Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Brendan
Everyone is smiling at us when we arrive in the kitchen, clearly less concerned about last night’s allergic reaction and more focused on the fact that we’re strolling in like two lovers late for breakfast.
“Nice of you to join us,” Carmen says, smirking wildly over her coffee cup. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” I reply, stepping up to the island where everyone is gathered, while Scarlett heads straight for my uncle’s high-end espresso machine. She’s had her eye on that machine all week.
I pick up a plate, then move to the counter where I load up on eggs and bacon.
Carmen lifts an appraising eyebrow. “Well. Somebody’s appetite is back.”
“I’m starving.” I add a third slice of bacon. “How was the shindig last night?”
Scarlett and I missed the joint bachelor-bachelorette party, held at some lavish private club outside of Charleston. Given how our evening ended, I can’t say I’m sorry about it.
“Not the same without you two,” Carmen says with a pouty face.
“Obviously,” I say with a smirk.
“But we managed. Tony challenged Jaxon to an arm-wrestling competition.”
“How fast did he lose?”
“About ten seconds. He claims he was distracted by the karaoke.”
I pause. “There was karaoke?”
“Of course there was.” Carmen’s eyes dance with glee. “Some of your hockey players performed an entire Britney Spears lip-sync medley…with choreography.”
I turn to stare at her. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
She waves her phone. “I have video evidence.”
The video starts playing as five professional hockey players appear on stage, performing a full Britney Spears lip-sync medley.
Leo is front and center doing some hip moves that a professional athlete should not attempt in public.
Rourke has somehow acquired a feather boa, which I’m hoping he found in Janie’s classroom.
Tate, the same man who reads classics for fun, is executing each move like a robot while he counts the beats out loud.
Miles, bless him, is trying harder than anyone.
Because he’s twenty-two, he’s actually the best one up there, which I will never tell him.
And Brax, the man who commands respect from every player in this league, is on the floor doing the worm.
I stare at the screen. “These are the men I coach.”
“They’re so entertaining!” Carmen shrieks.
Then I point at the phone. “How much do I have to pay you to delete that?”
“Not a chance,” she singsongs, heading back to her seat.
My mother appears at my elbow, patting my back as she reaches past me for the hot sauce. “Carmen told me what happened at the spa yesterday. I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I didn’t want to disturb you, since Scarlett was taking good care of you.”
“She always does,” I say, catching Scarlett’s eye across the kitchen. She smiles over the rim of her cappuccino, and I have to remind myself not to drop my plate.
My phone goes off in my pocket, and I set my plate down. Three new messages sit in my message inbox—a note from Coach Jenkins asking about my missing report for Sunday’s game. A meeting confirmation request from Jakowski. And a third one from Lauren, our PR manager, that makes my stomach drop:
Lauren
Hey, just a heads-up. You were mentioned in a hockey column this morning. The guy’s claiming you’re responsible for our last loss. Working on a response. Call me ASAP.
I find the article in under thirty seconds. The columnist goes straight for the jugular, questioning my qualifications and my right to be on that bench at all. He calls me a “nepo baby,” and then notes, as so-called proof, that I’ve been conspicuously absent this week for undisclosed reasons.
No mention of my sister’s wedding. Which makes me sound like I’m drinking margaritas on a beach in Cabo.
I sigh before firing off the same quick reply to all three: I’ll come in this morning, give me an hour and slide my phone back into my pocket.
“Hey, Bren.” Carmen looks up from her strawberries. “Any chance you could pick up the tuxes for the groomsmen today? The delivery person called in sick, and the entire family is doing wedding prep.”
“Yeah,” I say, already recalculating my morning schedule. “I need to stop at the arena first, but I can get them on the way back.”
Her face falls. “Tell me you’re not working today.”
The article echoes in my head: Brendan Marco’s lack of qualifications may be the real reason the Crushers lost their last game.
This can’t wait until after the wedding. “Something came up that I need to handle.”
Her eyes widen. “Brendan. It’s the day before my wedding.”
“I know,” I say, trying to keep her calm. “I’ll get the tuxes. I just need a couple of hours.”
She holds my gaze for a moment, then goes back to eating. “Fine. Just please don’t forget, okay?”
“I won’t.” That’s always been the problem. I’m the responsible one, holding together two worlds simultaneously, trying to satisfy my uncle and make my family proud.
