Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
JULIETTE
“Explain to me again why I’m drinking a beer? I hate beer.”
I stare down into my cup full of foam, pressing the tip of my tongue to the outer rim.
Ew.
It tastes like the sourdough starter I forgot to feed before it went bad. Bitter and fermented—blech!
“Everyone drinks beer at a hockey game, that’s why,” Blaire informs me as if I wasn’t already aware. “Cheers.”
We tink our plastic cups together, settling into our spots, my eyes skimming the action down on the ice before easing into the seat. I wiggle my tush, glancing around, recognizing several of the parents of players I’ve met in the past.
I don’t come to the games often anymore—I used to.
But now I have more incentive.
No offense to Declan but Aaron is far more interesting.
I search the players for both men and find them at center ice, neither of them stretching. Neither of them doing figure-eights, or taking shots at the goal, or doing anything that resembles pre-game rituals.
Declan makes a sharp movement with his glove, jabbing it toward Aaron’s chest; he doesn’t budge. Then he says something that has my brother’s shoulders going rigid beneath his bulky pads.
This is the second time I’ve seen them like this.
Blaire notices, too, squinting down toward the ice. “Are they… arguing?”
I nod slowly. “Seems like it.”
It makes no sense.
Doesn’t it? a small voice in the back of my head asks. Your brother has been dragging Aaron behind the scenes and hijacked your morning coffee to cross-examine you about him.
Such bizarre behavior, right?
I seriously thought everyone on the team were friends. They’re supposed to be working together, not getting in altercations on the ice. And certainly not during a game! Stranger still, Garrett Storm appears to be playing referee.
Whatever they’re saying now makes Declan throw up his hands.
“Ohhh,” Blaire whispers. “This isn’t a hockey argument.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t hear them.”
“I don’t need to. Look at their body language.” She pauses. “I blame Declan for whatever this is about, he’s such an asshole sometimes.”
I laugh. “You’re never going to take his side on anything.”
She shoots me a side-eye. “Why should I? A man will show you who he is every time.”
I turn to face her, twisting my body in the chair. “Blaire. He was a teenager when he stood you up for that dance. What has Declan done recently that would make you still detest him this much?”
“I’m sorry, I know he’s your brother—but once a guy does something shitty to you, you never forget it.”
Down below, Aaron skates a tight half-circle, cutting Declan off from heading toward the bench.
My brows rise. “They’re teammates. Aren’t they supposed to try and get along?”
“Teammates can hate each other.” Blaire sips from her beer. “Haven’t you ever worked with someone you wanted to shove into traffic?”
Uh, no—can’t say that I have.
The buzzer cuts off whatever my best friend is about to say next, ending warm ups. Players begin skating off toward their benches.
Aaron, Garrett, and Declan linger, tension rife.
Then Aaron lifts his head, gaze going straight into the stands.
There are hundreds of people here, but Garrett Storm spots me. My brother’s gaze follows his line of sight.
Then Aaron notices I’m here.
It’s a ridiculous domino effect.
I watch as Aaron lifts his hand to give me a slow, deliberate wave that somehow feels far more intimate than it should from fifty yards away.
My brother skates a few feet in front of him and waves, too. Then Garrett.
I laugh at the ridiculous nature of the moment: three grown men in full hockey gear waving and fighting for my attention. But as an excited shiver runs down my spine, a niggling sensation causes me to turn my head and glance down our row.
A blonde woman. Big, glossy hair that’s probably filled with extensions. Full glam. Fitted Ice Wolves T-shirt with Declan’s number on the sleeve.
She’s waving, too—of course she is—because everyone wants the team’s attention. The section is full of hopefuls and die-hards, many of whom would kill to go home with any of the players.
Dozens of fans sitting around us are holding handmade signs:
QUEEN SEEKS BISHOP
#10 WILL YOU MARRY ME?!
That particular fan is wearing a white veil over her knit hat, and her team jersey is bedazzled, ready for a walk down the aisle…
My smile falters at the blonde.
I want to say she looks familiar? But that would make no sense. I have never seen this woman in my life.
So why…
“Oh!” a woman behind us shouts. “They’re waving up here!”
Every head within a ten-seat radius swivels.
“Who are they waving at?”
“Is that someone’s wife?”
Blaire pops up out of her seat like she’s been training for this exact moment her entire life and throws both arms in the air as if they’re all here to see her. “Thank you! Thanks for coming!”
I pull her hand down.
“Sit down,” I hiss, grabbing at her sleeve.
“Never! Let me have some fun.”
A guy, two rows over, shouts down to us. “You know them?”
“Intimately, if you catch my drift,” Blaire says proudly, then pauses. “Well. One of us does.”
