43 - Avery
Avery
The Blue Line is growing more crowded by the minute. Sloane insists it’s just the usual Friday night rush, but I’m pretty sure half the city has figured out the Blades will end up here tonight.
Every few minutes, another person glances toward our corner before their eyes drift to the front door, like they’re waiting for the team to make their entrance. It isn’t exactly an unreasonable assumption. Most nights, if we’re here, the guys aren’t far behind.
For now, though, it’s just Harper, Wesley, Sloane, and me stretched across our usual couch in the back. The tables around us have already been roped off in anticipation, empty beer pitchers waiting like placeholders for the chaos that’s about to arrive.
Harper points an accusing finger at Sloane.
“You’re only two years younger than me. You can’t keep acting like I’m eighty.”
Sloane laughs into her drink. “You hardly ever come out with us. That’s all I said.”
“Maybe that’ll have to change.”
Harper smiles, and if someone didn’t know her, they’d probably believe it. But I do know her. The smile never reaches her eyes, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared, while her gaze drifts somewhere over my shoulder toward nothing at all.
She’s not taking the divorce nearly as well as she wants us to believe, but she’s hell-bent on smiling through it anyway.
“We need new drinks.” Sloane motions toward our empty glasses.
“I don’t want to get up,” Harper says, spinning the last melting ice cube around her cup.
“Me neither.”
“Absolutely not.” Wesley and I answer at exactly the same time.
The four of us glance toward each other before our attention collectively shifts to the entrance, just as the first Blades player wanders inside. An idea immediately forms.
“Alright.” I lean across the coffee table as if I’m about to reveal state secrets. “Let’s make a deal.”
Three sets of eyes lock onto me.
“The first one who convinces one of the guys to buy our next round gets free drinks for a month.”
Harper groans before I’ve even finished. “That’s completely unfair. I don’t know any of them the way you guys do.”
“Oh, please.” I wave her off. “If you asked nicely, Liam would buy you drinks for the rest of your life.”
Sloane nods thoughtfully. “Or Tim.”
Harper rolls her eyes.
Another wave of players filters through the front door, giving us exactly three seconds to commit.
“Deal,” Wesley says, already sitting forward with the kind of competitive look that usually ends with her winning.
“Deal,” Sloane agrees. “Wyatt owes me for years of emotional damage. There’s no way he says no.”
Before I can answer, the rest of the team walks through the door.
They’re loud enough to be heard over the music, all talking over one another with the confidence of people who don’t actually care if anyone else hears what they’re saying.
Liam is gesturing so aggressively I’m surprised he hasn’t hit Nathan in the face yet.
Wyatt looks thoroughly exhausted by whatever nonsense is happening beside him, and somewhere in the middle of it all, my eyes find Grayson.
Or maybe his eyes find mine first. He has this ridiculous ability to walk into a room full of hundreds of people and look directly at me within seconds, like he’s operating with some internal compass permanently set to my location.
Five months ago, it drove me insane, but now I catch myself waiting for it.
Hoping for it.
When Wesley and Sloane spot their targets, they disappear into the crowd without another word. Meanwhile, Harper doesn’t even pretend to participate.
I lift my empty glass toward Grayson, giving it a little shake before holding up a second empty cup and pouting as dramatically as possible.
His mouth twitches, and he gives me one tiny nod.
Then he changes directions, weaving toward the bar before Wesley and Sloane have even managed to intercept anyone.
“Unbelievable,” Harper mutters.
“What?”
She stares at me as if she’s never seen me before. “There’s absolutely no way that just worked.”
“What?”
“You literally rattled an empty glass at him.”
I shrug. “I know.”
“You didn’t even say anything.”
“I didn’t have to.”
“And you’re expecting him to know exactly what that meant?”
I glance toward the bar where Grayson is already talking to the bartender and grin. “I mean… yeah.”
“James would’ve never…” she trails off, brushing her palms against her thighs. “Grayson’s good for you.”
I do her the courtesy of ignoring her first comment. “He’s good, period.”
My lips twitch when I catch sight of him again, this time with a platter of drinks in hand.
