16. Rosie
16
ROSIE
Bertie and I navigate the stands, searching for our seats near the box the guys will be in after they come out. As we get settled, my heart hammers with excitement. I’ve been called a puck bunny in the past, and sure, I have slept with several of the guys on the team, but I grew up around the sport thanks to Daire and his brothers. And I love it. I crave the thrill of the game.
I keep my jacket on for now because the arena is chilly, but once the game gets going, I’ll warm right up. Sitting still at a game is virtually impossible for me. Through all three periods, I’m up and down. Cheering and yelling my annoyance when the ref makes a bad call.
Daire and I drove separately since he needed to be at the rink early and I was picking up Bertie.
Before I left, I expertly applied makeup to my bruised eye, following a tutorial I found online. Surprisingly, it worked well.
The attention of girls around us weighs on me, but I ignore their scrutiny. I’ve gotten good at it over the years. I’ve had to in order to stay sane. Girls are jealous, vapid creatures. It’s why I’ve held on tight to Bertie. A truly good friend is a rarity; there’s no way I’ll let her go.
“These bleachers are so uncomfortable,” she gripes, wiggling her butt. “You’d think Aldridge could invest in actual arena seats.”
“They have plans to replace them, but they keep putting it off.”
“How do you know that?”
I shrug, tugging the sleeves of my sweatshirt down to the tips of my fingers. It’s less out of a need to warm my hands and more of a nervous habit—like a turtle burrowing into its shell.
“Slut.” The word is a low hiss behind me.
It’s directed at me, which is beyond laughable because these same girls have slept with multiple players too.
The difference?
I just married one—the one they all want but have never had.
Not that Daire doesn’t sleep around. I’ve heard the stories, but it’s a well-known fact on campus that he won’t touch the puck bunnies. Maybe, in some weird, fucked-up way, that’s why I became one. So I could convince myself that’s why he didn’t want me.
I brush my hair behind my ear with shaky fingers.
I’ve done my best over the years to act like losing Daire doesn’t bother me, but in reality, it was, and still is, one of the biggest losses I’ve ever suffered.
I loved him.
As a friend.
As something more.
And then I lost him, and I was left floundering.
“You married Daire, right?” One girl snickers. I turn her way as the guys skate onto the ice. Cheers ring out, but the sound is dull thanks to the roar of blood in my ears. My face warms, and my heart rate picks up. I shouldn’t have turned around. There’s no way anything nice will come out of this girl’s mouth.
I locate her behind me and over a few seats. She’s smirking at me with one perfectly sculpted brow arched, like she thinks she’s so much better than me. Her sleek blond hair is stick straight and her lips are glossy. She would be pretty if she wasn’t giving me such a nasty look. With her upper lip curled like that, she looks like she ate something nasty.
“Yes,” I reply, hoping my answer will be good enough.
I turn, desperately wanting to watch the game that’s about to begin and to not engage with an army of mean girls.
“How does it feel to know you married a guy who hates you?”
This is the first game I’ve attended since we got married. The last few were away games. I knew going into this that I was bound to face some snide comments. Regardless, they still sting.
“Hey, watch your mouth,” Bertie snaps, grasping my hand and squeezing gently.
I recognize the girl. We were in class together last year. It takes me a few seconds, but her name finally comes to mine. Hannah. A soft, pretty name. It doesn’t fit the scowling ice princess behind me.
“It was an honest question,” she says, her tone flippant. “He pity married you, you know.”
I roll my eyes.
If anything, I pity married him, but go off, sis.
“You’re nothing but a whore,” another voice chimes in. “What would he want with you anyway?”
Despite how hard my heart is pounding, I keep my attention fixed on the rink and do my best to ignore them.
It’s impossible to block out the words completely as they pummel me from all sides, but I don’t give them the satisfaction of speaking to any of them again.
It hurts that girls can be so vicious to one another when we should be on each other’s sides.
Daire’s on the bench, and every minute or so, he glances my way, wearing a worried frown. There’s no way he can hear what the girls are saying, but it’s obvious he can tell that something is off. I paste on a smile. The last thing I want to do is be a distraction for him.
