21. Liv
I sank into my seat, staring forlornly at the beer signs all around me.
No beer for me tonight, not with the C-suite in tow.
Instead, I purchased a souvenir beer cup and asked the bewildered bartender to fill it with water.
They’d call me stuck up if I didn’t drink, but if I had any effects from the alcohol, they’d immediately brand me a problem.
As usual, it was exhausting.
Beside me sat the four Very Important C Men, Brad, and Dr. Hurst. They didn’t thank me for the tickets, just took them and turned back to their conversation.
So, I made damn sure to sit right in the fucking middle of them.
If they were going to pretend I didn’t exist, I was going to be a fucking inconvenience.
And still, they talked around me. Brad even asked me to grab a round for the group, as if I hadn’t been the one to provide the tickets.
Okay, Ash provided the tickets, and he was weird about it, giving terse answers all day after I asked if I could bring my coworkers.
Maybe he was tense about the game. The internet blew up with talk of the Knights rivalry with the Cavaliers, so maybe he was feeling a lot of pressure.
The Cavaliers were a violent team, particularly when it came to Ash, as a solid percentage of their penalties were against him.
“Wilder’s really been living up to his nickname this season, Bill.”
“He sure has, Ted, and he ? —”
I tried to contain a snort at the commentators named Bill and Ted.
On the giant screen, the camera zoomed in on two men in suits, one with deep brown skin and short black hair, and one very pale with a greying brown pompadour, but both with bushy mustaches.
It amused me how well they matched, and I imagined them as best friends.
Or maybe mortal enemies. Either would be perfect.
The potential for enemies-to-lovers sportscaster romance kept me distracted until the crowd grew louder as the teams arrived on the ice.
Without either earbuds or earmuffs, I gritted my teeth, absorbing all the sound with my body. With each subsequent team member, the roaring grew. It settled in my bones, heavy and relentless, and the players didn’t help, goading the fans on.
Rationally, I knew sports were supposed to be loud, but this seemed worse than normal.
Every scream scraped like a cheese grater over my already raw nerves.
All the other fans got on their feet, so I reluctantly joined them.
As much as the onslaught of sound hurt, it was so much worse when you didn’t participate.
I learned it was best to be part of the noise if you wanted to survive.
Brad, naturally, loved it. As we sat again, he leaned across the arm of his seat to scream in my ear. “These are the best seats!” he hollered. “Who did you bang to get such good tickets last minute?” Laughing, he slung an arm over my shoulder.
Red-hot electricity burned through my limbs, rendering me speechless and frozen in shock.
Our seatmates ignored us, so I’d have no backup from them in confronting him.
Which meant they’d call me an emotional woman, which meant they tell me not to cause a scene, which meant— and it was anxious turtles all the way down.
And Brad… stayed there. In my space.
Until a crashing sound sent my heart pounding out of my chest. Ash, enormous and imposing in his full hockey gear, banged his stick against the plexiglass.
“Hell yeah! Asher the Basher!” Brad jumped out of his seat and went to bang on the glass as Ash stood there, staring, his face like thunder.
All the rage keeping me in place turned to ice in my limbs as I slowly rose, shoving Brad’s arm away when he grabbed at my hand to pull me up. The look on Ash’s face flickered, unreadable as he stared.
Then he turned and skated away, leaving me standing there staring.
Except, what else could he do? It wasn’t like we could have a full-blown conversation before the game started.
“What the hell?” Brad yelled, bounding up beside me. “Wait, are you sleeping with Asher the Basher ? Is that how you got such good seats?”
A creak sounded in my head with the grinding of my jaw. “This is wildly inappropriate, Bradley. His name is Ash. And we’re… together.”
“There’s no fucking way.”
Every comment over the past months, every time he touched me, every idiotic thing he’d done pinpointed into laser focus to fuel my wrath. And if I had an infinitesimally smaller amount of self-control, I would’ve lost it. At least the thought of my career held my tongue in check.
“I’m sure it’s impossible to believe someone would want to date me,” I spat, “but we are.”
I left before I said something I’d regret.
* * *
When Ash stepped out of the press room, a million feelings washed over me at once. Happiness at seeing him, apprehension over the conversation to come, concern over a slight limp. Anger at his display, embarrassment over the whole Brad situation, and the list went on.
