26. The Only One
26
THE ONLY ONE
Miles
Talking to the press is easy enough—I’m used to it by now. It’s more fun when we win, though, and even better when I can credit an assist from my brother. After answering a round of questions from local reporters in the media room, I glance at Gus, one of the more seasoned guys on the beat.
“And I think our mom is here, so we should go say hi to her,” I say, flashing him a grin.
That earns a rare smile from Gus, who’s been covering the team since before I could skate.
“Can’t leave Mom waiting,” he mutters, pecking away at his ancient PC.
“You understand,” I reply, then head out. On my way, I spot Everly down the hall, catching her just before she leaves.
“Hey, I had an idea for Hugo and his wife. At least we could start with them and see how it goes,” I say, then tell her about the fashion concept that Leighton could shoot. “Might be something they’d enjoy.”
Everly’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s fun! Appreciate that. I’m sure Leighton will love it too.”
Her smile broadens at the mention of Leighton’s name, but then it fades quickly, like she’s trying to reel it back in. It pricks at something in my brain. I frown slightly, filing the moment away, then continue into the hall, where my family waits.
Mom, Charlie, Harvey—and Birdie, of course—are all there. Birdie’s decked out in a silver sequined Sea Dogs jacket. It’s over the top in the best way and so very her.
“And to think, I always wondered who would buy the sequined jacket,” I say, heading over to give her a hug.
“What a silly thing to wonder. It had my name written all over it,” she replies, flicking the sequins for emphasis.
“It sure does,” I say with a laugh, then turn to Mom. “How are the kids tonight? Did you get a dog-sitter?”
Charlie steps in before Mom can respond. “Sometimes she can leave them alone for a few hours, you know.”
I blink, pretending to be shocked. “Our mom? Leaving her ‘children’ unattended?”
“Oh, hush,” Mom says, waving me off. “It’s been known to happen.”
“You mean her favorite children,” Charlie corrects pointedly before flicking her pink-tipped blonde streaks off her shoulder.
Glancing at the group, I switch gears, nodding in the general direction of my teammates. “I’m taking the clowns out for drinks. But if you all want to grab some food first, I can meet up with them later.”
Charlie yawns. “I have to be up early. Expansion plans are calling my name. ”
“How’s everything going with that? You’re opening, what, twenty new locations?”
She rolls her eyes. “Two, but you know…it feels like twenty.”
I turn to Mom, and she shoots me a no-go smile.
“And it’s a miracle I’m even awake at ten,” Mom adds, making a show of checking the time on her watch.
“I think what she’s trying to say is that she misses the dogs,” Harvey chimes in, cupping her shoulder affectionately.
I laugh but I’m a little serious as I ask, “How are you going to survive two weeks away from them?”
Mom frowns, then turns to Harvey. “Miles has a good point. Let’s cancel the cruise and stay with the dogs. Or, better yet—can you book us a private yacht so we can take them?”
Harvey rolls his eyes with fond affection. “Of course, Lauren. No problem.”
“Seriously, Mom. Does your dog-sitter know to send you photos every hour on the hour?”
“Dania has been well-trained in the care and feeding of a neurotic dog parent,” Harvey says, answering for her, since, well, he’s well-trained, too, in looking out for Mom.
“And we’ll help out Dania when she needs to see her clients,” Charlie puts in. Dania is a professional pet-sitter who specializes in cats, but Mom convinced her to take on four demanding small dogs and stay at their home when they travel. Charlie and I have always tried to pitch in and take the critters when Dania needs to make the rounds of the cats across the city.
“You two are the best,” Mom says, then eyes the exit longingly. “Since my husband isn’t getting me that private yacht, I should go spend as much time with the kids as I can.”
“You really don’t even pretend we’re your favorites,” I say.
Her expression goes surprisingly serious. “Why would I?” Then her lips curve into a grin as she steps closer. “You played great tonight. I’m proud of you for coming back. Sticking with this. You’ve always been so resilient. I never doubted you’d recover.”
