3. Brent
Could Be The One
I exited the arena in Nashville behind my teammates, stepping off the curb outside the player’s entrance and right onto the idling bus that waited to take us to dinner. While the arena itself was situated downtown and we had our pick of restaurants in the area—most of which we could walk to—team management preferred that we dine away from the masses. That had never bothered me before, but tonight was one of those nights I could use a distraction.
Mostly because prying eyes and fans interrupting us would stop me from checking my phone every ten seconds. I figured since we’d won, Berkley would’ve at least messaged to say congrats, but it had been radio silence since the week before.
Our brief conversation cycled through my mind on repeat, her last message incessantly flashing before my eyes.
I’ll let you know.
Those four words were haunting me.
Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was professional hockey’s golden boy—or one of them, at least—and I was certainly the star player on the Warriors. Thousands of women wanted me.
But the only woman I wanted was Berkley Daniels, and the fact that she wasn’t falling all over herself to let me into her world only added to her intrigue.
“You looked like shit tonight,” my teammate, Cole Reid, said, bumping my shoulder as I sat next to him on the bus.
“Thanks, Cole. That’s awfully sweet of you.”
Cole shrugged, as if to say, no biggie. “Just keeping it real. What’s your deal, anyway?”
“Dude, I had two points tonight!”
“You still looked off,” Mitch said, poking his big, blond head between the seats from in front of us. “My guess is something happened with Berkley, and it’s got you all twisted up.”
I grimaced, flashing my teeth at my best friend. “No one asked you.”
Mitch only grinned. “See, something definitely happened. Tell Uncle Mitch about it, Jean.”
“Bro, you’re only two years older than me.”
“But much more emotionally mature.”
Cole barked out a laugh, and Mitch turned on him. “Don’t even get me started on you, Reid.”
Now it was my turn to laugh, but the sound—and my joy at seeing Mitch give Cole shit—faded quickly. Once again, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped the screen, hoping Berkley had decided to message me since the last time I’d looked.
She hadn’t.
I sighed and put it away again.
“For real, Jean,” Mitch said. “You can’t be this spun out over a girl you hardly know. Tell me what’s going on.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my skin itching under Mitch’s unwavering gaze. The words I’d been holding onto since I met Berkley bubbled in my chest, bursting free before I could stop them.
“Have you ever met someone and felt like they could be the one?” I blurted.
Cole turned toward me, eyes blinking slowly like an owl.
But I was watching Mitch, seeing several emotions flit across his face—shock, confusion, concern, even envy—before finally settling on understanding.
“I have not,” Mitch said slowly. “But I believe it’s a possibility.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, both for having the crazy thought off my chest and for the fact that they weren’t chirping the shit out of me right now.
Although, Cole had yet to open his mouth, and I couldn’t be entirely sure I’d like what he had to say when he did. But at least Mitch was entertaining me.
At last, Cole spoke. “What exactly happened that’s got you like”—Cole gestured to my person—“this?”
Because it was easier than explaining, I opened my phone and pulled up our text convo so Cole and Mitch could read it.
“Okay, first of all, she came to you. That has to mean something,” Cole said.
“It was only to say congratulations,” I mumbled. “I get a thousand DMs like that a day.”
“But none of those are from this girl,” Mitch pointed out.
Before I could say anything else, the bus jerked to a stop, our bodies rocking forward with the momentum. Mitch stood, towering over us.
“This ain’t over, Jean. We’re hashing this all out over dinner. We’ll fix it, I promise.”
Cole grinned. “I love when he goes Uncle Mitch on us.”
Dinner with a group of nearly thirty grown men was always a rowdy affair, but never more so than after a win. Bottles of champagne were passed around the tables, giant platters of surf and turf were ordered, and the private room at the back of the restaurant was full of laughter and shouted insults as the Warriors unwound.
I sat sandwiched between Mitch and Cole at a circular table. Chase Olsson, Mitch’s tall, ginger-haired defensive partner, sat across from me, and Rat and Grey rounded out the group.
Since we’d sat down, I’d been waiting for Mitch to lay into me about Berkley. As everyone began stuffing their faces with seafood, he dropped the hammer.
“So, Jean—”
“Here we go,” I mumbled.
“—you mean to tell me you haven’t sent Berkley another message since last week?”
“Wait wait wait,” Rat said. “Who sent the first message?”
“She did.”
Rat and Grey shared a look, then turned matching grins on me. For two guys who weren’t actually twins—in fact, weren’t even related—their mannerisms were alike enough that it freaked me out more often than not. I supposed that’s what happened when you played hockey with a guy your entire life.
And I mean entire life. They grew up and went to school together in the same suburb of Chicago, went to college at Boston University together, then both got called up for the playoffs last season.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they died on the same day and chose to be buried in the same casket.
And no, they weren’t secretly lovers. They were just really fucking good friends—the best of them.
“You let her come to you?” Grey said, nodding approvingly. “I like it.”
