Chapter 44
I’d talked to Chappell yesterday.
The conversation had been short and professional.
I’d told him I was stepping down—that with all the media attention around me and Andrew, it didn’t make sense for me to keep working as his assistant.
The optics were too complicated. People would talk, and I didn’t want that reflecting badly on either of them.
Chappell had been understanding. More than that, he’d been kind. He’d mentioned a couple of openings in other departments—analytics, hockey ops—said he’d put in a word if I was interested.
I wasn’t sure if I was. But I appreciated the gesture.
For once, I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what my next job would be. Didn’t have a backup or an exit strategy or a safety net.
But something in me felt calm. Like I’d figure it out. Like not knowing wasn’t the same as failing.
Weird.
Now I was standing outside the Garden, Angelica bouncing on her toes next to me, Diane adjusting her scarf against the cold.
“You ready for this shit?” Diane asked, grinning at me like we were about to storm a castle.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so.”
“Good. Because once we’re in there, it’s going to be fucking chaos. Best kind of chaos, but chaos.” She clapped me on the shoulder hard enough that I stumbled forward a step. “You’ve been to games before, right?”
“Not like this.”
“Oh, honey.” Her grin got wider. “Then buckle up. Drew’s going to come out swinging, and this crowd is going to lose their goddamn minds.”
“Hell yeah!” Angelica pumped her fist, already caught up in Diane’s energy.
I looked at my little sister who was currently vibrating with excitement like she’d had three espressos.
“Okay,” I said, taking a breath. “Hell yeah.”
Diane linked her arm through mine and started pulling me toward the entrance. “Come on. We’ve got good seats. Drew made sure of it. Said, and I quote, ‘Mom, get Matthew close enough that he can see me fuck someone up if they deserve it.’”
“He did not say that,” I said.
“You know he did,” Angelica agreed.
“Word for word,” Diane added. “That’s my boy.”
We pushed through the entrance. The noise hit immediately—thousands of people moving through the concourse, vendors shouting, the smell of popcorn and hot dogs and beer. Everyone wearing Wardens colors.
Angelica grabbed my arm. “Oh my god, this is insane.”
“You’ve been to games before,” I said.
“Not in these seats. Not in Andrew Knox’s seats.”
Diane led us through the crowd like she’d done this a thousand times. Which she probably had. We climbed the stairs, walked down the row, and—
“Holy shit,” Angelica breathed.
The seats were incredible. Center ice, about ten rows up. Perfect view of everything.
“Andrew got these for you?” I asked Diane.
“Every home game.” She settled into her seat, completely comfortable. “Been sitting here for years. Best seats in the motherfucking house.”
I sat down between Diane and Angelica and looked around. The arena was filling up fast. People everywhere. Cameras set up along the boards. The jumbotron showing highlights from previous games.
And we were visible. Completely, utterly visible. Close enough that cameras could see us if they wanted to.
“You nervous?” Diane asked.
“A little.”
“Don’t be. Drew will play better with you watching.” She winked. “Trust me. I know my son.”
The lights dimmed. The crowd roared.
Angelica grabbed her phone. “I need a selfie. Matthew, get in here.”
“Angelica—”
“Get. In. Here.”
I leaned in, so did Diane. She snapped the photo of the three of us and immediately started typing.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Posting it. Obviously. With the caption ‘best seats in the house’ and like five fire emojis.” She looked up. “Is that okay?”
I thought about it. I wasn’t hiding, and Andrew certainly wasn’t hiding us. I was sitting in Andrew Knox’s seats with his mother and my sister, and everyone could see.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s okay.”
She grinned and posted it.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOUR BOSTON WARDENS!”
The crowd exploded.
Players started skating out onto the ice. One by one, names announced, crowd cheering. Chappell. Morrison. Searcy. The other Morrison. Voss.
And then: “NUMBER SEVENTEEN, ANDREW KNOX!”
The noise was deafening.
Andrew skated out, and the entire arena lost its mind. People on their feet, screaming, waving signs. “WELCOME BACK KNOX” and “THE BAD BOY RETURNS” and about fifty variations of the same sentiment.
He took a lap, stick raised in acknowledgment. Then he looked up.
Right at our section.
Right at me.
Our eyes met, and he nodded. Just once. A nod small enough that no one else would notice.
But I noticed.
My chest did something complicated.
“Told you,” Diane said, smiling.
The national anthem played. The crowd sang. Angelica had her hand over her heart, swaying slightly.
Then the puck dropped, and the game began.
I’d watched hockey my entire life. Knew the game better than most people in Andrew’s orbit. But watching it from these seats, with Andrew on the ice, with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours—
It was different.
Andrew moved like water. Fast, precise, aggressive. He took a hit early, some Sentinels defenseman trying to make a statement, and bounced right back up.
“That’s my boy!” Diane shouted.
