Chapter 5
five
. . .
Ceci
Halfway through the second period, the Grizzlies are up three to one, and the fans are loving it.
The goal horn sounds, and the crowd erupts with cheers as the Jumbotron flashes with the replay.
MacGregor tipped in a nasty shot from Larsson, and with the go-ahead goal and another one for insurance tucked away, the arena buzzes with frenetic energy so loud the seats are practically vibrating.
Most of the time when I take in a live game, I rent out a suite and pack it full of my friends. It’s an event. An experience. We eat, we drink, we enjoy ourselves, and at the end of the night, regardless of the score, my cup is refilled from being around people I love.
When Hailey asked if I wanted to join her for a game, I couldn’t say no. There’s nothing like live sports. The fervor of the crowd, the intensity of the gameplay down on the ice… I don’t do drugs, but it’s a high like none other.
As I get to the suite reserved for the wives and girlfriends, I hug my friends hello before settling in beside Hailey.
In seasons past, the box was reserved for family, wives, and fiancées, but since MacGregor became captain at the start of last season, girlfriends have been included as part of the group too.
The previous exclusivity was mainly due to McKittrick’s ex-wife.
Being the captain’s wife gave her a superiority complex.
We were all happy when they split up and she left the foundation board, and now that McKittrick’s with Amelia, who’s usually on the ice with the rest of the athletic training staff, team leadership has proven to be much more inclusive of all the people who love and support the team.
It’s nice to be around people who are invested in the game. Who care about the score and cheer for all the players. People who care about more than how hot the players are.
Which they are. Most of them are gorgeous, even with the missing teeth and shaggy, sweaty hair. They’re also young enough to be my children. Realizing that took some of the intensity out of my appreciation, but I still like the sport for what it is.
I simply don’t allow myself to lust after the players anymore. After all, they don’t become hockey players to be sexualized, especially at work. They only want to do their jobs. And there are plenty of other hot, eligible, more age-appropriate men who are receptive to being hit on.
MacGregor is on fire tonight. He’s centering Larsson and Easton, setting up plays left and right and firing bullets at the goal. Whatever he did today to prepare for the game, he’s going to have to do it every day from now on. The fans will demand it.
“Your brother is killing it,” I tell Hailey when his top-shelf snipe brings the score to 4–1, and the arena erupts in cheers.
“He’s been working really hard lately,” she confides, a beaming smile on her face. “I’m really proud of him.”
“It’s showing.”
I’ve only met Aidan MacGregor once, at a gala a season and a half ago.
Hailey introduced us, he blushed and stammered something, and before I could so much as offer my hand to shake, he was gone.
I could practically see the fire licking at his heels as he ran as far away from me as humanly possible.
I know I’m a bit of an acquired taste, but I didn’t think a fucking introduction was off-putting.
Okay, so maybe I’m still a little bitter. I want to be liked. Doesn’t everyone? It fucking stings that I repulsed him so much he couldn’t even make small talk for five minutes.
Ryan was perfectly charming. He was sweet, attentive to her needs, and doted on her all night. As he has every time I’ve met him. He doesn’t infantilize her; he simply treats her like an equal. Like she’s special.
And fuck, do I want that too.
Every single woman in this suite is attached to a hockey player. They’re all settled in serious, committed relationships. I’m the only oddball out.
After my divorce, I swore I would make up for lost time.
But the men I’ve dated since only want me for my name or my money.
The men I’ve slept with aren’t interested in anything more serious than some innocent fun.
And yes, I act like that’s all I’m looking for… because I know I won’t find it anyway.
So I go after men who aren’t partner material. Good for one night, but not anything more long-term. Because I’m a forty-three-year-old billionaire in the best health of my life, and I still can’t find someone who wants me for me. Not for what I can do for them.
It. Fucking. Sucks.
A cheer goes up in the arena, and I blink down to the ice, where MacGregor and Sven Larsson are colliding in a celebratory hug. On the Jumbotron, they’re replaying Sven’s goal, an absolute beauty set up by the captain.
Fuck, that’s a pretty goal.
It’s times like this that make me miss my dad.
He was a sports nut, same as me, and if I wanted to spend time with him, it was watching whatever game or meet was on TV.
When we could, we’d take in a live game, but it was so much more fun to bundle together on the couch, drinking sparkling apple juice in a beer stein and eating cheesy popcorn and homemade Chex Mix.
My heart pangs, an actual physical ache, and my hand flattens against my chest, the steady beat beneath my palm reassuring me.
I’m not having a heart attack, not like the one that took my dad.