That’s me. Take it on the chin and keep going. It’s a good thing, I’m sure, my ability to just keep moving. That’ll help me stop obsessing over Leighton. Maybe .
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. “Appreciate your faith in me.”
“You’ve always worked so hard. You’ve always been so focused on…” She stops, pauses, maybe collects her emotions. “Everyone else.”
I swallow roughly, getting her meaning but not wanting to look like a martyr. “Good thing I like hockey though.”
“You play like you love it,” she says.
“I do love it. I’m glad I can play again, thanks to Coach,” I say, since the reminder is good for me.
But I’m not the only one I care about. It’s a good reminder because…how would Coach feel about his daughter if she were involved with a player? Would he be pissed at her? Would it put a strain on their relationship? Leighton adores him, rightly so. And I know he dotes on her. That’s another reason I need to stay in this friend zone—I don’t want to harm the relationship she cares most about.
Mom knits her brow. “It’s all you, but I get what you’re saying. ”
My mom, Charlie, and Harvey say goodbye, then take off, joining Tyler and his kids at the end of the hall.
Birdie clears her throat, stepping forward with her usual flair. “I’m a night owl. And I can drink any hockey player under the table.”
“Truer words,” I say, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Go on, Birdie. Set the pace.”
Her serene smile turns mischievous as she declares, “Where is my favorite shutterbug? I should invite her and her friends. Yes, I think I’ll do that.”
“Birdie,” I say, but she’s already gone, her sequins shimmering as she marches off to hunt down Leighton.
I should stop her—but I don’t.
A little later, most of the team has claimed the pool tables at Sticks and Stones, the local bar we all hit up after games. I’ve covered a round of drinks—and maybe a few more—and most of the guys are gathered around the tables with their wives, girlfriends, or partners, laughing and talking trash.
Asher’s here with Maeve, and they’re a fearsome duo, taking on team after team and wiping the floor with them at pool. They look like they’re having the time of their lives.
As for me, Birdie’s corralled me into a corner booth, and before I know it, she’s calling over Leighton.
Birdie flashes a mischievous smile as Leighton slides into the booth across from me. “So,” Birdie says, clasping her hands dramatically and turning to Leighton, “tell me everything. How’s it going with the team? Do you love it as much as you’d expected? ”
“I do,” Leighton says, her voice warm. “The only thing that would make it better is if they served your green tea at the end of every shoot.”
“Oh, you flatter me,” Birdie says, waving a hand and glancing at her phone. “Would you look at the time? I need my beauty sleep. Coffee shops wait for no one.”
Before either of us can respond, she’s already scooting out of the booth, her sequins catching the light as she goes. She disappears in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail of meddling-grandma energy behind her.
I turn to Leighton, raising a brow. “She’s so subtle.”
“The subtlest,” she deadpans, her lips curving into a smile.
Now it’s just the two of us, tucked away in this booth a little removed from everyone else. Like Birdie planned the whole thing.
“So,” I say, leaning back against the seat, “it’s going well?”
“It is.” Leighton nods. “The GM has told me a few times how much she likes the pictures. So has Chanda. It’s all good.” She pauses, tilting her head. “You did well tonight. How was it playing with Tyler?”
“Honestly?” I let out a breath, feeling it hit me all over again, fresh and sharp. “It was kind of a dream come true. I don’t think I realized how much I wanted it until it happened. But it was great—to play together in a regular season game. We did so much as kids, and then we went our separate ways in college, and of course the pros. And really, there aren’t that many brother combos playing at the same time.”
“It’s rare,” she agrees softly. “That’s why I wanted that picture with you two high-fiving at the bench. Did you see it? ”
“It’s on socials?”
“Chanda and Everly posted it right away. Let me show you,” she says, grabbing her phone.
Her polished silver nails fly across the screen, catching my attention as I linger on her hands and murmur softly, “Silver.”
She stops, her face tilting toward me. “What did you say?”
I do better at meeting her gaze. “Your nails are silver. They’re usually black.”
“They are. You noticed.”
