Chapter 15 – Seth
Game night.
These are the moments I live for when all the work, hours, and sweat finally get to mean something on the ice. My brothers have always been the performers, the ones who love the spotlight, but I’ve never cared much for the attention that comes with being a public figure, or the loss of privacy.
Still, there’s something to be said about the roar of a crowd, seeing your name and number on their backs, knowing you’re bringing people joy.
Maybe it matters more to me now because for years cynicism’s been my default.
Outside of hockey and Sawyer, happiness has been hard for me to find and keep.
Off the ice, I get stuck in my head. In the mistakes and the way that I’ve let people down.
But on the ice, none of that follows me.
On the ice, I’m just Seth Tremblay, star goaltender. And here, I don’t let anyone down.
I glide to the crease, knees bending as I settle into my position.
My skates bite into the ice. The sound is familiar and comforting.
I track the puck as one of the guys on my team fires a shot from the blue line for his warmup.
It’s an easy save and one that I hope isn’t his full potential, or we’re going to be in trouble on opening night.
My glove snaps it up clean. If only they all came that easily during play time.
My reflexes feel sharper today. Eyes are locked in, and I know I’m ready for my Mayhem debut.
I may have taken a little time off to move my family across the country, but I’ve been keeping up with my fitness, taking practices seriously, and I’m determined to show my new team my worth.
As a goalie, it’s the ultimate showdown for me.
Practice is one thing, but in a real-life situation when the puck’s coming at your face like a torpedo, it’s a test of pressure and whether I’ll fold.
I won’t.
I drop to my knees, sliding side to side to open my hips, testing my lateral movement and feeling the pull in hamstring that’s still healing.
The muscle tugs slightly, but it’s nothing I can’t work through tonight.
I shift back up to my stance, tracking the next puck that’s sent right towards me, staying low and ready.
My blocker deflects the shot, sending the black disc to the corner.
First game with the new team. I'm ready.
I have to be. But my mind isn't entirely on the ice.
It never is, not completely, not since Sawyer's mom died and I became the only thing standing between her and the rest of the world.
That weight doesn't leave when I lace up.
It just gets quieter. Manageable. Most days.
Not today.
Today is her first volleyball game with her new school. Her new team. A whole new city she didn't ask to move to but did it with a smile anyway. And I'm not there. It makes me feel like garbage.
Focus, Seth.
But the doubts and guilt creep back in anyway. Is she nervous? Did she sleep well last night? Is she scared and pretending she isn't because she doesn't want to worry me? Am I screwing up her childhood by having a career that is constantly taking me away from her?
The questions circle. I wasn't there to take her to the airport this morning.
A couple of the school moms took the girls to the airport and flew with them to Boston.
I know she's fine. I know she has everything she needs.
I checked her bag by the door last night.
Gave her extra cash. Made sure she had her headphones and the snacks she likes.
But I still should've been there. Should've walked her to the gate and told her I love her one more time.
Should've looked her in the eye and reminded her she's a Tremblay and we don’t back down from the hard things.
Most of Sawyer's away games don't require a flight.
But this school isn't most schools. It's next-level competitive, the kind of program that feeds talent straight into Division I because of how close it sits to New York City.
I was hesitant to move her here. I won't pretend otherwise. But watching her dig into it, work for her spot, show up every single day without complaint proves she’s got my name on her back, and she carries it like she was born knowing what it means.
I'm proud of her. Even when I can't be there to tell her so.
Focus, Seth.
My throat tightens, and I force my attention back to the ice.
A forward winds up for a shot, and I crouch lower, tracking him. My heart pounds. Another shot. Sharp and fast. I drop into a butterfly, pads sealing off the bottom of the net as the puck ricochets off my leg and into the boards.
Dial the fuck in.
I can’t let my mind wander. Not now. Not with a new team watching my every move, waiting to see if I’m worth the contract they handed me.
I’m sure Caleb King is somewhere in his box right now, looking down at all of us, drinking a glass of champagne thinking about the money we’ll make him and wondering if he made the right decision buying me from the Suns.