“Hey.” I turn to Bertie, being sure to keep my focus fixed on her and not the girls farther down the bench. “I’m going to get a Coke. You want anything?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
I scoot my way to the stairs, then hurry up them. I’m winded by the time I reach the level where the concession and bathrooms are.
I bypass the food, ignoring the way the smell of buttery popcorn calls my name, and burst into the bathroom. Since the game is in full force, it’s empty. I close myself in a stall and lean my back against the door.
The tears come in a torrent.
My makeup is going to be ruined, but I can’t make them stop.
Normally I’m impervious to what people say about me. At the end of the day, they don’t know me, and that fact alone usually keeps me from feeling bad about myself.
Today, their words cut me in a way nothing has before.
Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I take one deep breath after another, willing the tears to stop.
The bathroom door opens with a bang, and I hold my breath.
“Rosie?”
Bertie.
“I had to pee.”
I cringe. Shit. If my rushed response wasn’t enough to make it obvious I’m upset, the thickness in my voice definitely is.
“Rosie,” she says softly, her voice directly behind me. “I’m sorry.”
I choke down a sob. The tenderness in her tone guts me. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because you don’t deserve to be talked about like that.”
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down. “Can you just give me a minute?”
“Sure, but after you dust yourself off, come back down there and show those bitches that they can’t touch you.”
“Thanks, B.”
“Anytime.”
She retreats, her steps getting quieter, then the door squeaks shut behind her.
It takes me a few minutes to fully pull myself together, then another couple to clean up my makeup.
I grab a Coke and popcorn before returning to my seat.
Bertie flashes me a smile. In contrast, the girls around us glare daggers, clearly less than pleased by my return. They can kiss my ass.
I flip my hair over my shoulder, doing my best to appear unbothered. Whether they believe it or not, I stick with the act and pay them no more attention the rest of the game, even though they practically beg for it.
When the game is over and the players file off the ice, Bertie and I begin the slow exit out of the arena. The girls gossip ahead of us, talking about the guys and who they’re dying to see.
Since I drove here, I plan to head straight to the dorms to drop off Bertie and then home. The rest of our furniture was delivered, and I’ve been enjoying every minute of my new mattress.
We’re almost to the exit when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and furrow my brows at the text from Daire.
“Daire wants me to wait for him outside the locker room.”
“Oh.” Bertie looks around. “Where’s that?”
“This way.”
I clasp her wrist, leading the way. I’ve waited in this hall an embarrassing number of times. But never have I waited for Daire—unless trying to catch a glimpse of him counts.
The group of girls who were being snotty during the game stand in a cluster. When they see me, they roll their eyes as a collective. It’s like watching a flock of birds mimic each other.
Bertie scans the hallway, taking everything in. With the way she’s worrying her bottom lip, it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable. She’s never come to the locker area with me before. In the past, when she did attend games with me, she usually met Tommy after.
She’s been doing well since the breakup. I’m hoping she’ll get out there and start dating again soon, but I won’t push her to move on if she’s not ready.
I pull my phone out again, hoping for an explanation as to why Daire requested my presence, but the screen is blank. Blowing out a breath, I lean against the wall and settle in.
“Thanks for waiting with me.”
“You are my ride,” Bertie points out.
A little chuckle escapes me. “And I promise I’ll get you home and tucked into bed soon.”
She bumps my hip with hers. “I appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to hang out as much.”
Smiling, she turns to face me and leans a shoulder against the wall. “It’s okay.”
It doesn’t feel like it is. Not to me, anyway.
I want to say more. To promise I’ll make time with her more of a priority, but before I can, the locker room door opens, catching our attention. Justin, the team captain, heads over to his girlfriend. He wraps an arm around her waist and buries his face in her neck. She laughs and pushes him back gently with a hand on his chest. Love radiates off both of them.
A stupid pang of jealousy hits me.
Is it selfish that I want that? A guy who’s obsessed with me? A love that’s real?
A lump forms in my throat.
