Chapter Twenty-Five
Monroe
I wake up on my twenty-second birthday to the sound of my phone vibrating against the nightstand. For a second, I forget what day it is. My body is warm, cocooned under the blankets, Rhodes’ steady breathing filling the quiet room.
He’s slept over a lot more often than not these days, my resistance being slowly eroded by the man in my bed.
It’s feeling very close to an actual relationship.
Rhodes wasn’t kidding when he said he could be patient, because he’s toeing the line between giving me space and touching me every chance he gets.
We’ve had two weeks of the skating clinic and it’s going so well.
The Nationals team hasn’t bothered me at all since that first day, thank God.
We’ve been around his friends a lot more.
Beck and Finn are hilarious, the epitome of two golden retriever guys.
JD is quiet, but I can tell he cares a lot about the group.
Someone like him doesn’t stick around the chaos that is these boys unless they like it.
Tyler and Callum are protective and loyal, and I get the impression that if you ever needed to call someone to help bury a body, they’d be there with shovels.
I’ve never been a part of a group like this before, and while I’m not naive enough to believe that they’d want me around if Rhodes wasn’t there…
it’s starting to feel like maybe I have some friends.
Friends who don’t know it’s my birthday. To everyone else—and to me—it’s just another day. That’s what I am telling myself.
Last year, I spent my birthday blackout drunk in some stranger’s bed. This year, I have an eight a.m. clinic with Rhodes.
Improvement.
I check my phone. Two birthday texts, from my dad and Elsie. Both are short and sweet, Happy birthday, Monroe. Nothing from my mom, not that I expected anything. She’s still holed up somewhere, ignoring the fact that I exist. I haven’t told her I’m skating again, and Dad isn’t going to, either.
As far as I know, Rhodes doesn’t know. If there’s anyone who would make a big deal out of it, it would be him. He seems like the type to really go all-out for a birthday.
He stirs beside me, his arm tightening around my waist as he presses his face into my hair. “Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
My stomach does an embarrassing little flip at the nickname. It’s not new. He’s been calling me that since our first night together. What is new is that I like it.
“Morning,” I whisper, rolling over to face him.
His navy-blue eyes are still heavy with sleep, but his lips quirk into a slow grin. “Big plans tonight?”
I blink at him. Does he know? “Nope. Probably takeout and a movie.”
Something flickers across his face—gone before I can place it. But he just hums and kisses my temple. “Sounds like a solid plan.”
Okay, no. He definitely doesn’t. He’ll probably be annoyed that I didn’t tell him, but he’ll get over it.
“All right, sleepyhead,” I murmur. “We’ve gotta get up. Kids to teach and all that.”
* * * *
I pop into my dad’s office when we get to the rink, sending Rhodes off to wrangle the kids as they trickle into the arena. The familiar scent of coffee and the faintest hint of the menthol balm he uses on his wrists fills the air.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, leaning against the doorframe with a smile.
Carter Abrams looks up from his paperwork. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at me, a little more these days than I remember. I guess we’re both getting older.
“Hey, Mo. Happy birthday, honey.”
“Thanks.” I step inside, rocking on the balls of my feet. “Just wanted to pop in and say hi before I head to the clinic.”
He sets his pen down and leans back in his chair, “Did your mom call?”
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
He hmphs in annoyance. “Sorry, honey.”
I just shrug. “Eh, who needs Elaine when I’ve got you?” I mean it, too. She can stay at her Arizona spa forever for all I care. “She’d make today all about her anyways.”
He chuckles. “That she would.” He taps a pencil and gives me a pointed look. “You got plans with anyone…special tonight?”
Oh, he’s fishing.
It’s an obvious probe, and I know my dad well enough to pick up the subtext.
Are you going out with Rhodes? He’s been skillfully avoiding the topic, but let’s be real—Rhodes isn’t exactly subtle.
I’m positive that his love language is touch, because he’s always finding ways to touch me.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, resting his hand on my lower back, just generally being in the vicinity of me.
To my dad’s credit, he hasn’t said anything about it. But I know he’s clocking it.
I’m not sure he loves the idea of his daughter dating his prize hockey star.
Oh, fuck. Dating.
I think I just subconsciously put a label on us.
I blink, my mouth parting slightly as the realization slams into me like a freight train. I might have just landed myself a boyfriend.
