Chapter 50
Fifty
Tedi
I’m in the stands with all the usuals—Kyleigh, her dad, Eloise, Jade, and Bodhi. The guys are in the middle of their warm-ups, and I’m fairly sure Tweetie has positioned himself right in front of me because he knows how hot I get when he does that. The few sly looks he’s given me over his shoulder when he changes positions confirm my suspicions. But I have a little surprise of my own for him.
I might not be able to wear his jersey to the game, but I have on a T-shirt with his name and number under my sweater. I made sure to take a picture and send it to him before the game. Hopefully he checks his phone after warm-ups, before he comes out to play.
“Tedi,” a woman says, and a smile comes to my lips.
“Melody.” I stand, and Tweetie’s mom’s arms are already out and ready to embrace me.
She’s taller than me, her hair more gray than blonde. With a kind smile, she pulls me into a warm, welcoming hug. “I missed you. And I’m not the only one.”
“I missed you too.” We pull away from one another, but she continues to hold my hands. “How have you been?” I ask.
There’s a knock on the glass, and we both look to find Tweetie there. His smile is big and wide because he loves his mom and his sister.
“Tedi,” Georgia says, and we hug. “I see he still keeps tabs on you.” She laughs.
Melody goes to the glass and tells him to have a great game.
I lift my phone to signal to him to make sure he checks his, and he nods, skating away.
“Let me introduce you, unless…” I walk them over to all the girlfriends and wives of Tweetie’s best friends.
“Kyleigh. Jade,” Melody says.
Her words are like the quick sting from a whip, reminding me of our time apart. Of course Melody and Georgia know Kyleigh and Jade.
Eloise gets up out of her seat and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Eloise, Conor’s wife.”
“Wife?” Georgia says. “That boy moves as fast as my brother.” She eyes me. Her similarities to her brother always surprise me. There’s no denying they’re siblings.
Melody moves down the line, hugging Conor’s dad hello. Was that hug a little long to be a friendly one? I think so.
Everyone catches up with each other as I finally sit down in my seat. Georgia is next to me, and it appears we lost Melody to Conor’s dad. She’s decided to sit at his end, and everyone slides over one.
“So…” Georgia elbows me.
“What?”
She crosses her legs and arms, waiting for me to tell her.
“Did you talk to your brother?” I ask.
“I did, and he’s about as tight-lipped as you’re being, but I take it as a good sign that you’re here.”
“I’m here for work. Social media thing.” I ease past the other stuff that Georgia really wants to know about.
“And now you’re in the first row of the wives and girlfriends section, telling my brother to check his phone when he gets into the locker room?” Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raise.
“I hate that you’re a cop.”
“Detective,” she says. “Which gives me a lot of resources, so either you give me the dirt, or I search it up on my own.”
“And here I was excited to see you.”
She laughs. “I was pretty damn excited when Tweetie brought up your name.”
“So he warned you ahead of time?” I ask, the lights going dark, which means they’re about to announce the teams and start the game.
We both stand, and she leans over and whispers in my ear, “I heard your name before you ever landed in Chicago.”
I must give her a look, because she takes my hand. “You were always his one, and after the first breakup, he needed a confidant.” She raises her hand. “That was me. Which probably wasn’t great since I was going through a divorce.” She shrugs. “But I’ll tell you one thing, and I don’t say this so you take my brother back, but he never stopped.”
My forehead wrinkles. “Stopped what?”
The announcer comes on the microphone, and the crowd cheers.
“Loving you, silly. He was just too hurt and too proud to chase. I’ll give you a little warning. That doesn’t hold true anymore.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me into her side. “Welcome back into the family.”
She laughs just like Tweetie does, and when they announce his name, she jumps and hollers, cheering on her brother as tears well in my eyes. God, since when do I cry so much?
When the third period comes around, the score is tied. The clock is winding down, and my stomach twists, unable to shake the fear that they might actually lose. And his mom and sister are in the stands.
“I absolutely hate this part,” Eloise mutters, gripping the edge of her seat.