It’s just that the memories are so strong, sometimes I can swear I’m back in that house in Des Moines, can smell the grassy notes of his Irish Spring soap, hear his voice in my ear cheering me on.
Tears well up in my eyes, and I swallow hard, trying to force back the emotion threatening to consume me. I blow out a steadying breath, then another, until the lump in my throat eases.
Beside me, Hailey squeezes my knee. “You good?” she whispers.
I’m really not.
But she can’t see me like this. Nobody can.
So I force a smile and reach for my purse, digging out my lipstick and a compact mirror.
“I’m fine,” I say with my best attempt at a breezy tone, before applying my favorite berry-red lipstick.
Amorous. I never had time to play with makeup before. It was always perfunctory. After I sold my company, I went to the makeup counter and had them teach me everything. It’s become my signature color.
Hailey frowns as she studies me, but then there’s a commotion on the ice, and she turns her attention to the giant screen. Sinclair was on the receiving end of a nasty high-sticking, and when the blood runs from his nose, the crowd goes nuts.
Four-minute minor penalty. We’re going on the power play, boys.
As the play resumes down below, I do my best to push the melancholy away. But it lingers, hovering at the periphery of my mind, an uninvited guest I can’t shake.
The game ends in a Grizzlies victory, and I say goodbye to my friends. Upon exiting the arena, I catch a cab to my favorite bar on Dalton Street, where a certain too-young-for-me bartender can pour me a potent cocktail.
Fall is my favorite season in Boston. I’ve been here for twenty-five years now, and I’ll never tire of the way the entire city lights up when the leaves change.
The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg practically pours out of every café and bakery.
It’s warm and cozy, despite the bite of chill in the air.
All I want is to wrap myself up in blankets, curl up in front of a fire, and sip something warm while playing video games or reading a book.
In fact… I think I should do that. Right now.
I pause at the entrance to the dive bar, my hand on the door, ready to push it open. I’m not in the mood to get wasted.
Do I go for a drink? Maybe find someone to warm my bed for the night?
Or do I wrap myself in cozy blankets and dive into a good book?
Fuck it. I can drink and read.
Pushing open the door to the dive bar, I step inside and head straight to my usual stool at the counter corner. Pablo is behind the bar, and he nods to me as he continues pouring someone’s drink.
“Be with you in a sec, girl,” he calls out, and I lift my hand in acknowledgment.
There’s nobody sitting on either side of me, but that could change all too soon. And I can’t decide if I want company or not.
If only Wish were here.
But he’s leaving tonight for a work trip. He takes a lot of red-eye flights, I guess because his company is cheap as fuck, so he won’t be available to game with. And sure, I could find someone else to play with, but it won’t be the same as playing with him.
I pull my Kindle out of my purse, flicking through my bookshelf until I find something to occupy me for a few hours.
An amaretto sour appears in front of me, and I glance up to find Pablo winking at me before turning to another customer.
The worst thing is my book is actually pretty good.
I sip my drink and read, and when the glass is empty, a fresh one takes its place.
Even though I didn’t order any food, a tray of spicy cauliflower bites gets set in front of me, the pungent scent of the blue cheese dipping sauce making my mouth water.
I look up, my eyes dry after staring at the screen for—has it already been an hour and a half?
“Eat something,” Pablo says, pushing the plate toward me. “You can’t drink on an empty stomach.”
I mean, I could… but it’s probably an awful idea.
“Fine,” I mutter, spearing a piece of cauliflower with my fork and dragging it through the thick sauce. “Thanks.”
He snorts. “That sounds genuine.”
“What, do you want me to get down on bended knee?” A sarcastic smile twists my lips. “Thank you, Pablo, for bringing me drinks and food and making sure I take care of myself. Since I’m such an invalid and incapable of knowing my own needs.”
“Oh, shut up. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
I roll my eyes. “And you know I didn’t either. So we’re square.”
“I suppose we are.” He rests his forearms on the bar, drawing my gaze there, but whatever attraction I may have once had to the twenty-six-year-old bartender, it’s gone now. We’re friendly, or as friendly as one should be with their favorite bartender.
He studies me for a long minute. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
His eyes linger on me for a beat. Finally, he stands up straight and raps his knuckles on the bar counter twice. “All right. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.” I eat another two pieces of cauliflower, then sip my drink, before finally picking up my Kindle again.
When it’s time for last call, I’m still not ready to go home, but I know nothing good will come from staying out. After closing my tab, I call a car and head to my empty house. Even with all the lights on, it’s still so fucking lonely. I don’t even have a cat to keep me company.
What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to keep going like this?