33. Colton
COLTON
When the door whipped open, I put on my best smile. But when Victoria answered the door, it slowly melted off my face. Her presence made me more alert as I peered around her shoulders, looking for any signs of Brynn.
“I’ll be out in a second, Colton! Sorry!” my woman exclaimed from somewhere in the house.
Victoria quirked an eyebrow. “Colton, huh?”
When I heard my truck grunting on its chassis, I knew the boys were climbing off its bed.
And while Rhett’s annoying fucking phone call about needing a ride to the stadium turned into me picking up four of the fucking boys for the game just for fun, I’d never been happier to have had an entourage than when Rhett and Jett came up behind me.
“Heeeeey, Miss C,” Rhett said as he leaned against the facade of the house.
“Rhett,” I warned.
“Rhett,” Jett mocked playfully as he came up to stand on my other side.
“What!?” Rhett asked with a shrug. “I was just saying hi.”
I shot Jett a look while Rhett flashed a smile at Victoria that would’ve made any woman weak at the knees. Centers had that kind of power, especially one as ruthless as Rhett. Hell, they called that boy ‘Stone’ for a fucking reason.
But all Victoria did was nod. “Rhett.”
“Miss Victoria! Lookin’ good in those heels,” Jett said as he crossed his arms and stuck his hands beneath his armpits like the fucking weirdo he was. “Gonna be watchin’ us from that heavenly V.I.P. box of yours like the royalty you are?”
“Save the ass kissing for the refs,” I said flatly.
Jett scoffed. “Never in a million years. Refs can kiss my—”
“Jett,” I warned as I shot him a look.
“Hey, at least it’s not me, for once,” Rhett said as he held his hands up, marking his supposed innocence.
The entire time, all Victoria did was stand in the doorway and volley her eyes between the three of us.
Victoria Caldwell was a woman who took her time deciding things. I was starting to think that included people.
“Hey there, guys,” Brynn said, appearing from nowhere.
Victoria peered over her shoulder before stepping away from the doorway, but not before she gave all of us one last assessing look with those steel gray eyes of hers. Cold, like metal. Unforgiving, like lead. But when she turned to her daughter, the softest hint of a smile graced her features.
It gave me a moment to stare at the absolutely delicious outfit Brynn had on.
Specifically, the team jersey that clung to those thick curves of hers.
“Love you, Mom,” Brynn said as she hugged Victoria’s neck. “See you at the game, okay?”
But again, Victoria didn’t answer, just like she didn’t answer Jett. I quirked an eyebrow at her before she gave me one more assessing look, and without another word, she closed the door on all four of us.
She moved to the window and watched all of us pile back into my truck.
The ride to the stadium felt comfortable.
Brynn linked her arm with mine before opening the window back behind our heads so that she could talk with Rhett and Jett who rode in the bed of my truck.
I didn’t feel the need to interject into their conversation.
I was content listening to the three of them go back and forth while Brynn smushed that delectable thigh of hers right against mine.
My heart thundered against my sternum. Blood rushed through my ears, drowning out the sound of their laughter.
Twenty years of pregame rituals and I’d had all kinds.
The quiet ones, alone in a hotel room with film rolling on a laptop.
The loud ones, locker rooms full of men who’d bleed for each other before the first puck dropped.
The bad ones, after the divorce, after New York, when I’d sit in parking structures and talk myself into walking through the door.
I knew every version of this feeling. The weight of it before a game, the particular way your body went from thinking to something older and more automatic, all of it handed over to the ice and the work.
This one was different. I had twenty-three men who’d run through a wall for me if I asked them the right way.
I had a team that was hungry and coachable and hadn’t been told often enough that they were capable of something worth watching.
I had a season opener on home ice against a team we had no business going toe to toe with, and I had a plan for every line, every matchup, every shift change, and I believed in every word of it.
And I had Brynn’s thigh pressed against mine on the center console of my truck, her arm looped through mine, her voice carrying back through the open window to Rhett and Jett in the bed like she’d been part of this team her whole life. Which maybe she had been. Just not in any way that counted yet.
This felt good, this pregame routine. Picking up the boys. Getting my girl. Driving to the stadium. Waving at the fans already having tailgating parties in the parking lot.
It felt like a pregame ritual.
And it was one I hoped Brynn would repeat with me next week for our second game.