St. Louis gains possession on a breakaway. I almost want to close my eyes—Conor’s an incredible goalie, but there’s only so much one guy can do. Their center winds up for a shot. He shoots it hard and fast, but Conor blocks it and it flies to the right.
“Oh, thank God.” Eloise exhales, pressing a hand to her chest.
But our relief is short-lived. The rebound lands right on the stick of St. Louis’s right wing. He snaps a quick pass across to the left wing, who fires off another shot. Conor stretches, and it deflects off his shin pad. The puck pops into the air, and our defenseman tracks it, smacking it out of danger and down the ice.
Rowan gets it first, skating hard, but instead of taking the shot, he passes to Henry just before a St. Louis defender crunches him into the boards.
Jade winces. “I hate those hits.”
The worries and nervousness from the women who love these men send me back to the game when Tweetie was injured the worst—on the ice, clutching his knee, his face twisted in pain, the trainers rushing out. The way he was carried off, unable to put weight on his leg. I shake away the memory.
Tweetie gets the puck, but two St. Louis players pin him to the boards. He battles, fighting for space, but he’s trapped. Rowan loops around, wedging in, his stick joining the other three. He digs the puck free and passes it to Henry, who’s waiting.
St. Louis is on them, though, giving them no clearance for a shot. They pass and move, trying to shake the defense. Rowan, Tweetie, and Henry weave in and out, circling the net. I can see Tweetie’s mouth moving, no doubt chirping to someone on the ice and living up to his nickname.
“Come on, guys,” Georgia urges, her voice tight.
I glance at the Jumbotron to see that there are less than twenty seconds left.
Finally, Rowan shoots, but their goalie is just as good as Conor, and he blocks it. The crowd groans, thinking it’s over, but Tweetie rebounds the puck. The goalie can’t recover fast enough before the puck goes in, and the buzzer sounds right before the timer runs out.
We all jump and cheer and hug one another.
“I have no idea how you do this all the time.” Georgia has a hand to her chest.
“I’m pretty sure you’re in more danger on a day-to-day basis being a detective.” I wind my arm through hers. “Let’s get you to the family room and wait for Tweetie to come out. You can calm your heart down.”
Right before we turn to the stairs, I glance over my shoulder to see Tweetie still celebrating, but his eyes are on me as one of the St. Louis players talks to him. Both of us smile. I forgot how much I loved it when he sought me out when he should be enjoying the moment.
“You’re coming to dinner with us, right?” Georgia asks when we reach the elevator to take us down to the restricted area.
“If I’m invited.”
Another rule lined out. I’m not being very good at adhering to my own damn rules.
“My brother didn’t invite you?”
“In his defense, I told him dinners were off the table. We’re supposed to be taking this slow.”
She laughs and laughs and laughs until we’re off the elevator. “You two. Someone should write a book about you guys. You’re both so naively funny.”
“Gee, thanks, Georgia.”
“I’m just saying, when is enough enough? You guys have been through so much shit, and here you are again.” She puts her hand on my arm, stopping us in the hallway. “Just be happy and live. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”
Melody comes by, and Georgia walks with her. I stand there for a moment and contemplate Georgia’s point. There’s just a lot to the equation of us that we need to figure out.
“Great game, huh?” Bud walks by me on his way to the media room or the locker room, maybe. “Come, walk with me.”
I fall in line with him. “Amazing win.”
“He just promotes himself.”
“Does that mean that you’re signing him again?” How could they not?
He glances at me, and we come to the point where I go into the family area to wait, and he continues on. “Why don’t we each stick to our own jobs, Tedi?”
Without a goodbye or telling me whatever it was he wanted me to walk with him for, he continues down the hall. I want to take off my shoe and throw it at the back of his head. He’s a fool to not sign him, and I hate that he’s acting as if there’s some other left wing who’s better than Tweetie. He not only has the best but also a player who will give his all and is a leader on the ice.
Bud’s going to blow it, but what kills me is that Tweetie will be the one who’s hurt most.