All I’ve ever wanted is to love and be loved in return.
A couple more guys head out, some ignoring the gathering as they stride by. A few guys hang back and approach the group of girls. Giggles ensue, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. To think I was ever that ridiculous makes me want to throw up.
Finally, Daire emerges. At the sight of him, my breath catches. His blond hair is damp from the shower and a shade darker than normal. Denim blue eyes fix on me almost immediately. Face serious, jaw set, he stalks toward me.
I hold my breath, and my heart thumps against my sternum. What the hell is with the look?
“Whoa,” Bertie whispers. Is she as taken aback by his intensity as I am?
He loops his arm around my neck and pulls me in with so much force I practically fall into his chest, fingers splaying over his shirt. Half a heartbeat later, his mouth descends on mine. Unprepared for the kiss, I freeze the second our lips touch.
He hasn’t kissed me since we exchanged vows—why would he?—but now he kisses me like a man returning from war, desperate to reestablish a connection with the love of his life. It’s the way I’ve always dreamed of being kissed. He runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, urging me to open up to him.
I shouldn’t, dammit, but my body responds to him in a way it never has with anyone else. The heat of him seeps into me as he holds me close. I swear he’s an actual, human furnace.
Every time he pulls back slightly, I expect him to sever our connection, but he just dives back in, practically devouring me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I should put an end to this.
Why is he kissing me? Obviously, it’s not because he wants to. So what’s his ulterior motive?
When he finally does release me, I’m embarrassingly out of breath.
He presses a tender kiss to the top of my head as I cling to him, steadying myself. The gesture is far too sweet to have come from the guy who doesn’t like me.
“I missed you, babe.” He nuzzles his nose against mine. “Longest game of my life.”
What is he playing at?
“I missed you too.”
“I have a few things to finish up here, and then I’ll see you at home.” He leans in, and in a hushed tone that’s still loud enough to be overheard, he says, “Be wearing that black lacy set I love so much.”
He kisses me again, so quick my head spins, and then he’s gone.
What the fuck just happened?
Bertie blinks at me, her eyes wide. Her look says you have some explaining to do.
I’m hit with looks dripping with jealousy from every angle. Even from girls who’ve already secured a guy for the night.
A couple more guys exit the locker room, and one of them—Luke—takes an extra-long look our way. It’s not me he’s fixated on, but Bertie. I’ve never heard the guy speak more than five words at a time. He’s a scholarship student, and from what I’ve heard, a bit of a bad boy. But he’s a damn good hockey player.
In all the times I’ve stood in this very hall trying to score a hookup, I’ve never seen him pay attention to a single girl. If I hadn’t heard rumors of his extracurricular activities, I’d think maybe the guy was a monk.
He faces forward, but before he turns the corner, he steals one more look at her.
Beside me, Bertie is checking her phone, oblivious.
Giddy, I grab her hand. “Luke Covey was totally checking you out!” I sound way too excited. I blame it on the high I’m still experiencing from Daire’s kiss.
“Who?” she asks as she loops her arm through mine and tugs me away from the other girls. Before I can answer, she leans in close and changes the subject. “What was that kiss about?”
“I have no idea.” I slide my arm from hers so I can search through my purse for my keys as we walk.
“Did he tell you why he wanted you to wait?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Her eyes narrow on me.
Keys in hand, I pull up short. “I’m serious.”
With a sigh, she says, “Tommy never kissed me like that, and he supposedly loved me.” She looks off into the distance, her mouth turned down at the corners. “I miss him. Is that terrible? I know I’m better off. True love shouldn’t feel like an off- and on-again rollercoaster. Still, I’m sad.”
“Aw, Bertie.” I loop my arm around her shoulders and pull her in for a side hug. “It’s okay to be sad. You were with him for a long time.”
As we approach my car, I hit the unlock button on my key fob, and once we’re settled with the heat blasting to ward off the chill, I turn to her and grasp her hand. “It might not feel like it now, but you’ll find someone who treats you the way you deserve.”
