29. Violet
Chapter 29
Violet
“ W ait, wait, wait. That’s why your parent-teacher conferences always involved Principal Marshall?” Obie looks truly gobsmacked next to me, while our friends continue to laugh around the table.
“I think once your third grade teacher hits on your Dad, it kind of becomes necessary.” I look at him as I take another sip of sweet red wine.
“I didn’t know Miss Thomas had it in her.” Obie shakes his head. “Wow.”
The laughter dies down as dessert is served. It’s been an evening of good food and good conversation centered around the accomplishments of the team, celebratory and joyful. Nearly everyone is here; the most notable absences—that of Nicky and my dad—make sense. This is the only break in the season my dad gets until it’s over, and he’s always used it to practically barricade himself at home. He likes to tackle all the little home projects he swears he can’t hire out. Nicky chose to stay home with Natalia, deeming Las Vegas a city he doesn’t want her exposed to until he’s too old to remember what it’s like.
Crosby has kept a hand on my thigh nearly all night unless his arm has been draped over the back of my chair like it is now. His fingers play in the ends of my hair before sliding down to ghost across the skin exposed between my top and skirt. This outfit made him look at me with a feral energy, as if he was one second away from taking me against the doorframe. I don’t think I would have complained. Even now, it’s difficult not to press back into his hand and sink into the idea of something else sinking into me.
Henri clears his throat, standing for a moment. Our table is in a secluded corner of the high-end Italian restaurant, affording our group a tremendous amount of privacy. The captain waits a moment before he fixes his eyes on Crosby, lifting his tumbler of amber liquid in the air.
“To Wellsy,” he begins. I turn to see Crosby’s face still, focused on his captain. “We’re so proud of how hard you’ve worked—not only this season but for years—to have this kind of attention. It would have been easy to stop challenging yourself and become comfortable, especially after last season. Instead, you’ve pushed forward to become one of the best players in the game right now.” Crosby’s lips twist, a quiet acknowledgment of the words before he dips his head to look at the tiramisu in front of him. Henri initiates the lifting of our glasses in a toast. We all follow, drinking and cheering. Henri remains standing, and our attention is once again on him to continue.
“But it isn’t just what you’ve brought to the ice that makes you worth celebrating. You’re a good teammate… but you’re a hell of a good man. I’m glad to know the guys will always have someone to look up to.”
Crosby’s head snaps up, and I whip my head back to Henri. He laces his fingers with Allison, who gives him a little nod, and turns to offer a watery smile to the group. He looks around the table at each of his teammates.
“I won’t announce it publicly for a while, but I am going to retire this year whenever our season is over.”
There are little gasps from the guys, and Crosby pinches his lips together before gripping my hand. He’s working to hold back the emotion the announcement brings, so I soothe a thumb over the back of our clasped hands, hoping he understands it’s okay.
“I’ve been thinking about it, but we got some news that made the decision for me.” Henri smiles broadly before looking at Allison again. “We’re going to be parents. Allison is pregnant!”
The table erupts in surprised cheers. Bones reaches the couple first, shaking Henri’s hand and gingerly offering a hug to Allison. Then Obie is there, hugging them both, barely releasing them before Gus takes over.
“This is the only way I want to become an uncle!” he boasts as everyone laughs. I can barely hear the lecture Obie starts in about how Gus won’t get to control his sister’s life.
Crosby and I round the table last, where I give a quick hug to Henri as Crosby brushes a kiss on Allison’s cheek. We switch places, and I shuffle Allison and myself a little further away as the boys hug each other tightly. The tears Crosby held back leak out of the corners of his eyes, the reason entirely different now, and I’m so thankful this news will rewrite how he remembers this evening.
I hold Allison’s hands, looking at her face for a moment.
“There’s so much excitement in here right now, but how are you feeling about it?” I ask. She blinks back at me for a moment in surprise. “It’s a huge change, and if no one else has said, it’s okay to feel more than one thing. Even if everyone around you is thrilled, I’d rather take my cue from you.”
“Oh, Vi.” Allison pulls me in for a quick hug. “I promise I’m ecstatic, but that is the most thoughtful response I’ve had so far. It really is overwhelming.”
“If you’re happy, I’m happy for you!” I tell her, hugging her tightly once more.
It takes more than ten minutes for everyone to settle back in their seats, the energy of the group buzzing with excitement and questions for the soon-to-be parents. There’s a shuffling of seats, Gus sneaking in next to me while Obie grumbles.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Allison says as things die down. “How has the quiet resistance movement been going? Henri told me about the boss and how he treated Vi.”
“It’s been fucking amazing,” Gus answers. “Vi keeps doing everything she’s supposed to, but every time we get a new request from the douchebag, we’ve all slowly been declining.”
“And he hasn’t been suspicious or giving you shit for it?” Allison asks, looking at me. I shrug.
“Ethan’s definitely beginning to get frustrated. Monday Morning Meet-ups for the department have become tense, and I think he’d like to blame me. But I’ve continued to do exactly what he asks, down to the very punctuation in the captions on the accounts. The numbers on those posts can’t reflect my ability, only on his ideas, and he’s getting pissed. Having the team slowly turn down his requests is just making it harder for him. He’s kind of stuck because the players are following their contracts, and I’m doing my job, but he’s feeling the pressure.” Crosby’s hand is back on my thigh, a squeeze of encouragement.
“Brilliant little disrupter.” Gus beams at me.
“I’m trying not to disrupt things, Gus. I want to keep my job.” I sigh. “I just want to be able to do it without fear.”
