Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Reid
“Is the blindfold really necessary?” I ask as I shuffle forward.
My feet kick against loose gravel and send rocks pinging into what sounds like plastic and metal a few feet away.
A familiar smell lingers nearby, growing stronger with every step, but I can’t place it.
It’s rich and sweet and maybe a little woody.
I trip a little, but catch myself before falling, and my brother’s grip tightens on my arms.
“David ordered it special, so you’ll wear it, and you’ll love it,” Benj says.
He’s on my right, which means David is on my left.
Hopefully. He hasn’t said anything since we got out of the car, so it could be anyone, and I wouldn’t know.
They insisted I put on the blindfold as soon as I got in the car back at home, so I’ve been denied my sight for what feels like hours now, just hoping to god that my brothers don’t have some nefarious plan to drive me out to the woods and lead me into a lake or off a cliff.
“Where are we going?”
“Dinner,” David says, breaking his silence.
“Come on, let me take it off. I want to see where we are. It smells good, whatever it is.”
“See, I told you this was a good idea,” Benji says.
“My idea was good too,” David replies.
I turn my head his way, even though I can’t actually look at him. “I’m sure it was. Would I have been blindfolded for that one too, cause if not, I say let’s turn around and go to David’s choice right now.”
“Can’t you just play along?” Benji asks with a sigh.
“Fine, but if I fall over and break my nose again, you can explain to the coach how it happened.”
“Deal,” they both reply, and then I’m helped up three stairs and over a wooden deck of some kind.
It creaks underfoot from age, and my mind is racing, trying to think of places with wooden entries.
I realize quickly that I’m not very observant of my surroundings when I’m not deprived of one of my senses, because I can’t picture a single place with a wooden entry.
My mind keeps going back to a pirate ship place our parents took us to as kids, and I’m ninety percent sure that place burned down before they died, so it’s definitely not there.
The woosh of the automatic door doesn’t give anything away either, and while I can hear faint noises of shuffling feet and kitchen utensils, I still can’t pick it. I do get this odd feeling like I’m being watched, though, but I shake it off and let my brothers lead me deeper inside.
“Are you ready to see where we brought you?”
“I was ready in the parking lot,” I laugh.
In one quick move, they rip the fabric from my face, and I’m blinded by the warm lights—and then startled by the cheers of every person I know yelling, “Surprise!”
Benji and David jump in front of me.
“Happy birthday, Dad Bro,” they cheer.
I grab each by the shirt and pull them in close, hugging my arms as far around them as I can. It was easier when they were smaller; now I can barely get my arm around Benji’s shoulders.
“Thanks, boys, this is great.”
I start on a lap of the crowd to thank everyone for coming out and helping the boys keep this secret. I might have known they were up to something, but booking out my favorite pizza place and inviting every person I know was above expectations.
“Aunt Peggy, you didn’t have to make the trip just for me,” I say, giving her a soft squeeze. She’s about sixty now and as thin as a rake. I really wish she’d come and stay at the house; we’d be happy to help her with whatever she needs, but she insists she likes the home.
“I can’t imagine a better reason to visit than my favorite nephew’s birthday,” she replies, and a second later, Benji and David are right there.
“Wait, no way he is your favorite,” Benji complains. “I should be your favorite. I’m the one moving closer to you, remember?”
“You’re going to train for that sport of yours, what is it again?
” She pretends to forget. Though none of us ever could; he’s been talking about it ever since he first watched a video on socials.
The day they called to invite him for tryouts was the best day he’s had since before Mom and Dad passed.
He didn’t stop smiling for days, and he doubled his training both on the baseball pitch and in his dance and gymnastics classes.
He hugs her to his side. “I know you know it’s Banana Ball. You send me videos you come across all the time, AP. Besides, I’ll still come to visit lots,” he says.
David has his arms folded over his chest, a pout on his lips like a toddler being told no to a second helping of pie.
She reaches up and squeezes his cheek.
“Relax, you two, you’re all my favorites,” she says. David caves and gives her a hug, and I try not to laugh when she winks at me over his shoulder before he stands upright again.
“I’ll be over here with Tom. You go say hi to all your friends,” she says.
“Who’s Tom?” we ask.
“Just a friend of mine from home.”
“A friend or a . . . special friend?” Benji asks, and I punch him in the arm.
“Don’t ask that.”
Aunt Peggy shakes her head, and we watch her walk over to where an older gentleman sits in one of the booths.
His dark gray hat, like the kind you’d see a mobster wear in old movies, is on the seat beside him, but he lifts it the second he sees her and moves it to the other side so she can sit there. It’s actually kind of sweet.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says, and I turn to find Luka staring up at me. “Happy birthday.”