I only grunted in response. I wasn’t going to give the twenty-year-old the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right about making a cyberspace move.
“Anyway…” I said pointedly, moving the conversation along. “No, Mitch, I haven’t messaged her since then.”
“Why not?”
I raised a brow. “Seriously? Her last message was a brush-off if I’ve ever seen one.”
Over the last week, I’d endlessly racked my brain, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Had I been too forward? Not been forward enough? Had I completely misread our interaction at the bar?
No. Berkley had been interested. Why else would she have so brazenly told me she thought I was hot?
Then again, objectively speaking, I was attractive. Dark brown hair that was perpetually in need of a haircut, once stubborn piece constantly curling over my forehead. Six-three and muscular from years of competitive hockey. Bright blue eyes, straight teeth, and a nose I’d never broken. The sleeve of tattoos that engulfed my left arm.
She could’ve just been stating the obvious.
I shook my head. No, I told myself firmly. She was interested. I simply had to prove to her that I was, too.
“Maybe she’s just hedging her bets,” Mitch said with a shrug. “We don’t exactly live a suburban, white-picket-fence lifestyle here, Jean. Taking that on would be intimidating to anyone who doesn’t live like us.”
“I’m not asking her to marry me,” I groused. “I only want to get a drink.”
What I didn’t say was that I fervently hoped a drink would lead to more.
“So find a way to take the pressure off.”
Mitch had a point, and an idea began to form.
But I needed to call in reinforcements.
@Brent22Jean: Hey Lexie! Brent Jean here. I have a weird proposition for you/favor to ask.
@LexieMonroe: Lol, hey Brent Jean. What can I do for you?
@Brent22Jean: What can you tell me about Berkley?
@LexieMonroe: Let me preface this by saying that if you hurt her or fuck her over in any way, I will ruin you.
@LexieMonroe: But on that note, she’s the best friend in the world. Loyal, would take a bullet for me. Stubborn. Doesn’t get out much because law school is her life.
Stubborn, huh? That explained a lot.
@Brent22Jean: I want to spend some time with her. Get to know her better. You didn’t seem all that impressed with me at The Backdoor, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I asked her out for drinks and she kinda blew me off.
@LexieMonroe: Look…it’s not my story to tell, but her dating history is a disaster. I can’t say I’m surprised.
@Brent22Jean: So what should I do?
@LexieMonroe: Take the pressure off. Maybe do a group hang or something. I know you guys are in season but…Idk, maybe we could work together and figure something out.
@Brent22Jean: You’d do that for me?
@LexieMonroe: Hahaha…no. I’d do that for BERK.
@Brent22Jean: Why?
@LexieMonroe: Call it woman’s intuition, but I’ve got a good feeling about this.
I could help smirking down at my phone. If the best friend was giving me the green light, I was halfway there.
@Brent22Jean: So what’d you have in mind for this “group hang”?
@LexieMonroe: Idk…some sort of party?
@Brent22Jean: We can’t exactly be seen partying in public in season but…
@LexieMonroe: But what?
@Brent22Jean: I might have an idea. I’ll get back to you.
@LexieMonroe: *saluting emoji*
The beginning of hockey season was always busy. Getting back into a routine, no matter how many times I’d done it, took some adjustments. And being balls deep in season meant participating in a lot of press-centric activities the franchise forced on me.
Today, some of the guys and I were at an adoption/fundraising event for one of the local animal shelters. We’d set up shop under a tent at the edge of Grand Circus Dog Park. The agenda was pretty straightforward. We’d be signing autographs, taking photos with kids and anyone who adopted animals, and auctioning off some memorabilia. The Warriors were also covering the adoption fees for all pets taken to a forever home today, and all proceeds would go to the animal shelter.
Personally, I loved animals. Growing up, my family had always had dogs, and I missed having a pet. Unfortunately, my lifestyle wasn’t exactly conducive to keeping an animal alive and entertained. Maybe when I finally had a family of my own, I’d be able to get one again.
I also loved kids, and I genuinely couldn’t wait to be a father one day.
A little blond boy approached the table, a woman who I could only assume was his mother trailing behind him. The boy couldn’t have been more than five, with bright blue eyes and chubby cheeks tinged pink from the autumnal chill. He wore a miniature version of my jersey and a Warriors beanie on his head.
“Go on, honey,” his mom said when he stalled his approach. “Ask him.”
“Hi, Mr. Jean,” the boy said, his voice high and clear.
I came around the table to kneel in front of him. “Hello,” I said with a smile. “What’s your name?”
“Brayden.”
“Nice to meet you, Brayden. What can I do for you?”
Brayden stared up at me, his eyes shining with excitement. “Would you please sign my jersey?”
I turned to the table behind me and reached for a navy blue Sharpie. “I sure can, buddy. What would you like me to say?”
Brayden brought his tiny hand up to his mouth and tapped his lips in a gesture that made him appear much older. His mother beamed down at him. “Will you write ‘to my friend Brayden’ and sign your name?”
My lips curved upward. “Absolutely! Turn around.”
