15. Bridget
Bridget
Cole: Crew wants to come over after practice. Is that okay?
It’s your house. Why are you asking me?
Cole: Because I don’t want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.
It’s fine with me. It’ll be nice to see him again after all these years.
Truthfully, Crew’s visit couldn’t have come at a better time. I wasn’t too keen on being alone with Cole after what had gone down last night.
Just thinking about it now, I wanted to cry all over again.
It was hard to believe I had any tears left after spending hours sobbing into my pillow. I’d barely managed to stop by the time the dawn light filtered through the window, but even then, I felt hollow, as if someone had carved out my insides.
Learning that Cole had used his ex-wife to keep himself from coming back to me only added a new layer to the heartbreak. He’d become a martyr, forfeiting his own happiness for the sake of my brother’s memory.
As much as I was hurting, I felt sorry for the other woman involved—Kennedy. She didn’t ask to become part of Cole’s misguided sacrifice. And I could only imagine how difficult it was for her to endure what sounded like a one-sided marriage.
I wondered if she was as torn up inside from him ending their relationship as I had been.
I sure hoped not. I wouldn’t wish that kind of agony on my worst enemy.
Nearly a decade later, I still hadn’t fully recovered.
Yet, here I was, willingly back in his orbit. Sure, we weren’t dating now, but that wouldn’t make it any less painful when the time came to say goodbye.
In desperate need of a distraction, I blasted music through the speakers in the kitchen and raided the pantry for ingredients. Baking brought me peace even on my darkest days, the motions of measuring and mixing allowing me to turn off my brain when life got too hard.
I was in the process of pulling out a batch of banana nut muffins when the vibrations of the garage door opening could be felt through the tile flooring beneath my bare feet. Turning down the volume, I heard the interior door opening and closing before two sets of footsteps drew closer.
Crew was the first one to round the corner, a brilliant smile lighting up his face when his eyes landed on me. “London Bridge, you’re all grown up!”
A laugh spilled from my lips at hearing that old nickname. When I was little, I used to beg the boys to play that game with me, and they always obliged.
He moved closer, opening his arms in preparation to hug me. When I stiffened, he froze, a frown turning down the edges of his mouth.
Over his shoulder, he spoke to his twin. “We’re gonna kill that fucker, right?”
Cole grunted from where he leaned against the countertop, both hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers.
“Trust me. He’s not worth it.”
“Agree to disagree,” Crew muttered.
Refusing to allow Aiden to ruin this reunion, I changed the subject. “So, how’s defense treating you these days?”
Without asking for permission, Crew grabbed one of the many baked goods littering the island and took a huge bite. Around the food in his mouth, he replied, “It’s not the most glamorous job, but I make it look good.”
“You teaching that partner of yours how to get dirty in the blue paint?”
Swallowing, he nodded. “Kid’s young, but he’s figuring it out. Doesn’t hurt that our new coach is eager to put a foot up his ass anytime he makes a mistake.”
I hummed. “Sounds like my kind of bench boss.”
“Dude, he’s unhinged.” Crew widened his eyes for emphasis. “I swear, the arena started selling out because fans want to be there to witness one of his crazy stunts in person.”
Head cocked to the side, I asked, “What kind of crazy stunts?”
Crew’s gaze bounced around the room, as if he believed that the man himself might appear. Voice hushed, he said, “One time, he pulled the goalie in the middle of the game and made us play without him for, like, five whole minutes to teach us to keep the puck far away from the net.”
A loud snort sounded, my hand rising too slow to contain it. “Oh my God, that’s actually kinda hilarious.”
The more jovial of the Astor twins didn’t look amused. “Wasn’t funny when he put shock bracelets on the entire team during practice.”
Jaw hitting the floor, I asked, “Why?”
“According to him, our positioning sucked. The bracelets only activated when we got too close to two or more of the others, so it was supposed to train us not to get bunched up.”
While his methods were certainly unorthodox, I found myself curious. “Did it work?”
“Yeah,” Crew grudgingly admitted. “It did.”
The whole Kennedy thing kinda killed my interest in the game last night, but now that I thought about it, before that, the commentators made a point to remark upon the Surf’s improvement from seasons past. Maybe a tough-love kinda coach was exactly what they needed to turn things around.
“So it sounds like hockey’s going good. What else is new with you?” There was no question I’d missed a lot in the last eight years. “Got a special lady in your life?”
