Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Roe Monroe
The Bench Social Media Group
Riley: Spotted Roe and Thatcher sitting together at Jamie’s game again. Sharing snacks. I’m talking hands in the same popcorn bag
Alex: Roe brought the snacks.
Stan: Thatcher brought two drinks
I’m exhausted after our two weeks on the road. Road games are long. Longer than they used to feel.
I played solid. No big saves or big plays, but nothing disastrous either. My knee twinged when it shouldn’t have, but I didn’t let that affect my performance, so I see it as a good sign. Maybe things are looking up.
The Knights haven’t come calling, but they started their pre-season too, and I can tell Dom is going to be a handful for them. That’s fine, though. I just need to keep playing solid. No flash. I’ll leave that to the kid.
I haven’t even pulled off my damn skates from morning drills when Benji flops down next to me on the locker room bench, phone in hand, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.
“Congrats, Monroe. You’re The Bench’s leading man today.”
I don’t look up. “The gossip page of Fox River Falls? I don’t read that crap. Why would I?”
He ignores me. “Quote: ‘He smiled—with his whole face. Smitten.’” He turns the screen so I can see it, just in case I want the full horror show, or in this case, the pic someone took of me and Thatcher leaning into each other’s space and smiling during Jamie’s game.
“I mean, it’s a generous interpretation, but they’ve got brackets going now.
Kiss predictions. Outdoor bonfire seems to be the front-runner. ”
I yank off one skate, hard enough to nearly catch my own shin. “There’s nothing going on with me and Thatcher.”
Lies. There’s a whole lot going on in my head, but none of it is real. I’ve been turned upside down since the night he dropped me off. On the road, all my brain thought about was hockey and how electric it felt to be near Thatcher.
I almost went out one night, since we were playing near a rather large metro area—a hookup would have been easy enough—but I passed on the opportunity. It wasn’t appealing.
Although now I almost wish I had. Just to take the edge off.
Jamie has a game tonight, and I’m still not sure how to approach Thatcher. Gossip from the last time we sat together at one of his games isn’t helping me figure out how to interact with him now that we’ve come so close to a kiss.
Diggs’s voice comes in quiet and sharp from the row of hooks behind me. “Then what is going on?”
I freeze for half a second. Didn’t realize he was there. He didn’t sound like he was joking.
“I sit next to a guy at a kids’ hockey game and suddenly the whole town thinks we’re picking out curtains,” I mutter, grabbing my other skate like it had personally offended me. “I coach his kid. We’re friends.” Or friendly. Right?
Diggs leans in, still grinning. “It’s not just that you sat next to him, man. It’s how y’all look at each other. And you brought him snacks.”
“It was a hockey game,” I retort flatly. “Everyone has snacks.”
“You took snacks. Voluntarily. For someone who doesn’t play for this team. That’s basically a declaration of emotional availability.”
I shake my head. “You’re an idiot.”
Still, the thought of being that close to Thatcher again has me buzzing. Three periods of his thigh pressed against mine might kill me now.
Benji doesn’t smile. “We’re not trying to mess with you. We’re trying to check in. Because you’ve been . . . off lately.”
“I’m fine. I played solid hockey for two weeks on the road.”
“And when you weren’t on the ice, your head was in the clouds, Roe.”
“I said I’m fine. There was nothing to complain about on the ice and that’s what matters.”
Benji crosses his arms. “I’ve seen guys lose focus over worse.
Diggs is right about one thing: The Freeze is coming up fast. You know how packed the schedule gets this time of the season.
And season’s really in the thick of it for the NAPH guys.
We need you steady. You need you steady.
This could be a big part of your shot back to the big show, Roe. ”
I stand, grabbing my stick off the wall a little harder than necessary. “I’m not losing focus. And there’s nothing going on with Thatcher. I’m just trying to support his kid. Support this team.”
Diggs gives me a look. “You are supporting the kid. By trying not to stare at his dad like you want to kiss the shit out of him.”
I bark out a laugh—short and humorless. “Jesus.” I did want to do just that, and just my luck I now played in a place that analyzed everything hockey-related. Including the way I looked at the world’s sexiest hockey dad.
Diggs shrugs. “Look, no judgment here. But maybe don’t make your big romantic debut in the middle of the community game, yeah?”
Benji just meets my eyes. Not mad. Just steady. “Get your head where it needs to be, Roe. If hockey dad helps with that, great. But if not . . ..” He trails off. “You’ve put too much work into this to get distracted now.”