“What an asshole.” Allison blows a breath between her lips. “Are you sure you shouldn’t report him for what happened?”
Crosby collects me around the waist, pulling me closer to him protectively as though Ethan were standing in the room with us. “No, I don’t think it would help. My dad got me the interview—maybe even helped secure the job, I don’t know—and Ethan’s clearly been struggling with that favoritism. I can’t open an inquiry like this without it feeding into that idea. I think his anger is doing enough right now. It’s clouding his judgment in making decisions for the department.”
“Giving him enough rope and all that?” Allison nods. I bob my head in agreement. I’ve had to put faith in the idea that if Ethan is as stubborn as I think he is, he’ll find a way to fail on his own—without taking me with him.
The skills competition might be my favorite part of All-Star Weekend. During his appearances, Dad only did the skills competition once, but he said it was the most fun he’s ever had.
As I sit in the section of the arena designated for players and their guests, I see why he loved it so much. The crowd is supportive and slightly unhinged as they cheer on every player, team designation not factoring in as much as usual. Everyone wants to see the best of the best, even if it might come from their biggest rival.
Crosby is yelling next to me, cheering on his counterpart from Kansas City. His face is lit up with joy, eyes flicking back and forth at what’s happening on the ice, but he keeps an arm tightly wrapped around my waist as we stand with everyone else losing their minds at the talent of the veteran center. I can’t help but lean a little into Crosby’s side, safe and content in his presence. As the group on the ice readies for the next segment, he looks down at me.
The Midnight hat he wears shadows his eyes a little in the arena lighting, but his smile is impossible to hide.
“Hey there,” he says, squeezing my side. He tips his head down toward me and then pauses. He reaches up with his other hand, quickly turning the hat backward before finishing his journey to my lips, where he presses the sweetest kiss on them. When he straightens, he leaves the hat backward, and butterflies dance in my stomach.
An official announcement comes over the loudspeaker, informing the crowd of the change of standings for the competitors between events. The KC center has pulled into first, eliciting a deafening roar from the majority of the fans.
“Fuck yeah, Matty!” Crosby shouts, pumping his free hand in the air. I clap, happy to see Matt Dempsey is still proving why he has the Conn Smythe and Hart trophies for top player in his tenure. “I want to be like him when I grow up,” Crosby jokes in my ear.
“I don’t think that’s unrealistic if you keep playing the way you have been,” I tell him, wrapping both of my arms around him. “Your stats have done nothing but improve this season. You’ve always been good, but something changed this year. Whatever’s gotten under your skin has been good for you.”
His lips sink against the top of my head. Once. Twice.
“What if I said it was you?” His breath is hot against the side of my neck as he dips to whisper in my ear. Suddenly, despite being in an arena of 20,000 people, no one else exists except for him. I twist a little to catch a glimpse of the sincerity in his eyes. “I mean it, Sparks. What if it’s you?”
“I’d say that’s a difficult correlation to statistically track.”
“Maybe we’ll need a few more seasons' worth of data.”
The butterflies skitter through my body, heat fanning the beating of their wings, and the only way I can contain their impending escape is to bury myself into Crosby’s chest. The spicy sandalwood and crisp citrus scent he always wears fills my senses, and I try to float away on the feeling.
“I think I’d like that,” I tell him when I break my face away, tipping my head almost all the way back to look up at him. Without the brim of the hat blocking them, I see how his eyes brighten with joy. The green parts appear like chipped jewels, while the hazel glows like warm embers against them. I reign in my composure, a mock-serious expression as I purse my lips. “It would be for mathematical accuracy, of course.”
“Of course.” He kisses me again before holding me tightly against him, turning us to watch the ice once more.
“Violet Cameron?” the accented voice calls clearly from the aisle next to me. A tall and slight man with white blonde hair and crystal blue eyes stands two steps down in a three-piece suit.
Anders Lasch.
My stomach drops at the sight of my former boss—and Olivier’s agent—closing the distance between us with a flat but professional smile on his face. He slips his phone into his pocket as he draws level with the end of the row we’re seated in. He lifts his arms slightly in a welcoming hug.
“Anders,” I acknowledge without stepping into his embrace. He doesn’t show any signs of offense. Merely drops one arm as he reaches a hand across me toward Crosby, who has stiffened behind me.
“Anders Lasch,” he offers by way of introduction. Crosby politely shakes his hand.
“Crosby Wells.” I see the way they both squeeze firmly, Anders pulling back first. I want to smirk but quickly rearrange my features to be impassive.
“Violet worked for me in London.” He looks down at me, a flash of white teeth before ignoring me to speak to Crosby. “Did some excellent things in ‘client relations.’ I see her methods have improved, too.”
Crosby’s arm tightens around me, his fingers curling into a fist against my hip, not missing the insulation dripping through Anders' congenial statement. Before anyone can say anything else, Olivier climbs the stairs behind Anders. His features morph from indifferent to wolfish as he looks at me, then darken when he looks over my shoulder to Crosby.
“Wells.” Olivier lifts his chin.
“Ahlman.” Crosby’s voice is as tight as his grip on me. “Didn’t realize you'd been invited this weekend.”
“Last-minute alternate.” Olivier’s smile looks painful as he tries to make it believable. Anders leans back to speak in his ear, checking his phone. Olivier nods and continues up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “See you on the ice.”
“And at the reception tonight, yes?” Anders does a better job of sounding friendly. It makes my skin crawl. “It will be good to catch up.”