Chapter 43
NOSE brEAKERS
Dev
“Almost there,” Aubrey says as Ledger maneuvers the car onto the next street, heading toward the outskirts of the city.
I can’t wait. “I love surprises,” I say, rubbing my palms together. That’s all they told me this morning—that they had a surprise for me.
That was all I needed to know. I was sold. Now it’s early afternoon, and I’m buzzing with anticipation as Ledger drives us farther away from downtown.
“Of course you love surprises,” Ledger says dryly as I glance out the window at the Vancouver neighborhood. Something about the curve in the road feels familiar. It tickles my brain. Wait. I might know where we’re going. Pretty sure I’ve been here.
But I don’t know why we’re going now. I keep it to myself though.
In the passenger seat, Aubrey nods at Ledger in agreement. “Surprises suit Dev.”
But what about her? I lean forward, curling a hand around the back of her seat. “You like surprises, Aubs?”
“Good surprises,” she says, hedging her bets.
“Everyone likes good surprises,” Ledger says with a harrumph.
“I bet Aubrey could get you a brand-new money tree plant and you’d be like ‘I hate surprises.’”
With a cocky glint in his eyes, he glances in the rearview mirror. “I liked the surprise of bourbon last night.”
Excellent point. I turn my focus back to the woman who’s captivated me. “Me too. Now, Aubs, what’s a good surprise to you?”
She taps her chin, meeting my gaze with her eyes sparkling. “This,” she declares as she gestures to the windshield.
I follow where she’s pointing to the end of the street.
Yes!
That’s what I was hoping for. The road felt familiar because I was here last summer.
The big sign on top of the structure reads The Sharon Abreau Ice Rink.
This is where the Vancouver goalie holds his off-season camp.
Ledger and I went to the camp last summer as guest coaches, playing with some of the junior high school kids.
“We’re going to play…hockey?” My voice pitches up, and I’m not even embarrassed.
“It was Ledger’s idea,” Aubrey says, and her smile is as wide as the city.
“We both put it together,” Ledger says, giving credit where credit’s due.
My heart warms a little more, knowing both of them planned this. I squeeze his shoulder then I lean forward and give Aubrey a kiss on her cheek.
“You seemed like you were missing it,” she says.
“I sure was,” I say, in the understatement of the century.
I don’t even try to smother the joy that’s rocketing through my cells.
We park, and I try not to run to the entrance of the rink.
A sandwich board outside the doors says Austin Sanchez Skills Camp for Local Youth, then the hours for today and the rest of the week.
The man behind the camp waits next to the sign.
The sturdy goalie from the Vancouver team has his big arms folded across his chest, tattoos of vines snaking along his light brown skin. There’s a twinkle in his eyes.
When I reach him, he offers a fist for knocking. I knock back. “Sanchez, I have to crash your camp to see you? What’s up with that?”
“Maybe play a little better and you’ll get an invite to guest coach again,” he says.
I clutch my chest like I’m wounded. “See if you can drive the knife in a little more.”
“Sure. I can. Try to have a season as good as mine,” he ribs, since he’s no stranger to trash talk.
I hold up my forefinger. “You saved one more goal than I did.”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” Then he smiles brightly and claps me on the back before he turns to Ledger, giving him a quick greeting. “Good to see you, McBride.”
“Thanks for doing this,” Ledger says.
Aubrey’s next, and for a few seconds, I just hesitate. Do I introduce her? Does Ledger? Obviously it’s no secret we’re here with her since Garrett posted that pic, but I don’t expect Sanchez to be stalking Garrett’s social. But when his eyes swing to Aubrey expectantly, I don’t hesitate.
“This is Aubrey Emerson,” I say, and I’m dying to add, “She’s this woman we’re seeing.”
But nope. I shut down that desire, stat. Swallowing those words, I add, “She’s a good friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Ledger and Dev’s friend,” Sanchez says smoothly.
The word friend lodges like a stone in my heart. It’s all wrong. She’s so much more than a friend.
She takes his hand. “And nice to meet you, Ledger and Dev’s…co-worker.”
Sanchez chuckles, then he lets go of her hand.
I steal a glance at Aubrey. There’s no weirdness in her expression. No awkwardness that says that moment was as wrong for her as it was for me.
Because…when this ends in two days, we’ll be just that. Friends.
That word twists in my gut, souring.
Sure, friendship ought to be enough for me. I shouldn’t linger on what the future definitely doesn’t hold.
This is the good stuff, the here and now, when your friends—and that’s what Ledger and Aubrey both are—know you so well, they surprise you with an impromptu chance to play the game you love.
“I’m ready. Let’s do this,” I say, full of the bravado I bring to the ice.