I could guarantee if he knew the dirty thoughts that I’ve been having about his daughter, he’d have me traded.
I take a deep breath, centering myself. He doesn’t know about Bri and me. There is no Bri and me. There will be no Bri and me.
Worry about Sawyer later. Worry about Bri later.
“Hey, Tremblay!”
A voice calls from the bench, pulling me from my spiral. I glance over and see the head of physical therapy for the Mayhem. I can never remember his name no matter how hard I try, but the team respects him as an ex-player.
“Let me take a look at that hammy before the whistle blows,” he says, waving his arms to bring me over.
I skate to the edge, hoisting myself onto the PT cart face down. His hands dig into the soreness that’s still lingering from last week’s practice.
“Still a little tight. Let me try a few things and see if we can loosen you up before the whistle.”
He moves me into another stretch, working carefully through the tension, and I’m finally starting to relax into the pressure when a soft, cautious voice sounds beside me.
“Hey, Seth. How are you feeling?” Bri asks.
We haven’t spoken since the laundry room, and I’d been planning to keep it that way. I lift my head slightly off the table to acknowledge her, so I don’t come across like a complete asshole to the staff, but the second I look at her, every coherent thought in my head disappears.
Fuck. She looks beautiful tonight.
Green eyes sparkling behind those black-rimmed glasses she wore the night of the team party when I didn’t know who she was.
I don’t know what it is about them, but I’m realizing glasses suit her.
Her fitted button-up with the team’s emblem is stretched tightly across her chest, and those light gray yoga pants that are sealed over her thick thighs and muscular body.
Damn, I’m already getting hard. They cling to her curves in all the right places.
Curves that I’ve had the pleasure of palming, squeezing, kissing, and biting.
I shouldn’t be looking at her like this. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop myself. My eyes run up and down her body mercilessly and there’s no way she doesn’t notice what I’m doing. Because once you’ve seen Bri naked, you don’t forget.
Her light brown hair is twisted back into one of those plastic clips, exposing the delicate curve of her neck that I’d like to collar with my fingers again just to feel her pulse kick the way I know it does.
“I’m good,” I manage to get out, keeping it simple, just as the trainer digs deeper into my hamstring. I exhale through the discomfort and wish it were her hands on me instead.
“Still a little sore right there?” he asks, pressing harder.
“Just tight.”
“Coach Steele said you’re starting, so sitting you out isn’t an option. I think you’ll be alright tonight. Just try not to fall on it.”
Yeah, like that’s possible to avoid.
I sit up, swinging my legs off the table, silently thankful I didn’t pop a damn boner this time. Much easier to control that when it’s a man handling my body and not Bri’s fingers. I shake the tension out of my leg.
“Good luck out there,” the trainer says.
I’m about to push off and head back to the net when Bri’s hand settles gently against my arm. And just like that, any chance I had of not getting worked up before this game disappears completely.
“Hey,” she says softly, her fingers lingering against me a second longer than they need to. “I wanted to tell you I talked to Sawyer right after she landed in Boston. She’s excited and doing really good. One of the moms has been sending me updates nonstop, and the team’s winning.”
Her eyes light up when she talks about Sawyer, and something tightens hard in my chest at how genuinely invested she is in Sawyer’s game.
Why does she always go the extra mile? She didn’t have to check in to make sure Sawyer landed safely.
She didn’t have to keep texting her. She definitely didn’t have to track down updates just so she could reassure me before the game.
I texted Sawyer too, but she never answered.
Bri could’ve left it there. Instead, she followed up for me anyway because she knew it’d reassure me.
And God, I like that.
I like that she thought about me enough to do it. I like that she’s still touching me. Still standing this close. I like it way more than I should.
I don’t move. Don’t pull away. I just let her stay there beside me even though I know I shouldn’t.
She smells like flowers and clean soap, and it hits me all over again that I like every single thing I’ve learned about her so far.
There’s not a cruel bone in Bri’s body. Hell, I’m not even mad anymore that she never told me who she was the night we met in the gym.