Wesley reenters our reserved area, hanging on Nathan’s arm and whispering something in his ear.
He looks at us. “I was going to say hi, but apparently I should be rushing to get drinks for the table?”
“Don’t bother.” Harper leans back into the couch.
“Um, why?” Wesley asks as Grayson reaches us with the drinks.
Harper points, half annoyed and half smiling. “Avery already won.”
Wesley spins around, and Sloane glares when she reaches us.
“There’s no fucking way.” Sloane’s face drops.
“You didn’t even use words,” Wesley argues.
I stand, taking the drinks from Grayson and setting them on the table before leaning into him, kissing him on the cheek.
“What are they talking about?” He asks, brows knitted.
“We had a bet about which of us could get free drinks for the table from one of you guys the fastest,” Wesley explains, hand on her hip, still frustrated about her loss.
Grayson looks down at me, eyes glinting with amusement. “Did you use me for a bet?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“Wow.”
“Don’t sound so offended. You made me look really good.”
He leans down, taking the drink that was meant for me. “Maybe I should have this instead.”
He lifts my drink and deliberately takes the first sip. My eyes catch on the way his throat moves when he swallows, and he must notice because his eyes start twinkling.
“What are you looking at?” He asks, fingers brushing a piece of hair out of my face.
My skin heats at the touch, and I lean into him. “You.” I pause as he leans in closer to me, only a breath away. “Have the biggest ego for someone who just bought my drinks.”
His eyes narrow when I snatch the cup back from him. Before I can take a sip, he scoops me up off the ground. “Not so fast.”
“Put me down.” I can’t stop the giggles from escaping, even as my drink gets dangerously close to spilling out of the sides of my cup. “Grayson! Put me down.”
He laughs, but instead of setting me down, he lowers me just slightly, until my face is aligned with his.
Then he places a slow kiss against my lips that I can’t resist deepening.
He grasps the cup and slides it from my hand, while holding me to him with his other hand.
I can feel him set the cup down before his second hand wraps around me, slowly lowering me to the ground, while we continue kissing.
I’m completely lost in it. In him. Until I hear clapping that pulls me back to the moment. We separate, glancing toward the noise to find our friends all watching us. Half of them seem freaked out, and the other half seem excited.
Becca, who must’ve shown up when we were kissing, speaks first.
“When the hell did this happen?”
It breaks the tension, and everyone chuckles.
“Hi,” Grayson leans down into my ear, his voice softer than the noise around us.
“Hi.”
His hand settles against my waist while I do the one thing I swore I’d never do again.
“We’re dating.” I glance at him, and the way his lips twitch gives me the motivation to keep going. “We kind of have been for a while. So yeah, that’s that.”
“So romantic,” Haley teases.
“Avery does have a way with words,” Wesley adds.
“Hey! I got you free drinks. Be nice to me,” I warn.
“Actually,” Grayson chimes back in. “I got the free drinks.”
“Yes, for me. So, now they’re mine.”
“This is so weird,” Nathan says after watching us bicker for a minute. “You’re dating, but it’s almost like nothing has changed.”
“Yeah, you guys still fight a lot.” Sloane sips her drink.
“One of two things we do best,” Grayson announces, a knowing smirk on his face.
I elbow him hard.
“What’s the second thing?” Wyatt asks, somehow seeming completely uninterested even though he’s the one asking.
“Nothing,” I blurt out, while Grayson keels over laughing.
“Gross.” Sloane scrunches her face. “I’m not sure I can stomach you two together.”
“Sounds like you’re jealous that you’re the only single one.” Grayson reaches out and messes up her hair, the way only a brother would be able to get away with.
Sloane and my eyes both dart to Harper before we correct ourselves. Harper’s face tightens, and she sighs dramatically.
“I’m getting divorced.” She picks up a drink and chugs it. “So, Sloane is not the only single one. There I said it.”
My heart stutters because I’ve never heard Harper be so blunt, and I can’t stop the stab of guilt for outing her accidentally.
“I’m sorry…” I start, but stop when someone snorts.
