Chapter 9 #2
Charlotte: It’s a long story, and now isn’t the time. Just suffice it to say that I wish I had stayed in the WAG box to fight the mean girls instead of making a run for it. If I had, I wouldn’t have ended up drenched in beer or trending on NOLA Twitter…
Nix: What?!
Charlotte: Yeah. Don’t look at #beertits.
It will only make you more ragey. But I’m fine.
I promise. I have embraced my new fame. Or infamy.
Or…whatever. It helps that the bartenders here have been really sweet.
They gave me the employee discount on my “Guinness, Gumbo, and Goals” T-shirt and have been serving me free whiskey sours to ease my pain.
There is goodness in the world, after all.
Nix: There is. But I’m not thrilled to hear some of the women were mean. What about Elly and Makena? Why didn’t they have your back?
Charlotte: They weren’t there. Makena had a food truck emergency. A raccoon got in and tossed the place before giving birth on the counter.
Nix: Oh my God. That sounds…
Am I an unenlightened dude bro if I admit that sounds disgusting?
Charlotte: LOL. No! I agree. Food service locations and live animal birth should not mix.
Ever. But yeah, that’s why I walked into a mean girl trap like a lamb to slaughter.
Apparently, those girls are known for being sneaky-awful.
Makena swore she would have warned me about them, but she didn’t think they would be there.
They were supposed to be in Cancun modeling bikinis or something, but I guess it got postponed.
Nix: Huh. So, Torrance’s girlfriend?
Charlotte: I don’t want to name names. Just let’s say I won’t be setting foot in the WAG box again without my crew. I’m not built for that solo thug life.
Nix: I’m so sorry. I was hoping you’d have a great night out with your friends.
Charlotte: It’s fine! Seriously. Most of the #beertits pictures are actually fairly flattering. It could be way worse. I could be accidentally half-naked in public and fugly at the same time.
Nix: You could never be fugly. You’re prettier than a movie star and Belle put together.
Charlotte: LOL. Liar. But you’re sweet, and I appreciate it.
Nix: I’m not a liar. You’re beautiful, and I’d love to take you out for pizza and no beer whatsoever after the game. If you’re up for it.
Charlotte: I’m up for it. Meet you in the family area as planned? Pretty sure I’ll be flying high on whiskey sour courage and ready to face down the Mean Girl Posse by then.
Nix: You’re a hero.
Charlotte: I know. We don’t all wear capes. Some of us wear cheesy Irish bar T-shirts. Though the voodoo doll on this one is pretty cute. He looks fierce, adorable, and drunk…all at the same time.
Nix: I can’t wait to see it. And you.
Charlotte: Me, too. Now go play some more fantastic hockey. And I’ll go brag about my hot hockey boyfriend who texted to comfort me in my hour of #beertits need to my new bartender friends.
I stare at the last text, a smile creeping across my face.
Hot hockey boyfriend.
Not “fake boyfriend.”
Just boyfriend.
Probably a slip of the fingers, thanks to all the Twitter trauma and beer tits of it all, but I’m still grinning like a goofball as I text—Will do. See you soon, sexy.
“All good?” Blue asks.
I glance down the bench, where he’s retaping his stick.
“Yeah. Char texted to check on me before I could text to check on her. It was…” I trail off with a shrug as Jean-Louis and Grammercy stride past, arguing about something in French.
“It was nice,” I finish. “Easy. Easy to comfort her, easy to connect and show I care, just…” I exhale a tight laugh.
“That probably sounds basic as fuck, but it’s never been this easy for me before. ”
Blue grunts. “It doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds rare.”
My jaw clenches as I nod. “Yeah. It feels rare.”
“That’s the thing you should fight for, then,” he says. “I wish I’d fought harder when I had someone like that in my life.”
“Who was she?”
“My wife,” he says, making me blink in surprise.
Blue had a wife? I’ve known him for over a year, and this is the first I’m hearing about the fact that he was married?
“We were young,” he continues. “Too young, but still…I have regrets. It’s the only thing I still regret.”
“I’m sorry, Blue,” I say softly. “That sounds rough, man.”
He nods. Just once. “It was. See you out there.”
“See you.”
As I watch him walk away, joining the rest of the team headed to the tunnel, my gaze lands on the clock on the wall.
Fuck!
I’ve got about three minutes to pull on dry gear and get back out there.
Placing my cell on the shelf, I prep for the start of the second period, much more composed than when I left the ice, thanks to Charlotte’s texts.
The rest of the game passes in a rush of heady, but steady, flow state energy.
I do not rise to Beefy’s third challenge, passing to Blue instead of going for an opening that would have put me directly in Big Angry’s path.
I don’t have time for anger right now.
And not all fights have to get heated.
I keep my fight—and my play—clean. Focused. Sharp. No more rage, no more flirting with the line. Just solid, genius-level hockey that ends with a 4-2 win.
Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true, and we’ve all put in the hours to be considered geniuses in this zone.