I can barely think about the reasons this is a bad idea. “I notice everything.” I tip my forehead toward her earrings. “Your earrings.” My gaze drifts to her ink. “The flowers on your arms.”
She rubs her right hand along her left forearm, licking her lips as though waiting for me to say more.
“The way your hair falls,” I continue, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
And I can’t stop. “The way you smile. Your different smiles. You have so many.”
“And what are they?”
Images snap before my eyes. “There was one earlier tonight. When I scored—I think it was pride.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again. “So cocky,” she whispers.
I tip my chin toward her. “There’s that one. The smile you give me when you say I’m cocky.”
“I do have a smile like that,” she says.
I cycle through her smiles in my head, then let out a satisfied sigh. “The one you have when you flirt.”
She gasps dramatically. “I flirt?”
I slide maybe an inch closer. There are teammates here, co-workers. But the pull toward her is magnetic, and my resistance is tenuous at best. “You know you do, Shutterbug.”
“So do you,” she counters.
“I am guilty as charged,” I admit. But the words hit differently as I say them, guilt cutting into me. Not just guilt for wanting her—for being drawn to her—but for the fear that I couldn’t stop even if I tried. And what that might mean—for us, for the team, for everything I’ve worked for my whole life. I take a steadying breath, square my shoulders, and pivot the conversation. “Everly kind of gave me this look earlier when your name came up.”
Leighton startles, but she goes with it. “And?”
And I’m not sure what I’m looking for. But now that I’ve said it, I know I’m searching for breadcrumbs. “Fuck it,” I mutter, since there’s no point pretending with Leighton. “It made me wonder if she knows…” I trail off, hoping she’ll pick up the thread.
“She does. I told her,” Leighton admits softly. “A while ago.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That…I’d have seen you again. If I could.”
“Every fucking day,” I say, shaking my head and scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. Then I look at her again, laying all my vulnerability on the table. “I should stop thinking about what that’d be like. Really stop. But it’s hard. I want to know I’m not the only one who feels this way. That I’m not the only one who hasn’t gone on another date. There was the auction date, but it was platonic. It was a PR charity thing. I want to know I’m not the only one who feels like nothing else could compare…”
She runs her hand along her arm, her fingers tracing the flowers as if she’s grounding herself. Then her eyes meet mine. “Do you know why I have these?”
I’m dying to know every detail about her, especially with how deliberately she shifted gears. “I don’t.”
“One day, my sister and I went to a flower farm. We had the best time, checking out all the flowers. I took pictures of us. It made me so happy. But it also stayed with me because I understood then why I love flowers so much.”
“Why do you love them so much?”
“Because I can smell them—all of them. I can tell the difference between each one. The delicate scent of jasmine. The peppery scent of calendulas. The creamy, crisp scent of lilacs. I could tell them all apart. I could smell everything.”
Her voice carries a longing. But there’s gratitude too, for the way she can detect every scent.
“That’s why you have flowers on you,” I say softly.
“Yes. Because…I can enjoy them completely. Experience them completely,” she says, closing her eyes. When she opens them, they’re full of emotion. “I haven’t seen anyone either…since you.”
“Leighton, let me drive you home.” I sound like I’m begging and I don’t even care.
She shakes her head, a small, bittersweet smile on her lips. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She takes a beat. “And you don’t either.”
I drop my head, knowing she’s right. Appreciating she’s looking out for both of us.
But I walk her to the curb anyway and wait until her Lyft arrives. I hold the door open, watching her climb inside, the ache settling deeper in my chest. Letting her go is the right thing. It’s what we both need .
When I go back inside to join the guys, Asher pulls me aside to a corner of the bar. “Be careful.”
I arch a brow, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he says, his tone low but firm. “You’re not exactly subtle, Miles. The way you look at her—it’s only a matter of time before someone says something.”
I sigh, dropping the facade. “Thanks, man.”
He’s right. That’s something I’ll have to work on this season, even if it feels impossible right now. Especially when an image lands on my phone a little later—the shot of my brother and me. I like the pic, but I love that she sent it.