He’s right and I nod. I make eye contact with both of them, letting them know I hear them.
I didn’t have this kind of teammate connection when I played for the Knights, and I know this talk comes from a good place.
From Benji especially. I know he’s seen plenty of guys come down from the big show and have to work their way back. He’s seen things.
“You watch the news, Roe. You’ve seen Dom play. The Knights are going to need you sooner or later.”
I don’t say anything else, just nod and shove my gear into my bag, like that’s some kind of answer.
But my head is fine; I’m playing well. I’m also not just thinking about hockey.
With my age, my knee, my place with the Iceguard and hopefully the Knights, I don’t have the luxury of only thinking about the game.
Not anymore.
***
Jamie’s game that night is a rare late one. Half the bleachers are empty, and everything’s a little too quiet under the buzz of overhead lights. It makes the rink feel smaller somehow, like it’s just ice, skates, sticks, breath hanging in the air . . . and him.
Gabe’s already here when I show up. Flannel jacket on. Thermos in hand. That calm look he wears like armor, as if he doesn’t know it makes it impossible to stop looking at him. I want to find the chinks in that armor.
He sees me, nods once, and I walk over. No hesitation. Like this is a thing we do now.
“Didn’t think you’d make it,” he says, as I slide into the seat next to his as though it’s my spot.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say.
He holds the thermos out in offering but doesn’t say what’s in it.
I take it without thinking. Our fingers brush—just a second, just enough, but something in me jolts like I’ve touched a live wire.
“You’re competing in The Freeze skills on Friday, right?” he asks, eyes on the ice. “Jamie’s excited you’ll be there.”
“Yeah.” I nod, shifting the thermos in my hands. “I’m up for three skills.” I swallow a warm half mouthful. Cider. Nice.
I hand it back, this time careful not to touch him. Doesn’t matter. My hand still feels the shape of his.
“Good games on the road. You should be ready to show everyone where you are.”
I startle a bit, surprised at his candor, feeling the rise of my mouth. “You been watching me, Thatcher?”
I mean it to be funny, teasing, but it doesn’t come out that way. My voice is too rough, too low. Jamie’s line is off the ice, and Thatcher drags his eyes from the ice to mine.
His eyes, hazel to an almost green in this light, hold something that makes my body flame.
“Maybe,” he says with a hint of a smile, sliding the thermos back. “I do also live with the president of the Roe Monroe fan club.”
I chuckle. “That makes you what, the secretary?” I lightly knock my shoulder into his, trying to get my footing back. Instead, the warmth of his body, the solidness of him, only serves to make me more aware of him.
“You’re good with Jamie,” he says, eyes back on the ice.
There’s that bubble Thatcher likes.
“I try.”
A pause stretches between us. Not uncomfortable, not exactly. Just loaded. Like he’s working something out before he says it.
“You’re different with him,” he says finally. “I think maybe I was wrong about you.”
I glance at him. “Different how? Then I definitely want to hear about you being wrong.”
Thatcher doesn’t answer right away. He chuckles, and I swear it’s the sexiest sound I may ever have heard.
I want him to laugh like that right into the back of my neck as those sexy hands find my waist and his forearms flex as he pulls me against his solid chest. Right before he—
Jamie steals the puck, takes off down the ice. The crowd lets out a cheer. Gabe smiles—really smiles—and I watch his mouth. Can’t help it.
“You don’t pretend with him,” he says, once the puck finds the back of the net by Arch, with an assist from Jamie.
He’s back to playing like he never had a bad game.
We settle back in our seats. “And maybe you don’t with me either.
I don’t know. This feels like the version of you I like.
It’s better than the cocky asshole in GQ. ”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
“So you read the article about me in GQ?” I ask, only to see him practically growl at me when I give him what I hope is a cocky smile.
“Just take the compliment, Monroe.” He side-eyes me. “I’m trying here.”
“You like a version of me?” I ask, shooting for casual, but my voice is still rougher than I want it to be.
He looks at me then, straight on. No smirk, no flinch. “Yeah, Roe. I do.”
My brain blanks. For a second the noise of the rink drops out.
Who knew Thatcher might shatter his own bubble?
Then he turns back to the ice, just like that, as though he hasn’t just opened me up and left the mess on the floor.
I don’t say anything for the rest of the game. Don’t trust what I’d say if I did. But I sit closer than I mean to. Our shoulders brush every time we lean forward. I can smell him—woodsmoke, sawdust, and something warmer beneath it.