I glance across the kitchen at Scarlett, who’s deep in conversation with Grandma Rosa, her laugh carrying over the hum of voices. She doesn’t know yet that I’m leaving, nor all the rumors flying around over my qualifications.
For the first time in my career, I find myself wishing I could ignore all of it.
But Coach Marco has responsibilities. And the two halves of me—the man who wants to stay in a bubble with Scarlett, and the coach who answers to an entire organization—haven’t figured out how to coexist.
After breakfast, I head to the Ice House, hoping to handle everything quickly and get back to the wedding festivities sooner rather than later. The arena seems quieter than usual. The first thing I notice is Jaxon sitting on the bench, his knee wrapped in ice.
Not again.
“What happened this time?” I ask, dropping my bag on the floor beside him.
He pulls back the ice pack. His knee is already turning a sickly, bluish-purple color under the swelling.
“Took a hard check in practice this morning from Piper.” He flashes that trademark grin that says it’s not a big deal, but underneath, there’s worry in his eyes.
“I’ll see Gabriella about it. Should be good in a few days for Sunday’s game. ”
I study how he winces when he shifts his weight. “I don’t know how much Gabriella can fix when you keep getting injured like this. What did the doctor say?”
He looks at the ice pack, adjusting it slightly. “He mentioned surgery. But I’m not sitting out the rest of the season. I’ll get through to summer, then I’ll deal with it.”
We both know that’s wishful thinking. One bad hit and he could be done for good.
“Jaxon.” I sit down next to him, even though I have a dozen other pressing things that need my attention. “You and I are both straight shooters, so I’m going to be honest with you. You need to listen to the doctor. This isn’t something to gamble with.”
“I’m not. I know exactly what I’m doing.” His jaw clenches, and I can tell he’s just as stubborn as all the other players who won’t admit they’re past their prime. “I just need to finish this season. That’s all I’m asking.”
“And then what? Do you have a plan for life after hockey?” I ask him, point-blank. “Because eventually, your career is going to end, whether you’re ready or not.”
“You mean a plan B?” His knuckles turn white where he grips the edge of the bench and lets out a sigh.
“Nope. I’ve been so focused on this career, I haven’t thought about what comes after.
The only plan I have is to keep playing.
” He drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t care if my knee screams every time I skate or if I need more surgeries.
I’m not going home with my tail between my legs. ”
That’s when I realize what’s at stake for him. He feels like there’s nothing else for him beyond hockey.
“Where’s home for you?” I ask.
“Small town in Kentucky. My parents own a horse farm that I want nothing to do with,” he says. “When I left, I told them it was hockey or nothing. So if you’re suggesting my career is over, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll keep playing until my body falls apart. Because going back isn’t an option.”
There’s desperation in his tone. But I’ve seen what professional sports does to bodies, and what it does to souls when the game ends and there’s nothing waiting on the other side.
“If you’ve got family to go home to, that’s something,” I tell him, glancing his way.
“Yeah, they would love that,” he laughs, but it’s empty. “Three brothers just as rowdy and stubborn as this hockey team. Believe me, my mama would love nothing more than for me to come home and marry the girl I dated in high school, like a whole small-town fairy tale.”
He doesn’t hide the skepticism in his voice about the way that fairy tale usually turns out.
“I take it the girl’s still there?”
“Oh, she’s there all right. Probably running half the town by now, knowing her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a stubborn streak a mile wide.” He glances over at me. “If I showed up now, she’d probably sooner punch me than talk to me.”
I smirk. “Sounds like true love.”
He shakes his head, before his eyes drift to the rink. “We were pretty serious before I left. But I was dead set on going pro, and she wasn’t about to wait around for some guy chasing an NHL dream.” He adjusts his knee, wincing in pain. “There’s no point imagining what could’ve been.”
Before I can respond, Leo, Miles, Brax, and Tate appear at the boards.
“Good to see you survived your allergic reaction,” Brax says.
“Good to see you survived your Britney Spears’ lip sync,” I respond.
Brax freezes. “You saw that?”
“My sister has video evidence and no shame about sharing it.”
“We were amazing,” Miles brags.
“You were…something,” I agree.
“How’s it going with your girlfriend?” Leo asks, leaning on the boards.
I straighten slightly. “About that.” I pause. Might as well rip the bandage off. “I finally told her how I feel.”
They stare at me for a second before Tate asks, “And how does she feel about that?”
“She feels the same.”