Maybe someone like Luke. If the way he was checking her out is anything to go by, there’s definite interest there. “You’re beautiful. Some guy is going to sweep you off your feet in no time.”
She looks out the window, eyes swimming with pain. “I hope so.”
I hate seeing her feeling down, especially over a kiss that was most certainly not real.
“Want to get ice cream before I drop you off?”
She perks up instantly. “I’ll never say no to ice cream.”
The house is dark when I step inside. Daire’s car is still missing, so I assume he went out with the guys.
I let myself in and turn on the light in the tiny laundry room.
As the space brightens, a black eight-legged blur rushes past my foot.
The scream that comes out of me is shrill to say the least.
“Ew, ew, ew,” I chant, shaking my hands and gagging. “Not a spider. Why me?”
I’m on the verge of tears, paralyzed by fear.
“Get into the house,” I mutter to myself. “Don’t be a weenie.”
I scurry through the small space and open the door that leads into the kitchen, then I promptly slam it behind me.
Bile creeps up my throat and my entire body goes hot as I gag again. For a long moment, I stand with my back to the door, fanning my face and breathing through the nausea.
If Daire were home, I have no doubt he’d tell me how dramatic I am. I can’t help it if the thought of a spider skittering through the house scares me.
The spider and I didn’t come into contact with one another. Nonetheless, my skin crawls. Desperate for a shower, I sprint upstairs and say a prayer that there are no more little critters running around.
I close my door and strip my clothes off as I head into the bathroom. While the water heats, I pull a fresh towel from under the sink and drape it over the shower door.
When steam begins to fill the bathroom, I clip my hair up and step inside.
I scrub my body thoroughly, unable to fight the urge to decontaminate myself, and figure I might as well shave my legs while I’m in here.
I’m usually in and out of the shower quickly, but tonight, I spend a solid forty minutes under the scalding spray, letting it soothe my muscles and calm my mind.
Once my body is dry and I’ve slathered lotion over every inch of skin, I slip into a pair of black sweatpants and a purple cropped sweatshirt.
As I’m shaking out my hair, I hear movement downstairs—the squeak of a barstool—and an unbidden wave of comfort washes over me. Daire’s home.
My stomach rumbles as I step out into the hall, reminding me I haven’t eaten dinner. The popcorn I stuffed into my mouth and the ice cream with Bertie hardly counts.
I find Daire in the kitchen setting a hodgepodge of ingredients on the island.
“I’m starving. What are you making?”
He chuffs a laugh. “Not anything fun. Just chicken and veggies.”
“Ugh. Boring.” I flip my hair over my shoulder dramatically. “Can I have some anyway?”
He shakes his head, his upper lip curling in amusement. “Sure, as long as you don’t tell me how much you don’t like it.”
I mime zipping my lips. “I won’t say a word.”
He washes his hands, then gets to work preparing everything.
As he works, I wait, thinking he’ll bring up the kiss, but he remains focused on the task at hand.
Once the oven chimes, signaling that it’s preheated, he slides the tray of chicken into the oven and washes his hands again.
“Daire?”
Holding a knife in one hand and a steadying a stalk of broccoli on a cutting board with the other, he flicks his head slightly to force an errant piece of blond hair out of his eyes. “Hmm?”
“Why… um… why did you kiss me?” I tap my nails on the counter softly while I wait for his answer, pretending my heart isn’t racing a mile a minute.
He lowers the knife to the cutting board and narrows those denim blue eyes on me. “Why do you think I kissed you?”
A lump lodges in my throat, but I swallow past it and sit up straight. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”
With a sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair. Then he presses his hands flat on the counter, fingers splayed, and stares at me. Through me. Straight to my soul.
“I might not know exactly what those girls were saying to you, but I can guess. I wanted to show them you’re mine.”
My throat goes dry. I like the sound of him calling me his way too much for a fake relationship.
“Th-Thank you,” I stammer.
“I saw how uncomfortable you were.” He curls his hands into fists on the quartz countertop. “I didn’t like that.”