“Yeah, umm, thanks,” I reply.
“You’ve got some pretty cool brothers to set all this up for you.”
“They’re the best. Do you have brothers?”
“No, only child.”
“Explains a lot,” I say before I can stop myself.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I didn’t . . . I just meant, you know, you grew up not really having to share or think of others. It was all about you. It just makes sense now why you are the way you are.”
My mind is screaming no, but my mouth just won’t stop.
“And you’re the oldest, right? And you had to practically raise them, so it makes sense you’re used to telling everyone else what to do,” he replies.
“I’m the captain, that’s kind of my job.”
Kirkston wraps an arm over Luka’s shoulder.
“Come on, rook, I’ll buy you a drink,” he says, practically pulling him away from me. My hands are in tight fists at my sides, my pulse racing. Will things with this kid ever be easy?
Kirkston is here with his wife, Otter. She works out of the same firehouse as Colt’s boyfriend, AJ.
We did a special fire versus ice exhibition game against them last year to raise money for at-risk youth.
It was Colt’s idea, but the second he brought it to the team, there was no way we were going to let the big bosses of the Foxes say no.
Turned out that wasn’t an issue. In fact, they went all in and hyped up the game, got loads of donations from sponsors, and they had us raise hundreds of thousands before the first puck even dropped.
It’s one of the reasons I love this club.
They’re my extended family, always there for you through thick and thin.
And birthdays too, apparently. I spotted Coach Dennings and West, our assistant coach in charge of special teams, sitting at a booth eating a few slices.
King Pizza Bar has what I believe is the best pizza in Philly, and the fact that you can grab a beer while you eat makes it my absolute favorite.
Not that I’ll be having more than one or two tonight.
We’ve got training and an away game coming up to get ready for.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” I say, sliding into the booth beside West.
“Like anyone could say no to your brothers,” West replies with a chuckle.
“I have to admit, it’s a challenge sometimes,” I agree.
“Well, we’ll only be staying for one drink, we’ve got a coaches meeting early in the morning before you guys get in.”
“You’ll probably still see Hart in there. Kid’s been in at five every day since he joined,” I say, and Coach Dennings glances at West.
“Topher’s always there to keep an eye on things,” West says, and the concern lifts from his face.
“He might be a little worse for wear if he keeps that up,” Coach says, nodding toward the bar where Luka is downing an entire pitcher of what looks like beer.
“I should go,” I say, standing from the booth and leaving before they can say anything more.
What the hell is he thinking?
“Hart, you and me, outside,” I say as I pass him, and I make a beeline for the side door. I’m not sure who else heard me, or even if he’s following, but either way I need some air.
I step out into the crisp night air, but it does nothing to quench the flush in my face.
“What’s up?
“Do you want to be here?” I ask, and he looks around the alley beside the restaurant.
“Not particularly, it was warmer inside.”
“Enough with the jokes,” I say, stepping closer to him, and he backs up until his back is against the painted brick wall. “Do you want to be in the NHL, to play for the Foxes? Do you want to be here?”
“Yes. Why? Is this about the play the other day? Cause you almost had it.”
“I fucking did not. I fell over trying to do a stupid trick, losing us the game and making myself look like a complete fool.”
“Is that why we’re out here, so you can tell me how that was all my fault?”
“No, we’re out here because you decided to chug a pitcher of beer in front of the entire room, including our coaches.”
“Umm, you know—“
“Don’t tell me you didn’t do it. I saw you,” I say, stepping a little closer.
“I wasn’t going to say that. I chugged it.”
“And you think that’s okay, the night before training, to be getting blind drunk at your captain’s fucking birthday party?”
“Do I look drunk?” he asks, and I step even closer, narrowing my eyes as I sweep my gaze up and down his body. He’s relaxed against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in defiance, and smirking with those fucking dimples. Urgh.
“You look like trouble,” I say, and one eyebrow picks up.
“I am definitely trouble, but the real question you should be asking yourself is, do you want . . . trouble?”
He glances at my groin, and my cock fucking twitches.
“What?”
“I want to be here more than I want anything else in this world. I want to be in the NHL. I want to be on this team. But more importantly, right now at least, I want to be here, in this alley . . . with you. I want all of it,” he says, and then he reaches forward, grabs the waist of my jeans, and pulls me against him.
My hands press against the brick either side of him, and he holds me there, my lips so close to his, and his breath sweet and warm, tempting me forward.
But he doesn’t want this. Not really. Does he?
“Luka, I . . .”
Before I can say another word, his mouth is on mine, and the world disappears.