I turn to find Wyatt on the other side of Grayson, rolling his eyes.
“Something to say, Wyatt?” Harper asks, voice harder than it ever is.
“Why are we all acting surprised? He left you at a party at my house, and then you drunkenly proclaimed that you loved my dog more than him.”
I reach out and smack his arm, but he just brushes me off, watching Harper.
She looks close to tears as she hunches over. I tell myself that the Blades don’t really need a goalie anyway. It’s okay to kill him.
Then her laughter rings out, and I realize she’s laughing. She’s halfway hysterical, slumped over, unable to speak through the gasping breaths she’s taking. Wyatt’s lips twitch into the closest thing resembling a smile that I’ve ever seen on his face.
I would usually join in, except that nothing about her behavior is normal. Wesley and I make eye contact over her.
“Harp? Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes.” She gasps again. “No.” She stands up, wiping a tear from her eye. “I don’t know. I will be.”
Luckily, the TV starts playing reruns of the Blades in New York for game seven, and the guys get distracted again, shifting the topic to the impending series.
I still catch myself watching Harper out of the corner of my eye.
“You okay?” Grayson asks quietly.
“I’m just worried about her.” I thread both of my hands through his, turning to face him fully.
“She’ll be okay. She has you all looking out for her.”
I smile, leaning in to hug him again. He was at my apartment this morning, and I kissed him goodbye less than twelve hours ago, but I missed him.
The chatter about the game gets louder, the guys yelling about Denver's lineup heading into the final fight for the Cup.
“You used to hug me first, you know.” Liam walks over, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
“You poor thing,” I click my tongue against my teeth and drape a hand on his cheek sympathetically.
He points accusingly at Grayson. “Do you know how long it took me to be her favorite? Then you swoop in, and I’m replaced.”
“You were never the favorite,” Wyatt says flatly as we all slide into the booth.
“I absolutely was.”
“You were simply the least annoying.”
“Same thing.”
“No one can replace you, Liam.” I hand him my girly drink the way I always do, and he smiles wide.
That’s all it takes with him before he’s forgiven the months of secrecy. If only everyone were as easy to understand.
Nathan reaches over and steals one of Liam’s mozzarella sticks. Sloane narrows her eyes at Grayson.
“You know, it’s actually unsettling.”
“What is?”
“You two.” She points between us. “You’ve become one of those couples who accidentally touch each other every five seconds."
Only then do I realize his hand is resting against my thigh beneath the table.
Neither of us had noticed.
“Oh,” I say.
“Huh.” Grayson grins beside me, his thumb absentmindedly tracing a circle against my knee.
My heart does something embarrassingly soft as I realize that Sloane is right. We are one of those couples, and I don’t even mind. Not anymore. Not after everything it took to get here.
Liam lifts his beer. “Well.” He lets out an exaggerated breath. “Thank fuck for a couple of days off.”
Nathan clinks his bottle against Liam’s. “I’ll drink to that.”
Across the table, Wyatt arches an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be saying that if a couple of days off meant your season was over.”
The booth quiets just enough for his words to settle.
Liam wrinkles his nose. “We’re winning that Cup.”
“Damn straight,” Grayson says as a round of cheers sounds out around us.
“You ready to get back out there?” I ask him when I catch the guilt he’s been fighting all week flash across his face.
“Yes.”
“Three days until the first game.”
“It feels like an eternity.”
I poke him. “You’re the worst hockey watcher I’ve ever seen.”
He gasps, “I thought you liked watching the game with me.”
“I liked the idea of it. But in practice? Unbearable.”
“Hopefully, you never have to watch a game with me again.”
“At least until you retire,” I add, watching his face brighten at the long-term implications of my words.
Five months ago, I would’ve looked around this table searching for the nearest exit, but it turns out the future I’d been so afraid of wasn’t something waiting to happen to me.
It was already here.
Hidden in the late nights at the Blue Line with friends who refused to let me disappear.
In the man beside me, who never stopped reaching for my hand beneath the table, patient enough to wait until I was finally ready to take it.
And I’m not letting it go.