“It’s just jealousy.” I shrug, going for dismissive. “They want you.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He picks up the knife and chops the stem off the broccoli. “I dragged you into this mess. They might not know that, but it doesn’t matter. They have no right to treat you the way they did.”
I lower my head as tears spring to my eyes. I don’t want him to see me emotional, but I can’t help it. I have a thick skin, but sometimes, words cut deep. Those girls don’t know me, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting me.
The next thing I know, his hands are on my cheeks, tilting my face up so I’m forced to look at him.
“Listen,” he says, his face a mask of pain. “I know I’m not the best person at times, but I won’t stand for anyone being shitty to you like that. You and me? We’re a team now. You hear me?” He holds tight, his eyes bouncing between mine.
With a sniffle, I nod.
“Good.” With that single word, he releases me and steps back, returning his focus to preparing dinner.
I’m not quite sure what to make of this version of Daire—this Daire who’s going out of his way to protect me like he did when we were kids.
I’m so used to the animosity between us that somehow it almost feels easier.
With a cleansing breath, I shuffle to the fridge. Wine bottle in hand, I pour myself a glass, then I take a seat at the island. I’d be crazy to turn down the opportunity to watch a hot guy cook.
He rubs his jaw and clears his throat. “I, uh—I need to get baby stuff. And I need your help.”
I arch a skeptical brow, spinning my wineglass. “You’re enlisting my help for baby stuff? Why?”
“Because you’re a girl.”
Huffing a laugh, I shake my head. “So because I have a vagina, I’m automatically supposed to know all things baby?”
He presses the heel of his hand into his eye and rubs. “I just figured you’d have a better idea than me. The DNA test is supposed to come back sometime this week, and I’m just… trying to be prepared.”
“I still can’t believe you went through all of this,” I flick my fingers lazily, gesturing to the house around us, then I wiggle my left hand, letting the light catch the diamonds, “before you had the DNA test done.”
He narrows his eyes. “I know that’s my kid. The DNA test is only a formality. The sooner I get things in order, the better, and there are so many things I need to take care of. A new car, the room, stroller, car seat… fuck.” He drops his head back. “My lawyer said I need to set up a trust in case anything happens to me and?—”
“Whoa.” I hold my hands up. “Let’s take one thing at a time. What’s something you can accomplish relatively easily within the next day or two?”
“Um…” He cocks his head to the side and presses his lips into a straight line, looking as though I’ve asked him a complicated math problem. “A new car shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve only put it off because I really like the Porsche.”
“You know you could afford to keep it and still get something else, right?” I mutter sarcastically, but before he can snap back, I wave a hand. “All right, the vehicle situation needs to be handled in the next three days—does that sound agreeable to you?”
He pulls the oven door open and bends to check on the chicken. “I suppose.”
Men.
“You know what else is easy?”
He straightens, facing me. “What?”
I give him a blinding smile. “Shopping. Like you said, Junior is going to need a car seat, stroller, crib, bottles, clothes…” I heave a breath and cringe. “And whatever else babies need. Haul your happy ass to Target and get to shopping.”
His eyes widen. “That sounds horrifying.”
“Don’t be dramatic. Shopping is fun.”
“Maybe for you.”
“Well.” I place my palms down on the cool counter. “I’m not going shopping for Junior by myself, if that’s what you’re getting at. We can go this weekend. Together.”
Daire sighs and pulls the lid off the steamer basket to check the broccoli. “Fine.”
“You should look online—find parenting blogs with recommendations.”
He drops the lid and turns to me, wearing a scowl. “We can’t just figure it out when we get there?”
“No,” I drawl. “You need a list. I’m not the baby whisperer. I’m not going to magically know what your spawn needs just because I have ovaries. Figure it out.”
I’m not trying to be mean, but I can’t hold his hand through this thing. He’s a dad now. He has to step up and learn how to parent.
“I can do this,” he mutters more to himself than me. “I can handle it.”
“I’ll help some,” I concede. He did help me out with the hockey bitches tonight, so I can certainly return the favor. “But I’m not handling all of it by myself.”
He reaches out a hand to me. “Deal.”