My eyes burned and we hadn’t even begun to argue. Instinctively my shoulders rose, preparing for the fight.
Ash let out a sigh.
Fuck, this was bad. A single puff of air conveyed so much but I couldn’t interpret its meaning.
Of course, I had zero control over when I cried, even if it was at the most inconvenient time, like, oh, right now? Why the fuck couldn’t I keep my face from leaking?
“Ash.”
He blinked, looking up from where he stared at his fancy sneakers.
It caught me off guard, him wearing sneakers with a fancy suit. You could take the athlete off his field, but you couldn’t take the field off the athlete, I supposed.
Shit, I wasn’t even close to the correct terminology. God, I couldn’t even make a metaphor the right way.
I took a moment to take him in. He wore another well-fitted suit, this time with a collared shirt in Knights blue beneath the jacket, and the color brought out the intensity in his black eyes.
“Olivia.” He was hoarse, the grating in his voice making an unfamiliar rasp to break me out of my thoughts.
He walked past me, making a gesture to follow, so I did. In painful silence, we made our way to the parking lot where he stopped in front of a vintage teal car. It was gorgeous, with long, classic lines.
“Are you okay? I saw the fight.”
“It’s fine. Happens all the fucking time. Job hazard.” He spoke in clipped sentences.
Before I even voiced my confusion and dismay to him, he scowled.
“Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but Allen keeps making bad calls and starting shit. At least this time we weren’t fighting each other, but if we’re on the same line, we fight together.”
What did I even say to that? “I guess there’s something to be said for loyalty?”
Ash scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure Allen is just shooting his shot for captain to tell us all what to do.”
“And…that’s not what captains do?” Maybe I’d figure out more of the nuance of hockey eventually but today was not that day.
He gave me a side eye. “Yes, but also no. It’s more than just telling people what to do, it’s keeping up with what everyone needs as a team and working together. Like team big brother, I guess, if Coach Olsen is our dad.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet.”
“Hockey isn’t sweet, Liv.”
Holy shit, that might be the first time he’d ever called me Liv. He must’ve been really pissed off.
“Ooookay.” Fuck, fuck, fuck . I told him I didn’t know how to do this, then I went and screwed it all up. I shouldn’t be surprised, but not knowing what I did was the worst. If I didn’t know, I couldn’t fix it.
“Ash?”
“What?” he snapped, but he softened when I flinched, pushing a hand through his hair. “What is it?” At least his tone was less… something, but he still sounded angry.
“I’m sorry? I’m not sure what I’m sorry for, but I wanted to apologize anyway.” My voice shook, and ugh, was I fucking crying again? “Can—can you tell me what I did wrong? I won’t do it again.”
“Fuck, of course, you don’t know if I don’t tell you. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” He softened, the tension in his face receding a fraction. “I was already mad when Allen started his shit, so that didn’t help.” He tilted his head back, turning his face to the sky, his breath clouding above him.
Chilly wind blew through the parking lot, and painfully bright lights cast circles in the night.
Shining cars reflected the lights, and it might have been pretty if I weren’t still trying not to cry out of confusion and anger.
Thin knives of cold slithered beneath my layers of clothing, sending shivers across my skin.
Still, Ash stayed silent, so I waited. His hand darted out, grabbing mine and enveloping it in his familiar warmth.
“Come home with me? I don’t want to talk about this here.”
“You’re not asking me to come home with you to—to end this, right? If you are, tell me now. I won’t go home with you just for you to kick me out.” My voice cracked on the last word.
“What? End—Olivia, no.”
A ragged breath left my throat, and I squeezed my eyes closed at the tears that wouldn’t. Go. Away.
He opened the car door, his hand brushing over my arm as I slid inside. The bench seat was smooth, cream-colored leather. I’d expected a modern sound system, but the old-fashioned dial radio was endearing with its knobs and bright colors.
When Ash sank onto his seat, he silently draped his arm across the seat, giving a ‘come here’ flick of his fingers.
Sliding across the seat was easier than I expected, and I nearly smacked into him when I pushed off with too much effort.
Remaining silent, he let out a huff of breath, dropping his arm across my shoulders as I pressed in closer.