Now, if only I felt half as prepared to fight for the woman waiting for me in the family lounge…
As I push through the doors just off the main tunnel, I spot Charlotte’s strawberry blonde head instantly.
It helps that she’s tied her hair up in a high, messy pile.
It looks great, actually, a little curlier in front than usual—beer has curl-enhancing properties, perhaps?
—but still a solid recovery from her post-soaking turn on the Jumbotron.
In a bright green Irish pub T-shirt, paired with fancy slacks and heels, she looks laid back and classy at the same time. Like the kind of woman you want to take out for the biggest loaded pizza in history and congratulate her for handling Beer Tits Gate with her own, genius-level skill.
Then she sees me, her eyes lighting up as she thrusts her arms my way, shouting, “Oh my God, you were incredible! I’m so proud, baby,” and I know that’s it.
I’m not falling in love.
I’m in it.
As I swoop her up in a hug, swinging her around while she giggles into my neck, I silently acknowledge how much I want to be her “baby” for real.
So fucking much.
Even smelling faintly of sour beer, she’s the best thing I’ve ever held in my arms. When I set her down, gazing into her happy, flushed face, I’m tempted to have a fake-boyfriend existential crisis right then, to beg her to be my girl for real in the middle of the family members and friends congratulating my teammates all around us.
But I have more self-control than that.
And I have some very important “kissing for the cameras” to do…
I pull her in, murmuring, “Proud of you, too, Beer Tits,” against her lips, making her laugh again as we start to kiss.
We kiss and laugh and smile and kiss, neither one of us seeming to want the moment to end, until Parker checks my hip and mutters, “Get a room, you two. Jesus. There are children present.”
But as we come up for air, I can see he’s grinning.
He almost looks…proud. Of us.
I decide maybe I am, too.
He delivers more apologies from Makena, explaining that her cell phone died, so she couldn’t respond to Charlotte’s last text.
But she just called Parker from the vet’s office, where she’s been trying to help save the runt of the litter, a tiny raccoon baby that the mother tried to eat when the vet stepped into the food truck.
“But the doc said that was probably because she was so stressed out and felt cornered,” Parker continues.
“Not because she’s actually an unfit mother with cannibalistic tendencies.
She seems to be doing well with the other babies, but the animal hospital is going to hold her and the other kits for observation for a day or two.
Just until the rabies tests hopefully come back clear and Big Mama has proven she has reliable parenting instincts. ”
“What a relief,” I deadpan, earning a laugh and a punch on the shoulder from Parker.
“Fuck you, dude,” he says. “I wasn’t into the raccoon birth drama at first, either, but I’ve been getting updates the entire game.
Now, I’m fucking invested.” He sighs, rolling his eyes as he adds, “And I might be helping bottle feed a baby raccoon if the runt lives and Makena gets permission to foster him.”
Charlotte laughs. “Of course, she offered to foster it. She talks a big game, but underneath she’s a total softie.”
Parker’s tone warms as he agrees, “Yeah, she is. I love her so much. I’m going to buy her a super big sandwich with extra hot peppers to prove it before I pick her up at the animal hospital.
Her love language is peppers. And large sandwiches.
” He starts to move away before seeming to remember something and shifting back a step to whisper, “Oh, and she said that she’ll get revenge for you with the ‘passive aggressive cunt whores’ and not to worry your pretty head about it.
” He glances around, as if checking to be sure we aren’t being overheard.
“She said that would make sense to you, but if it doesn’t, I can call her at the animal hospital. I have the number.”
Charlotte shakes her head. “No, don’t worry about calling. It makes sense, but I’ll text her tomorrow to let her know she doesn’t have to bother. I don’t need revenge. I’m a grown-up.”
He arches a brow. “Are you sure? She sounded pissed and thirsty for vengeance on your behalf.”
“I’m sure,” Charlotte says. “I have better things to do than feed the trolls.”
Parker grunts. “Okay, I’ll convey the message. But fair warning, Makena may still choose violence. She can swing from sweet, nurturing savior of infant wildlife to avenging Valkyrie with a mouth full of very cutting verbal warfare so fast it would make your head swim.”
“Two sides of the same coin, I think,” Charlotte says with a fond smile. “She’s the primal mama bear, prepared to love hard or defend hard. Depending on what her baby bears need.”
Parker cants his head to one side, seeming to think on that for a beat.
“Yeah, you’re right. Probably a good thing we’re not planning on having any human babies.
If she’s this fierce with her chosen family, I can’t even imagine…
” He gives an exaggerated shudder, making us both laugh as he steps away, lifting a hand in farewell.
We turn back to each other, smiles softening now that it’s just us.
“Ready to go eat a ridiculous amount of pizza?” I murmur. “And prove Beer Tits and her main man have nothing to hide from tonight or any other night?”
She nods. “So ready.”
She slips her hand in mine, I hitch my gear bag higher on my other shoulder, and we walk toward the exit. She squeezes my fingers, and I squeeze back, returning her grin.
Let them talk.
I couldn’t give a shit.
I’m the one lucky enough to be leaving with Beer Tits.