There’s one little problem. No gear. But Sanchez is running a camp. “You got pads and shit for me?” I ask him.
Sanchez scoffs. “What do you take me for? A newbie?”
“Cool. I can borrow your stuff.”
Another scoff. “We’ve got yours.”
Wait. What? “H-how?”
A wicked grin comes from the man running the camp. “Your teammates are here too.”
Not that I keep tabs on everyone, but I don’t remember any of the Golden State Foxes mentioning they’d be in Vancouver when I saw them a week ago at the gym. “Yeah? Which ones? Did you know about this?” I ask Ledger.
He shrugs, but he’s trying to fight off a smile. Aubrey has the straightest of straight faces as well.
“Some of his too,” Sanchez adds, pointing to Ledger.
“Sea Dogs?” I feel like I’m missing the punchline.
Ledger sheds his stoicism. “Stefan, Hayes, Chase, and Ryker flew up this morning for the concert. We called them last night and asked them to bring our gear. We’ll play with the kids. But first, get ready. We’re going to practice shooting. On you. You better hope your summer ass is in shape.”
“It. Is. On.”
I step inside the arena right foot first. Like I’ve always done.
* * *
The ice is smooth as glass, and the sound of blades cutting through the rink is my favorite song on the best playlist ever.
My pads are tight, and my helmet is snug. Gloves on, skates laced, stick in hand. Everything fits perfectly. Just the way I like it. I’m standing between the pipes, ready to face the barrage of shots from my friends, some of the best players in the league.
Now they’re my enemies, trying to score on me.
They’re circling the ice, weaving around each other, laughing, casually passing the puck before we start.
The crowd is loud. As in Aubrey, Trina, and Ivy. They’re standing by the boards, shouting, hooting, hollering.
And singing too? Is that “Livin’ on a Prayer?”
Yes, the ladies are belting out Bon Jovi. It’s adorable but I’d better tune it out.
Doesn’t matter that this pre-game warm-up is for kicks. I’m here to play hard. Sanchez watches from the stands as Ledger flies down the ice, passing deftly to Chase. They’re aiming for me, but that’s not gonna happen today.
Nope. Aubrey is here, and I want to show her what I can do.
Chase takes aim, lifting the stick high and sending it flying. But there’s nothing quite as satisfying as stopping shot after shot, including this one that’s hurtling toward me at Mach speed. I stretch out my glove, slapping that rocketing disc down.
Take that, puck.
Stefan comes at me next, racing with Hayes, passing that bad boy back and forth. I’m at the ready, crouching in the crease as Hayes tries to fool me with a backhand shot.
I catch it with my blocker.
From the side of the rink, Aubrey catcalls, “Ha! You can’t score on him. Go back to LA.”
Damn, she is a heckler, and hell, if that doesn’t fire me up some more.
Player after player come at me. It’s just like shooting practice at morning skate when the guys fire off shots from all directions, trying to score on me.
Ryker slams a wrist shot that I knock down with my glove.
Chase flies around the perimeter of the rink, trying to sneak up on me as he comes in fast and hot, but I kick out my leg and say see you later to that one.
Jaw tight, eyes lasered in on the action, I watch as Ledger flies down the ice.
I can’t believe this season is going to be his last. He’s still as fearless and as terrifying as ever.
When he smacks a slapshot at me, I stretch as far as I’ve ever stretched.
I’ve got this, I swear I’ve got this, but it whizzes past, and lands right in the twine with a loud thwap.
“Ledger! You show him how to get in the hole!” Aubrey’s voice is loud and exuberant and downright filthy.
I fucking love that she cheers for both of us. No issues, no jealousy—she just switches back and forth.
As Ledger turns and skates the other way, there’s a pang in my chest. An ache. I wish it weren’t his last season. I wish he could play forever.
But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. What will he do, though, when he retires? Will he spend more time with Aubrey? Without me?
What the fuck? Where did that thought come from?
I don’t even know. This fling has an end date—two days from now. Not a year from now. Not at the end of the season. It ends in less than forty-eight hours when the plane lands back in San Francisco.
I blink away the sobering thoughts.
Here on the ice, there’s no room to get lost in my head. Scrimmage or not, there are always stakes—playing my best.
For the next forty-five minutes, I soak up every second, reveling in each save as if it were happening during game seven in the playoffs.
That is where I want to be at the end of the season.
* * *
When our session ends, Stefan rips off his helmet and skates over to me, tapping his stick to mine. “You could do better,” he deadpans.
Asshole. He knows I only let in three.
“And you’re slow as shit,” I reply.
Stefan adopts a serious expression. “It’s all the sex I’ve been having.”
I roll my eyes. “Then stop having so much.”