The little boy dutifully obeyed, turning to present me with his back. Right above the block letters spelling JEAN at the top, I wrote out my message. When I finished, signing my name with a flourish and a scribbled “#22” beside it, I tapped Brayden on the shoulder. “All done!”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Jean!” Brayden turned to his mom and grabbed her hand. I stood and offered mine.
“Brent Jean.”
“Leslie,” she said, grasping my hand with her free one, seeming a bit star struck.
“Are you and Brayden hoping to adopt today?”
“We are. I’m letting Brayden pick one out.”
“Well, let’s go check them out then!”
Brayden led the way, running over to the pen where all the dogs were kept. He wasn’t tall enough to see over the top of the fence, so he stood with his face pressed against it, peering through the holes in the chain link.
“His father recently passed,” Leslie said suddenly. “That’s why we’re getting a dog. It’s too quiet without James around.”
The woman’s voice broke on her husband’s name, and I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile. I couldn’t imagine the hell these two had endured since his loss. My heart squeezed at the thought of this little boy growing up without his father. I’d been beyond blessed in that department; my father was both loving and nurturing while practical and tough when necessary. “I am so sorry for your loss. How did it happen? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“He was a firefighter,” Leslie said. “His company got called to a blaze at an old factory last month. The roof came down, and he never made it out.”
I looked away to offer some semblance of privacy when Leslie lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her eye. I found myself at a loss for words anyway. I’d read about that fire and had seen in the paper that four firefighters had lost their lives.
“Brayden’s birthday is next week, so I wanted to do something special to celebrate. I’m hoping a companion will help him cope better. Give him something to focus his attention on, you know?”
I nodded my agreement. “You’re a great mom, and I’m sure a furry friend is exactly what he needs.”
Leslie blinked in surprise, then offered a small smile. “Thank you, Brent,” she said quietly—almost shyly—before she took Brayden’s hand and walked them away.
“That hot mom totally wanted you.”
I playfully shoved Mitch’s shoulder when he came up to stand next to me. “Oh, fuck off.”
“I’m just saying. If things don’t work out with blondie, I’m sure she’d be willing to take what you’re offering. And I doubt that boy would mind calling you his stepdad.”
I rolled my eyes. “As annoying as you are, I’m actually glad you’re here.” I glanced at his feet. “Nice kicks.”
Mitch smirked as we both studied his Travis Scott Neutral Olive Jordan 1 Retro Low Golf sneakers.
Try saying that five times fast.
“Thanks, man. I’ve got a pretty great best friend.”
I gave him an aww shucks grin. “Those were damn near impossible to find, and I almost got outbid by some tool who doubled at the last second. I snuck my final bid in just before the auction closed.”
“I don’t even want to know what they cost,” Mitch said, holding up a hand, “but I’m fucking obsessed with them.”
I preened, pleased with another happy customer. Gift giving was my love language, and Mitch’s birthday was in a couple days. Seemed only right that I finally snagged and gifted him with the shoes he’d had his eye on for forever.
Was it weird to spend so much money on a dude? Maybe. But he was my best friend, and I had more money than I knew what to do with. Believe me, what I dropped on those Jordans was a drop in the bucket of my wealth.
“I’m glad,” I said.
“Now, you mentioned something about being glad I was here? I know you’re obsessed with me and everything, but I’m assuming there’s another reason.”
I shoved him again for being a jackass but said, “Can we host a loft party soon?”
Mitch pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes to study me. “Does this have anything to do with Berkley?”
“Yes,” I said, unashamed. “It has everything to do with Berkley. I may or may not have DMed one of her friends, who suggested a group hang. We can’t really be partying in public since we’re in season, but the loft…”
“Would be perfect,” Mitch finished for me.
“Precisely.”
Mitch was quiet for several beats—long enough that I thought he’d refuse. Then, a conspiratorial gleam appeared in his eyes, and he said, “You know…Halloween is coming up. Seems like not having a costume party would be a wasted opportunity.”
I grinned and held out my hand for a fist bump. “Let’s do it.”
As we made our way back to our tent for more autograph signing and photos, Mitch said, “So who’s this friend? Is she a smoke like blondie?”
“Don’t,” I said, forcing Mitch to a stop beside me with an arm barring his path.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that thing where you love ‘em and leave ‘em. If you fuck with her friend and things go south, she’ll never speak to me again.”
Mitch adopted an expression of fake hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Me? Love ‘em and leave ‘em? Never.” He shot me a wink and chuckled before pushing past.
“I mean it, Mitch! Stay the fuck away from her friends.”
“Yeah, yeah,” was my teammate’s only response.
@Brent22Jean: Halloween party October 31. Come any time after 7. Costumes are REQUIRED.
@LexieMonroe: Do I have to concoct some bullshit story to get Berk there, or are you going to nut up and ask her yourself?
@Brent22Jean: I’ll ask. I just need your help convincing her it’s a good idea to show up.
@LexieMonroe: Consider it done.