Chapter 32 – Seth
I slide into one of the uncomfortable metal benches at Sawyer’s new middle school, my hamstring barking as I try to stuff my oversized frame into the tight space made for the average person and not a six-foot-five goaltender.
The sharp metal edge of the seat digs into the back of my thighs, and I shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t make me feel like I’m folded in half.
There's something strange about being back inside a school after so many years. I went straight from high school into professional hockey, which means it's been over fourteen years since I set foot in a gym like this one.
A few curious glances come my way, which I’m used to by now.
I probably shouldn’t have worn a maroon Manhattan Mayhem Hockey jersey to my daughter’s first home volleyball game but there wasn’t enough time to change after practice which means I’m standing out like a red flag in a sea of royal blue hoodies.
I’d sprinted straight from the train station to her middle school, which wasn’t my wisest idea.
Might pay for it tomorrow but fuck it. I’m just excited to see her play.
My gaze roams over the packed gym, scanning the bleachers and sidelines, looking for any sign of Bri like I always do when I know she’s nearby.
I haven’t seen her in three days. We’ve both been slammed with work.
Me with training and prepping for tomorrow’s home game, her with treating players, managing post-game recovery schedules, and carving out time to spend with her dad.
Apparently, they’ve been having lunch together every day since their first one on Wednesday, and from the little she’s shared, it’s been going well.
The jury’s still out for me.
I’ve checked in, shot her a few texts throughout the day to tell her how much I miss her and to ask about her day, but the replies have been short and distracted, like we’re both trying to protect something fragile by not touching it too much.
And I get it—I do. I saw the look in her eyes and the pain that lives there when she talked about the rejection she felt from her dad.
And I saw the spark in her eyes that day in the supply closet when he showed up asking to talk.
And that’s why I’m giving her all the space she needs while she figures this new relationship with him out. But fuck, I miss her. And the unsettled feeling that I’ve been carrying around since she said she wants our relationship to remain private is only growing in my chest.
We’d talked about sitting together so we could finally catch up. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I’m looking forward to her arriving here tonight.
The girls jog out, taking laps around the court to warm up while some loud rap track I actually recognize blares through the speakers. The coach calls for a stretch, and they drop into a coordinated warm-up.
I spot my Spirit instantly. She looks so happy out there on the court with her new teammates.
Her hair’s pulled back into two tight braids that bounce against her shoulders as she skips, stretches and shakes out her arms. My chest swells with pride and I start clapping, loud enough to draw looks.
I don’t stop. She notices me and waves back.
I’ve always supported her in whatever she wanted to try growing up. Sports, music, art, it didn’t matter to me if she was doing something that challenged her. But between my practices, game travel, and injuries, I haven’t made it to as many games as I’ve wanted over the last few years.
But seeing her throw herself into volleyball, into something that genuinely lights her up?
It's different. Because I can tell this is the thing that's going to stick for her.
And I finally feel the same way about my life here.
I've been playing the best hockey of my career, helping the team win, and something in my gut tells me Brookhaven is where we're meant to land—for the long haul, maybe all the way to retirement.
That makes me fucking happy. For Sawyer. For Bri. For all of us.
Sawyer tosses a ball to one of her friends who’s laughing and then gently spikes the ball back.
She drops to her knees and saves it before doing a few more stretches.
She makes a face, and I smile. She’s built for this—tall, strong, already developing muscle.
And she’s got that fire. Now she just needs to stick with it even when she feels like giving up.
That’s what separates the good athletes from the great ones.
The coach blows the whistle and calls for drills.
The setter tosses balls into the air, and Sawyer moves into position with another girl a few feet away, diving for digs.
She fucking crushes it. Repeatedly, she hurls herself onto the hardwood like her body isn’t made of bones and bruises.
My own knee throbs just watching her hit the ground, even with the knee pads.
But she’s locked in, and she looks great.
I'm still watching her when movement near the gym doors catches my eye.
Bri.
She's crossing the court in tight grey spandex shorts that hug her ass like a second skin, a tank top with the middle school's logo clinging to her chest. Her long legs flex with every step, toned and strong.