Huh. Happy birthday to me, I guess.
I should probably clue Rhodes in on that at some point. He’s going to be thrilled.
“No plans,” I answer quickly, smoothing my palms over my leggings, suddenly feeling too aware of every single movement I make. “Just takeout and a movie, probably.”
Dad grunts, a noise that sounds somewhere between relieved and skeptical, but doesn’t push any further.
“All right,” he says, nodding like that answer was acceptable. “Well, have fun. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I turn on my heel, exiting his office, brain still short-circuiting over the whole accidental-boyfriend thing.
When I step into the rink, I’m met with pure, unadulterated chaos. Rhodes is losing a game of Shark—in spectacular fashion—to a swarm of tiny children.
He skates backward, trying to evade their outstretched arms, but they’re relentless, laughing as they chase him across the ice like a pack of feral little wolves.
I’m impressed to see that after two weeks on the ice, most of them are staying completely upright.
Rhodes and I make a pretty damn good team.
“Come on, guys!” he shouts, breathless. “It’s twenty-four against one—that’s not how this game works!”
I snort, tugging my skates on quickly. “Sounds like a you problem, McKnight,” I yell.
His gaze snaps to mine, narrowed but amused. “I’m filing a complaint with HR. My co-teacher is late.”
I roll my eyes, stepping onto the ice. The second my blades touch, Rhodes sends all twenty-four kids racing in my direction.
“Okay, okay!” I laugh, hands up in surrender. “I see what’s happening here. Very cute.”
Rhodes skates past me, grinning, and murmurs in my ear. “You’re up, sweetheart.”
“All right, everyone, let’s split up for warm-ups,” I call out, pointing the hockey kids toward Rhodes and beckoning the figure skaters over to me. A few of the hockey boys attempt to plead their case to stay with me, and I rub one of their helmeted heads before nudging them toward Rhodes.
Rhodes watches from a few feet away, arms crossed, that devastatingly smug smirk tugging at his lips.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.” He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his navy-blue eyes. “You’re just really bossy today.”
I skate backward toward my kids, matching his smirk. “I’m teaching, Rhodes.” I let the teasing lilt creep into my voice. “But if you want, I can boss you around later, too.”
His jaw flexes slightly, but the grin stays. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
I bite back a grin, skating a slow, taunting circle around my kids. “Then you better hope your kids can keep up, McKnight.”
He claps his hands together. “All right, let’s see what you got, Abrams.”
And just like that, we’re off—pushing, teasing, flirting while the kids warm up.
I know I’m technically working, but this doesn’t feel like work at all. It feels exactly how I want to spend my birthday. Doing the thing I love, with the person I…like more than other people.
* * * *
After my classes that day, I get a pedicure and order more Chinese takeout than I can possibly eat myself.
I’m sure Rhodes will help me with leftovers, so I get a little of everything.
I settle onto my couch, food balancing on my lap, and turn on some early 2000s chick-flick nostalgia to end my birthday on a high note.
My coffee table is a mess of nail polish, candy snacks, and popcorn.
There is a pang of loneliness that hits unexpectedly at the lack of girlfriends to call.
I’m not even sure how to go about making new friends.
My classes are full of college students, and even if I was interested in hanging back with a collegiate crowd, everyone has a group already.
And it’s not like I am meeting tons of new people at the rink.
I shake off the depressing air that has suddenly filled my apartment and focus on the task at hand—movie watching and snack eating. And Rhodes missing.
I’ve become annoyingly attached to my hockey player. And the reason he’s not here is because of hockey, which is irritating because it means he is at the rink and decidedly not making out with me on my couch.
My phone pings, and because Rhodes has officially infiltrated my life, I now actually keep the sound on. In case of emergencies.
Rhodes (8:30pm): I’m coming to pick you up.
I’m surprised to be getting a text from him before ten.
Monroe (8:31pm): Your practice is done early.
Rhodes (8:32pm): Eat your takeout and watch your movie at my place tonight. Omw.
My stomach does an unnecessary flip because we’re almost always at my place—it’s closer to the rink.
Rhodes’ house is the one that still feels slightly off-limits, like I’m crossing some invisible line he’s never actually drawn.
He’s been trying to be so good with my boundaries and staying where I’m most comfortable.
It’ll be nice to live in Rhodes-land for a night.