Chapter Twenty-Four
Jesse
The crowd boos at the final score of our last game, and it’s a soul-crushing sound.
Maybe if there hadn’t been so much speculation about this being my last game ever, I wouldn’t feel so pent-up about it.
But the lingering headlines and questions regarding my retirement have been front page news since I haven’t outwardly addressed the rumors every time I’m asked.
And honestly? I have debated this being the end for me.
Since my contract was only for two years with the Fireflies, with an option to sign on for a season-to-season basis, I could hang up my skates and decide to be done.
I’m not getting any younger, my body is beat up, and I’m not sure how much more my joints have before some of them need to be replaced.
Richie is the first one to break the tense silence of the locker room. “I’m sorry, guys.”
We all know it isn’t his fault we lost. I could tell he was ready to break one of his crutches every time I looked over at the sidelines at him.
I’ve been where he is—having to watch things unfold without the control to fix it.
Sometimes, I wish I didn’t have to witness the annihilation firsthand because at least I could throw shit at home without cameras or eyes on me.
But he showed up for us, and he lost with us, whether he was on that ice or not.
“It’s not your fault, dude,” I call out, getting a few murmurs of agreement.
Everybody is solemn, and rightfully so. If this is anything like the last time we ended a season poorly, half of us will wind up at a bar getting fucked up on expensive liquor until they kick us out, where we’ll more than likely wind up at one of our houses to continue the pity party.
I know there are media outlets waiting outside to ask us how we feel and what we’ll bring next season.
I’m sure I’ll be asked again about the rumors regarding my retirement, and if I’ll be re-signing my contract for next season.
But I don’t want to talk to any of them.
The only person I want is the woman who wore my jersey and looked as defeated in the stands as I did when the final buzzer went off and the opposing team celebrated their victory.
Unfortunately for me, as captain, I have to handle the sharks circling us in blood-infested waters whether I want to or not.
Coach Hoffman comes over to me and clasps my shoulder. “It was a good season,” he tells me, although I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself. “We had a lot of good games.”
We had far more bad ones, though. I don’t voice that thought to bring down the mood any lower than it already is.
If this is my last game, I feel bad for letting fans and teammates down.
For not doing better. Pushing harder. There are games I knew I could have, but nothing can be done about that now.
“At least you’ll have more time off with your family,” I reply, offering the only good news I can think of.
He huffs, knowing I’m right but not wanting to admit he’s looking forward to it considering it means we’re done early. “I suppose somebody has to look at the silver lining. Not surprised it’s you.”
I shrug, smiling even though it feels foreign on my face.
I don’t want to smile. I want to slam my locker closed, kick something, and curse out the other team’s defense for being so fucking good.
But I’m the level-headed one. At least, I’m supposed to be.
That’s why I’ve been allowed to be captain for so many years, for multiple teams.
So, I don’t release any of that frustration no matter how hard it begs to be let out.
I smother it to deal with later. Hopefully, Belle will distract me by then.
I don’t even care how. She could put on one of her ridiculous brain rot shows and try convincing me that they aren’t scripted, and it would probably work.
Her mother couldn’t stay for the game like she’d planned because of some family emergency that involved her dog Taco getting into the pantry and eating an entire brick of eighty-eight-percent dark chocolate.
Dad called her about it this morning, apologizing and saying he could take him to the vet alone, but she wanted to be there in case something happened.
Last update we got, an hour before the game started, Taco had puked up the chocolate, the wrapper, and a receipt from Walmart that was somehow still legible.
Belle could barely look her mother in the eyes the morning after I’d snuck into her room, as if she was waiting for her mom to call us out. But Nora didn’t act any differently than she had the night before, just like I told Belle she would.
After we hugged Nora goodbye and Belle told her to call us when she made it home safe, I’d taken her upstairs and used her toy on her again until she nearly blacked out. We’d fallen asleep for an hour, and I woke up to her on top of me, sinking down on my cock and riding me slow and steady.
It was a good fucking way to wake up.
After a painful round of interviews being asked the exact questions that I didn’t want to deal with, I find Belle waiting for me in her usual spot. Except she’s holding a baby who looks exactly like a mini version of my coach.