And her hair, two braids identical to Sawyer's, sways across her back, still that deep red shade I love.
My dick stirs in my shorts and my mouth waters.
She moves to the far end of the opposite court where the visiting team finished warming up to help assist with the girls practicing their serves.
It’s a whole production. There are balls flying, players moving, parents feeding volleyballs into a rotation line, and she’s the eye of the storm. All I can see is her.
The way her ass bounces slightly with each jog back into position, the tight flex of her hamstrings, the sharpness in her voice as she coaches the girls through their hits. The way she bends to pick up a stray ball right in front of me, her back arching slightly.
And I’m not the only one watching her. Every dad, uncle, and coach in this gym has their eyes glued on her.
I can’t fault them. She’s the prettiest woman in here by a mile.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
And it makes something raw and possessive in my chest hurt because she won’t let me claim her yet.
The coach calls for a break, and the girls huddle up while the visiting team starts their turn. Bri jogs over to Sawyer and another girl, slinging her arms around their shoulders as she speaks encouragement. Sawyer throws her arms around Bri’s waist and hugs her. It stops me cold.
Because it’s Sawyer. Showing love. Trust. Affection.
To the woman that I’m in love with. And seeing Sawyer choose her willingly, openly, without it having anything to do with my feelings for her, hell, that means everything.
Because no matter what happens between us, Sawyer has a good woman in her life now.
Someone kind, strong, patient. Someone who sees her and cares about her.
And now I just have to not fuck it up. Not scare her off like I’ve done with every other good thing that’s come into my world.
Bri peels away from the group and jogs straight toward me in the bleachers, cheeks flushed, her smile widening when she spots me. She wipes the sweat from her brow, her shirt sticking to her skin as she lowers herself into the seat beside me.
“Hi,” she says, a little breathless, a little giddy, like she’s just as happy to see me as I am to see her.
She shifts slightly so that she’s leaning against me, and I let myself have it, the warmth of her against my side. Dammit. I need her. Every sweaty, sunshine-soaked inch of her.
“Hi.”
She grins like happiness cracking through clouds.
“Didn’t know they’d have you on warm-up crew,” I say.
“I volunteered,” she says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Wanted to make sure Sawyer was properly warmed up before the game because...” she pats her knee, making a drumroll sound, green eyes sparkling. “Guess what.”
“What?”
“She’s starting today.” Her whole body vibrates with excitement as she says it, barely keeping her voice to a soft shriek. Her fists clench and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, bouncing up and down a little.
One of the moms nearby tosses her a judgmental glance for being too loud, but Bri doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t tone it down or try to shrink herself. She just smiles even wider and that makes me smile too.
“That’s great news. I bet she’s thrilled.”
She nods. “I’m so proud of her. She’s so excited about it. Oh my God, she can’t wait. She’s totally earned it.”
“Did she just find out?”
She nods. “Yep. Coach told me first, but I had to keep it a secret.”
“All that practice with you in our backyard paid off.”
She shakes her head; eyes locked on the court as the girls fall into position.
“No,” she says softly. “She earned this on her own. She saw something she wanted, and she went out and took it like a badass. Practiced outside of practice and didn’t let anyone tell her she couldn’t do it just because she’s new to the team. She has real grit.”
I glance over, taking her in—how her nose scrunches just a little when she’s focused, how her thick thighs press against the metal bleachers as she leans forward, eyes tracking Sawyer in her starting position.
She’s completely in the moment. Doesn’t even notice the way my gaze lingers on her, or how hard it is not to reach out.
Not to lace my fingers through hers. Not to tell her right here, in front of God, judgmental volleyball moms, and anyone with a phone that I’m in love with her.
I clasp my hands between my thighs, biting back every urge, every reckless thought.
My legs are on fire in this tight-ass space, my knees screaming for mercy, but I sit there like a statue, soaking it all in.
Her sweet scent, the way it sounds hearing her cheer for my daughter and how happy I am to know she’s sitting next to me and not someone else.