Angelica was filming everything on her phone. “This is so cool. This is so fucking cool.”
“Language,” I said automatically.
“You literally cursed out a celebrity last night.”
“That’s different.”
She laughed.
The first period was brutal. Fast-paced, physical, both teams testing each other. The Sentinels were good, better than I’d expected. Their power play was tight. Their defensive zone coverage was solid.
But the Wardens were hungry.
Andrew set up a goal midway through the period, a perfect pass to Morrison, who one-timed it past the goalie. The arena erupted.
Diane was on her feet, screaming. Angelica was jumping. I was grinning like an idiot.
Andrew skated past the bench and glanced up at us again. Just for a second.
Second period, things got rougher.
More hits. More penalties. The refs were letting them play, which meant it was getting chippy.
Then Andrew ended up matched against Brandon Archibald.
I tensed.
Diane noticed. “You know that asshole?”
“Unfortunately.”
They battled for the puck along the boards. Archibald was fast, technical, the kind of player who made everything look effortless. But Andrew was relentless. He didn’t give Archibald an inch.
“He’s shortening his stride when he turns left,” I said.
Diane whipped her head around. “What?”
“Archibald. He’s shortening his stride on left turns. He does that when he’s pacing himself. Saving energy for the third period.”
“You fucking noticed that?”
“He did it in the second period against Montreal too. Same thing.”
Diane stared at me for a long moment. Then she grinned, huge and delighted. “Holy shit. You really do know this game.”
“I’ve watched a lot of hockey.”
“Drew said you were good at this. I didn’t realize he meant scary good.” She slapped my knee. “Jesus, Matthew. You’ve been holding out on me.”
Angelica leaned over. “He’s been obsessed with hockey since he was like, ten. It’s actually kind of cute.”
“It’s not cute,” I said.
“It’s very cute.” She patted my arm. “You’re a hockey nerd. It’s adorable.”
Diane laughed, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made people two rows down turn around. Then she threw her arm around Angelica’s shoulders and pulled her in. “I fucking love you. You’ve got great energy.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Knox.”
“Diane! Call me Diane. Mrs. Knox makes me sound like I’m a hundred years old and wear fucking pearls.”
They kept talking, easy and comfortable, like they’d known each other for years instead of hours. Angelica showed Diane the selfie she’d posted. Diane took a photo of the ice, sent it to someone.
And I sat there, watching them, feeling something warm and unfamiliar in my chest.
This was what family looked like.
Third period, the Wardens were up by one.
The Sentinels pushed hard. Desperate. They pulled their goalie with three minutes left, went six on five.
The crowd was on their feet. Screaming. The noise was incredible.
Andrew was on the ice. Defending. Blocking shots. Clearing the puck.
Two minutes left.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
The Sentinels took a shot. It hit the post. Bounced out.
Searcy grabbed it. Passed to Andrew.
Andrew was at center ice. Empty net ahead of him. Sentinels players chasing.
He took the shot.
The puck sailed down the ice. Hit the back of the net.
The buzzer sounded.
Wardens win.
The arena exploded. People screaming, jumping, hugging strangers. The team poured off the bench onto the ice, surrounding Andrew.
Diane was crying. Actually crying. Happy tears, mascara running slightly.
Angelica was filming, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the noise.
And I was just watching.
Watching Andrew celebrate with his team. Watching him get mobbed by Chappell and Searcy and Morrison. Watching him laugh, that genuine, unguarded laugh I’d only seen a handful of times.
He looked so happy.
So free.
So completely, perfectly himself.
The crowd was still screaming. The jumbotron was showing replays. Music blasting through the speakers.
Andrew skated toward the bench. Toward the tunnel.
But before he left the ice, he looked up one more time.
Found me in the crowd and smiled.
Not the cocky grin he gave cameras. Not the sharp smile he used when he was being an asshole.
Just a smile. Real. Warm. For me.
And I realized, with sudden, overwhelming clarity, that I was completely in love with him.
Not the hockey player. Not the celebrity. Not the bad boy with the reputation.
Just Andrew. The guy who couldn’t work a computer and held my hand in front of his entire team without hesitation.
The guy who’d told his PR team he wouldn’t pretend I didn’t exist.
I was in love with him.
“Matthew, baby?” Diane touched my arm. “You okay?”
I couldn’t speak. Could only nod.
She looked at me. Really looked at me. Then she smiled, soft and knowing.
“Yeah,” she said. “I thought so.”
The crowd started filing out. Slowly. Reluctantly. Still buzzing with energy.
Diane stood and gathered her things. “Come on. We’re going down to wait for him.”
“Down where?”
“Player’s entrance. Family waits there after home games.” She looked at me. “So let’s go.”
We made our way through the crowd, down the stairs, toward the players’ entrance. Other families were gathering, wives, girlfriends, kids. Everyone waiting for their person.
And I was waiting for mine.