I should say to Winnie. When I have it straight, I dial her number and it feels like a fucking hug when she answers, voice warm and sleepy. “Hey you.”
“You’re still in bed,” I say, smiling at the rustle of sheets through the phone. “Hungover?”
“Nope,” she says, and I imagine her sitting up against the headboard, hair mussed. “But I did enjoy the sleep-in. You should have woken me before you left.”
“I wrote a note. It’s on Buttermilk’s cage—unless he ate it.”
Winnie yawns. “What time’s your flight?”
“Soon.” I shift, my back against the wall. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Farren told North what happened in the bathroom at the Rustwood and he told me just now.”
A beat of silence. “Oh. That.”
“Yeah. That. You didn’t tell me about it.” And I realize now that the words are out, it actually stings a little she didn’t share.
Winnie exhales. “It wasn’t a big deal, Lucky.
Just a couple of mean, entitled girls who think TikTok is their whole reason for existence and professional athletes should date Instagram models.
I gave them a look and walked out. It would have done no good to engage them and it’s the price we pay for putting ourselves out there. ”
“Yeah… I get that. But it doesn’t make it right. And it shouldn’t have to be tolerated. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m good. Promise.”
I analyze her tone. She sounds confident. Appears to be unbothered. I know I have to take her at face value, but I feel like I’m missing something. I want to press, but I don’t. “If it ever does get to you… I want to be the first one you tell. Part of my job is to protect you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she murmurs.
“Promise,” I growl low.
Winnie sighs. “You’ll be the first,” she promises softly. “But you really don’t have to worry.”
“Too late.”
She laughs lightly, and we talk for another minute before she cuts the call short. “I’ve got to get in the shower. Meeting the girls downtown for brunch.”
It warms me through to my soul that she’s fitting right in with the Titans women. I’ve seen the power of those ladies when they band together.
“I’ll call tonight,” I promise her. “Have fun at brunch. Don’t be spilling any of our sexy-time secrets.”
Winnie chokes and is indignant. “I would never!”
Laughing softly, I say, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” she murmurs.
We hang up, and I stand there, thumb brushing the edge of my phone. The terminal doors open to my left, and in walks Brienne Norcross—owner of the Pittsburgh Titans—her husband Drake, our revered but injured goalie, holding her hand.
He’s still favoring his leg, dressed in jeans, sweatshirt and a tired expression, but he manages a smile at me.
“Groin still holding you hostage?” I ask.
Drake nods. “Couple more weeks. I’m cleared for basic movement but still no ice time.”
“Which is why,” Brienne says, touching his shoulder with her head, “he’s coming to Melbourne with me. We’ll leave after the Seattle game.”
Brienne Norcross also owns Titans Racing, a formula race team based out of England but with offices here in Pittsburgh. The Melbourne Global Prix is next weekend.
“I have to admit, I love me some formula racing. I’m slightly jealous.”
“If you want to catch a race this season, just say the word. Monaco, Montreal, Silverstone, Vegas… all my hockey guys get VIP access.”
“That would be great.” My mind immediately goes to Winnie. We both have the summer off and that would be fun to do together. Which reminds me. “Thanks again, by the way.”
Brienne raises a brow. “For…?”
“Letting me use the owner’s suite for our movie date.”
Her expression shifts into one of quiet amusement. “I must admit… I do love her TikTok channel. I’m glad things are working out. I’m emotionally invested in the outcome.”
I blink in surprise that she even has time to watch TikTok, but it’s a reminder that thousands of people are invested in this, and that’s causing Winnie some backlash.
“Well, thank you again. It was the best date I’ve ever been on.”
She nods, pleased. “She seems like a good one. Hold tight.”
“She is. And I will.”
Brienne and Drake move toward the far end of the lounge and the guys begin gathering their things, finishing coffee, and lining up gear for the walk to the tarmac.
I sit a minute longer, thumb hovering over my screen, watching the draft of my TikTok from earlier that I’ve yet to post. It’s cute. It lets people know that I’m really into Winnie.
But it doesn’t seem right because I know it will invite some not-so-nice comments.
I flip through my drafts—an older clip of Winnie laughing, hair wild, sunlight catching her cheek. My heart catches.
Defiance fills me.
Over it, I type: People talk. I know who she is.
I post the video and immediately, the likes start pouring in. Comments… all good so far. I can practically hear women sighing and I smile.
I know I can’t protect her, but I can be vocal so no one ever doubts she’s the one.