Honor, Coach Hoffman’s wife, smiles at me as I approach her, her service dog Puck, and Belle. “I see you’ve met Harper,” I tell Belle, watching her rock the youngest Hoffman who’s sporting our team colors. There’s a giant bow on her bald head that’s nearly the size of her face.
Belle sways them with a smile. She’s a natural holding her, completely at ease unlike the few times I’ve been handed babies. I used to worry I’d drop or hurt them, even if the parents would tell me they’d be fine. They always were, but the thought was terrifying.
Seeing Belle with a baby though…
I swallow. I’ve never felt my age until now or felt the pressure of what I want so deeply before.
But I do want this. Normalcy. A family. It isn’t the somber mood ending a season on a low note that makes me want to focus on other things.
It’s simply being next to the woman I love imagining what she would look like holding a baby that looks just like her.
“Hey, Honor,” I greet, voice a little hoarser than before. I lean over and give Honor a one-armed hug before turning to Harper. “Hi, Harp.”
Belle moves her hand to wave at me. “Can you say hi to your Uncle Jesse?”
Honor watches me as I look between Belle and the baby, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “She looks good with a baby, huh?” my coach’s wife asks with a sly smile on her face.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. She does.”
Honor takes Harper back, strapping her into the baby carrier attached to her front. “I’m going to find my husband. I have a feeling he’s beating himself up right now. But it was good seeing you two. I told Bodhi I’d love to have people over again. I think everyone could use it.”
She’s not wrong. “Let us know when.”
Her smile grows a little bigger when I say ‘us’ but doesn’t bring it up. “I will.”
She makes her way toward her husband’s office where I saw him slip away after doing a couple interviews.
When I turn to Belle, she’s already looking up at me. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a Hershey kiss, smiling as she extends it to me.
I don’t think before I’m cupping her face and kissing her, ignoring the chocolate offering. It takes her no time at all to melt into it, kissing me back and using her free hand to hold onto my side.
There aren’t any cameras around, but there is some whistling from the guys who must have piled out of the locker room after me.
“It’s about time,” I hear Moskins snicker as he passes by.
“Damn,” another person says. Jack Dawson, I realize, when I look over at them with a glare for interrupting me. “I owe Head five bucks.”
What the fuck? “Why?”
It’s Moskins who answers for him. “We had a bet on how long it would be before you pulled your head out of your ass. Head said you’d do it by the end of the season. The rest of us figured you’d wait until next.”
I blink. Look at Belle, who blinks. Then back at my teammates. “You’ve been betting on my love life?”
They don’t bother looking apologetic.
Dawson says, “Yeah.”
Moskins nods.
And Head, who was bringing up the rear on his crutches, holds out his hand toward the other two. “Pay up, bitches. I’m going to use this to buy myself some shots.”
Dawson grumbles but puts five dollars in Head’s waiting hand. “We both know people will buy shots for us tonight.”
Moskins deposits another five dollars in Head’s palm with a roll of his eyes. “And didn’t your doctor tell you that you can’t drink alcohol while you’re on your pills?”
Head frowns, as if remembering the extent of his injury. “Shit,” he mumbles.
Moskins pats his back. “Thought so. We’ll get you a Shirley Temple. Come on.”
I don’t hear their bickering as the three of them join the other players loitering at the end of the hall. I see more money being passed to Richie, and I want to smack them all upside their heads for betting on my relationship.
“That was…” Belle’s words trail off as she nods slowly. “Something. Have I been blind this whole time? Because they knew more than I did.”
I lift one of my shoulders. “Kind of. But I have too, so it cancels each other out.”
She accepts the reasoning and lets me drop an arm around her back to walk us toward the parking lot. We drove together since her mother couldn’t make it, and I’m looking forward to the drive home.
“Jesse,” she says quietly, watching my teammates joke around and laugh over something that’s sure to be stupid.
“Hmm?”
“Can we skip the bar? Unless you really want to go, of course. But I was thinking—”
“Yes,” I cut her off.
She laughs. “You don’t even know what I’m going to suggest.”
“Yes,” I repeat.
She swats my chest. “What if I was going to tell you that I want to go home and paint your fingernails?”
I pause for a moment. “Then I guess you’ll have to help me remove the polish before I go out again.”
But would I let her paint them? Sure.