I try to force a scowl, mostly out of self-preservation, but it’s useless. Bri’s too warm. Too bright. Too easy to want.
“Thank you for the update,” I manage to get out in a rough voice. “You look tired tonight.”
Her smile fades just slightly, and I realize, yeah, I’m the douche canoe Levi said I was.
I notice her guard go up a little. “You’re welcome. I stayed up all night reading, so I didn’t get the best sleep.” She fidgets with her hair like I’ve made her self-conscious. I’m an asshole. The biggest asshole to ever exist.
“What were you reading?”
Her cheeks redden, and she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and then lets go of my arm. Too soon if you ask me.
“Sawyer asked me to buy her a book for the flight. She said it’d keep her busy and distracted in the air. I didn’t want to give her something without checking it first, so I speed-read the whole thing last night. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything… you know…”
My brows furrow. “What?”
“Dirty.” She laughs softly, shaking her head. “It’s a fantasy book. Young adult. I just wanted to be sure there wasn’t any… you know... sex or romance or anything.”
Sex. The one thing I can’t stop thinking about when I’m around Bri.
I draw in a breath because I didn’t know Sawyer was even into reading young adult fantasy.
I guess she did ask about hanging some posters up in her room when we first moved in the new house in Brookhaven, but I didn’t pay any attention to the guys with wings and red eyes on her wall.
“And was there any sex?”
“God, no.” She places her hands over her heart dramatically. “I wouldn’t have given it to her if there was.”
My brows lift. “You gave it to her?”
She nods, her smile brightening. “I stopped by the school before they left for the airport to wish her good luck. I hope that’s okay. I swear there was nothing inappropriate in the books, I would never undermine you like that. You can trust me.”
Fucking hell.
Her green eyes are wide and pleading, like she honestly thinks I’m upset because she bought my daughter the book she wanted. Because she woke up early on her morning off and drove all the way to Sawyer’s school just to make sure she had it before her flight. And that’s the problem.
She still doesn’t get it.
That’s not why I’m upset. I’m not angry at her for being thoughtful.
Or kind. Or for caring about my daughter in ways most people wouldn’t bother to.
I’m stepping away from her because every soft thing she does sinks deeper under my skin until I can’t think straight around her anymore.
Because watching Bri love Sawyer so naturally does something dangerous to me.
It makes me imagine things I shouldn’t. Things I don’t get to have.
So yeah, I step back from her like she’s dangerous. I ignore her question because if I answer honestly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
Does she not understand the effect she has on me?
Has she completely missed the part where I’m absolutely fucking helpless when it comes to wanting her?
Because every time she smiles at me, touches me, looks at Sawyer like she already belongs to us somehow, it feels like another crack splitting straight through the center of my self-control.
The whistle blows, putting me out of my misery. I force myself to take the last few steps away from her without looking. I need some space. But I don’t want space from Bri. I want her closer. Things are getting too complicated. She feels like she’s a part of our family. I need to fire her.
Because she’s the owner’s daughter and every woman you ever date leaves you and Sawyer behind.
I push off to the ice, my skates cutting harder than they did before as I slide back into my crease, eyes now locked on my team spread across the ice, ready for the puck drop.
I shove all of it down before the game starts. Lock it away. Wipe my head clean the only way I know how. Hockey has always been the one thing loud enough to drown everything else out. But not before I make the mistake of glancing toward the sidelines one last time to check on Bri.
And there he is. My happy-go-lucky brother. Fucking Levi.
He’s got his arm casually thrown over her shoulders like it belongs there, laughing beside her like he doesn’t have a single problem in the world.
Like he isn’t currently suspended and only here because he got himself benched.
Bri’s smiling at something he says, soft and distracted, completely unaware that the sight of them together makes something ugly twist hard in my chest. And Levi’s leaning down into her space, looking at her like she’s the joy in his world. They look good together. They match.
And suddenly, wiping my head clean doesn’t feel nearly as possible anymore.
Yeah. This first game?
It’s gonna suck.