Chapter 3
Three
Sawyer
“Yo, Cupcake!” Smitty says, chucking a balled-up piece of sock tape at me. “When are you going to tell us about the minivan?”
“I told you,” I say, picking up the tape and tossing it in the trash can so the cleaning staff don’t have to clean it up later, “I just really like the sliding doors.”
He rolls his eyes, but Aiden distracts him with a picture of baby Reese, her hair finally long enough to be pulled up into a ponytail, complete with a pink bow, so I’m let off the shit-giving hook.
At least until the rookie decides to try his hand at the task.
“What’s with the name Cupcake?” Rip asks as he undoes his laces and toes off his skates.
“You know the rule,” I say, shrugging off my jersey.
“What rule?”
“The nickname rule,” I supply, moving on to my shoulder pads. Then adding when he just looks at me with confusion etched into the lines of his young face, “Once a nickname is given there’s no arguing with it.”
Clarity slides through his eyes and he leans closer. “Seriously?”
I stifle a sigh.
Kids these days.
“Yeah,” I say. “Seriously.”
“He’s not wrong, Yellowstone!” Smitty calls from across the room.
Aiden shakes his head. “Not gonna work, Smitty.”
“Nope,” Gray says.
“But it makes sense,” Smitty protests. “The silent, hardworking Rip from the show and our quiet rookie have a lot in common.”
“Except I don’t think Rip has it in him to murder someone and take them to the Train Station.”
Rip gulps and looks at me, concern in his blue eyes. “I haven’t watched that show. Is that bad?”
“Murder generally isn’t good,” I say dryly.
“Except when Rip and Beth kick serious ass!” Smitty booms.
I roll my eyes.
“But Cupcake isn’t wrong,” he goes on. “And that’s Cupcake because Sawyer used to bring in pastries for everyone.
Boy’s considerate and kind and so damned sweet—even with all those ladies he picks up and then lets down, oh so gently—you’d cut him open and find frosting instead of blood in his veins. ”
“I can confirm that’s a lie,” I tell Rip, who just snorts. “About the ladies and the veins.”
“Dude, you’ve had more one-night stands than the entire team combined.”
I grit my teeth together. “Or maybe you just see what you want to see.”
“Maybe,” Ryan says quietly—because he’s almost always quiet. “But, women aside, if someone asks you to do something, you know you’ll break your back to get it done.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Lies!” Smitty calls.
Aiden shrugs. “I’m definitely not saying that Smitty is always right—”
“I am!” Smitty chimes in.
“—but if there’s a job to do, man, you’re on it.”
I scowl as I pull down my socks, undo my shinguards. “Is that a crime?”
“No, it’s just you, Cupcake.”
“And we love you for it!” Smitty calls.
“Yeah, especially if you pair it with actual cupcakes,” Gray says.
Something twists in my stomach, but I ignore it and move onto my skates. “Well, then I guess I’d better get back to bringing them.”
“Fuck yeah!” Smitty shouts. “I request chocolate peanut butter.”
“You know,” I say, making a mental note of that as I tug at my laces, undoing the tight knots, even as I know that I have to end this conversation here and now. “I heard there’s a goose named Rip up in Cedar Hollow.”
It’s a complete and total lie—aside from a goose named Gerald who, apparently, likes bubblegum ice cream and to peck hockey players on the ass—I don’t know any of the names of the animal mafia torturing the small town near our rival’s, the Harrisburg Hawks, home base.
But it still has the desired effect.
Smitty pales and shudders. “Dude, don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask innocently.
He glares, but the rest of the guys are off and running—talking about Gerald and another goose named Terrance (and his penchant for knives), and then, as it naturally does (at least in this locker room), the conversation turns to wombats and all their scariness.
At least according to Smitty.
My phone buzzes as I hitch a towel around my waist and head for the showers.
I snag it from the shelf, head starting to pound when I see it’s my mother calling.
Again.
I have five missed calls from her, and that’s after talking to her on the way to the rink—and yes, in that conversation, I reminded her I have practice.
But she wants her Christmas lights up.
Or she’s wanted them up since yesterday when I was with the others, helping Lainey move into her new place.
And it wasn’t enough that I pulled the boxes down, that I promised to come back and finish up today.
She’s still off and running.
“You coming to the holiday party?” Aiden asks, pausing just outside the showers.
I shrug. “Yeah, of course.”
“Please tell me you’re going to make that stuffing again,” Gray says. “Faye was talking about it for weeks after Thanksgiving.”
I think of the work that goes into that stuffing—fresh breadcrumbs made from homemade sourdough, peeled apples, sausage from a special butcher a few towns over—and nod. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”
“Killer!” Smitty says. “I love it.”
“You’ll love the chocolate peanut butter cupcakes I’ll be bringing too, you mean.”
He grins. “Yes.” A nod that resembles a bobblehead. “That. Definitely.”
I snag my phone as he hits the showers, type out a reply to my mom, telling her I’ve just gotten off the ice and will be by soon.
MOM: Oh good! Will you stop by Molly’s and bring me a sandwich and that baked potato soup too?
I pause.
Because the Molly’s near her house is only open for breakfast and lunch. I’ll have to go to the one across town then come back, braving rush hour traffic both ways.
Still, my reply is—
SAWYER: Yeah, it’ll add a bit more time till I get there, though.
MOM: That’s okay. So long as the lights go up today!
It’s going to be a challenge in the dark but I’ll get it done.
I always do.
MOM: Oh, and don’t forget to pick me up one of those smoothies from next door. The peach one.
I shove down the flicker of irritation, just send her another message.
SAWYER: Sure. See you soon.
“You know you’re allowed to say no.”
I blink, look over at Leo.
He’s studying me like he can somehow zap the text out of thin air…and read every thought in my brain.
“About what?”
“About the stuffing and the cupcakes and the charity event at Bri’s center you volunteered to co-host next week.”
“I don’t mind doing those things.” A beat. “And I want to help Bri. The youth center does good things.”
God knows I wish I had a place like it growing up.
“I know you don’t.” His gaze drifts to my phone. “But you’re also allowed to say no to your—”
“Don’t,” I mutter.
He holds my gaze for a long, long moment. Then exhales heavily. “Okay, man. I’ll leave it be. But if you want to talk…” He lets it trail off, as though half-expecting me to spill my guts here in the locker room.
“Thanks,” I say—
Right as my phone rings.
I snag it, see “Mom” on the caller ID, and swipe across the screen.
Leo shakes his head as he walks into the showers.
I just put my phone to my ear and say, “Hey, Mom.”
“Are you coming?” she asks, her voice full of shrillness that tells me her anxiety is through the roof.
My chest tightens, old pressure settling just behind my ribs.
But my reply is just,
“Yeah, Mom. I’m coming.”