A teenager leans between us and blurts out, “Are you one of the girlfriends?”
I practically choke on my own embarrassment—but honestly, when am I not? My cheeks have been permanently overheated lately, for one reason or another…
Blaire beams at the kid, tossing her hair back. “We’re accepting applications.”
She is shameless. “Blaire!”
She leans closer to me without dropping her megawatt smile. “Relax. This is free publicity.”
“We do not need publicity!”
“No, but your dumb brother does,” she grumbles, plopping down into her seat. “And your broody boyfriend definitely could use an image overhaul. He comes off as so angry all the time.”
“He is not my boyfriend,” I clap back at her.
Blaire’s grin widens. “Ohhh, I love when you’re defensive. It’s adorable.”
I shrink into my seat as the arena lights dim slightly for player introductions.
When Aaron’s name echoes through the arena, the cheer is noticeably louder.
I don’t clap.
I mean, I do.
But casually so as not to draw more attention to myself.
Thunderous cheering and applause break out as spotlights sweep over the arena. Liquid smoke drifts over the ice. Music bumps for the pre-game show; a pop singer is here to do her latest hit and sing the national anthem.
The crowd loses its mind.
Blaire has to shout at me to be heard over the noise. “I love this for you, and I love this for me. It’s about time one of us finds a man who makes an effort.”
Guilt creeps in, pooling in my stomach. Sneaking around with a man I technically should not be dating, creating conflict with my brother—I haven’t once asked her how she’s doing. I’ve monopolized every video call. Every phone call. Every message thread.
“I’ve been a bad friend,” I blurt.
“What?” She laughs. “Because you’re dating a hockey player?”
“I’m not—”
She raises her brows.
Ugh. Fine.
Whatever.
“I’ve been so consumed with…” I refuse to use his name in a sentence. “Him. My new job. I haven’t even asked about you in, like, weeks.”
The crowd roars as the starting lineup is announced, but Blaire’s focus is homed in on me, body angled toward me, beer cup all but forgotten.
“Juliette.” She says my name firmly. “You are allowed to have your own life.”
“I know, but—”
She nudges my shoulder. “If one of us is going to accidentally fall into a broody, intense, good-looking athlete, I’m thrilled it’s you.”
“I am not falling into anything.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Also—I’d like to point out that my brother is also a broody, good-looking athlete…” It never hurts to mention this, lest she forget Declan is usually always single.
“Don’t make me throw up in my mouth.”
“Merely stating a fact. Maybe all of this loathing is sexual tension.”
Blaire stares at me blankly. “I would rather lick the ice.”
“Oddly enough, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Down below, the crack of sticks colliding echoes through the arena, the game going fast, all the players aggressive. I gasp as Declan checks a guy into the boards, sending him falling to the ice.
That’s going to leave a bruise…
The crowd loves it.
Aaron takes the puck with a clean steal, skating it down the ice with controlled precision, movements clipped.
Focused.
Sexy focused.
“He looks so mad,” Blaire observes.
“So does Declan.”
On cue, my brother hooks a guy’s stick and nearly ends up in the penalty box for it. The ref’s arm lifts in warning.
“See? Everything that man does, he does without thinking it through first,” Blaire grumbles, watching as Declan climbs into the Sin Bin.
“Uh, he’s playing a game…?”
“The penalty box is a metaphor for his entire life,” she says primly, sounding judgmental.
“He’s in there for two minutes,” I point out. “It’s not a prison sentence.”
“Two minutes is all it takes to ruin things.” Blaire’s chin tilts up and it’s clear she’s barely enjoying the game, so fixated on her loathing for Declan she can’t peel her eyes off him.
“Are you going to punish him for the rest of your life?”
“Probably.” She drags her eyes off him so she can look at me. “You’re na?ve to think your brother is perfect—he’s far from it. Like I said, whatever beef those two have, it’s most likely Declan’s fault.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t think he’s perfect.”
“You defend him like you do.”
“He’s my brother, Blaire.”
“And that gives him a lifetime pass?”
Girl, I want to say. He stood you up for one dance. Time to forget about it and move on!
Down on the ice, the opposing team presses hard while Declan sits in the box, tapping his stick restlessly against the boards. He looks caged.
Agitated.
Aaron blocks a shot and clears the puck, skating hard, jaw set.
The crowd roars.
“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” I try again. “I don’t think everything is a personality flaw.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “Juliette, no offense—but I spent my childhood daydreaming he would notice me and he never did. Then, on the most exciting night of my life, he stood me up. It was humiliating, especially since my grandparents were at the house to take pictures.”
I remember.