Crew flashed me a cheeky grin. “Aw, come on, Bridge, you know me. I’m not one to kiss and tell.”
“No, but you love to bang and brag,” Cole huffed.
I failed to bite back a snicker. “Active love life. Noted.”
“It’s not my fault I’ve got ladies falling at my feet everywhere I go,” Crew said in defense. “I mean, have you seen this face?” He circled a hand in front of it.
“I have.” It was a face I myself had been helpless to resist once upon a time, though it belonged to a man who shared identical DNA to the one I spoke to now.
“What do you say we pretend like it’s old times and have a movie marathon?”
The suggestion caught me off guard, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
Getting lost in the drama of fictional characters instead of fixating on my own sounded like heaven right about now.
“Let’s do it.”
“Goaltender interference!” I screamed at the TV. “Challenge it!”
Maisie and Arizona stared at me as if I’d lost my damn mind, but Austin’s focus remained fixed on the TV, where they showed a slow-motion replay of the goal scored by the Philadelphia Rebels.
“There!” I pointed animatedly. “Number seventy-two made contact with Rockwell’s pads while in the crease, knocking him out of position, and he didn’t have time to reset.
” The coaching staff stared down at the screens set within the floor of the visitors’ bench.
“What are you waiting for? Freaking challenge it!”
The Surf’s head coach called a ref over, and they shared a brief exchange before the ref skated to center ice and activated his microphone.
“San Diego has challenged the play for goaltender interference.”
“Thank you,” I huffed out as the referees put on their headphones to communicate with the review team in Toronto.
While they deliberated, the broadcasters consulted with a rules analyst, breaking down the play from different angles. They agreed with my assessment that the goalie was prohibited from playing his position correctly and that the goal shouldn’t stand as a result.
Even though it was clear as day, I still held my breath when the lead ref returned to center ice to deliver the result of the challenge.
“After the coach’s challenge, it was determined that there was no goaltender interference. We have a good goal. San Diego has a two-minute bench minor penalty for delay of game.”
“What? No!” I shouted in disbelief as a Surf player skated to the penalty box.
There was one more replay of the goal as the commentators tried to make sense of the call.
Flopping dramatically onto the couch, I covered my face and groaned. “How was that not goaltender interference?”
When I removed my hands to watch as the Surf attempted to kill the penalty that was a result of their failed challenge, I found Austin looking at me.
“You really know your shit about hockey.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Language,” Arizona chided on a weary exhale that suggested she’d issued the reprimand one too many times.
To the teenage boy, I said, “My brother used to play. He was actually drafted by the Surf.”
Behind his glasses, Austin’s eyes widened. “No way! What number is he?”
I shook my head with a sad smile. “He passed away before he ever got the chance to suit up for them.”
That gave him pause. “Wait. Was your brother Bennett Russell?”
“Mm-hmm.” I hummed in confirmation.
“When Cole and Crew were helping me train this summer, they told me all about him. Dude sounded like a legend.”
“He was,” I agreed.
Had his life not been cut short, Bennett would have absolutely made a splash in the pros.
He had the kind of natural talent that couldn’t be taught, and it translated to the score sheet.
Season after season, he was the top scorer on whatever team he played on.
It wasn’t a surprise when he went first overall in his draft class, with the Surf selecting his best friends in the second and fifth rounds, making trades to keep the dynamic trio together.
“It’s really cool they hung his number in the rafters.”
I reared back. “What? They did?”
Austin nodded. “They’ve got a memorial stall for him in the locker room too. You should come see it sometime.”
“I’d really like that.”
“There’s a home game next weekend after they get back from the East Coast. I bet Cole could get you a ticket.”
“Uh . . .”
How did I tell this fifteen-year-old kid that I couldn’t risk going out in public for fear that my abusive ex would find me? But his innocent remark was a much-needed reminder that I couldn’t hide out at Cole’s place forever.
Arizona was quick to jump in to save me. “Austin, let’s not offer up tickets that aren’t yours to give.”
He began to protest. “But—”
“Is your homework all done? And have you written that book report that’s due at the end of the week?”
His lips slammed shut, and a guilty expression stole over his face.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He gestured toward the TV. “Can’t I do it after the game?”
“What would Levi say if he were here?”
“Fine.” Austin stood with a huff before stomping up the stairs.
Maisie leaned over to stage-whisper, “Dad doesn’t play when it comes to homework.”