Team Cookout
RILEY
Two weeks.
That is how long it has been since Preston showed up at the door and managed to spin my life for the worse. Two weeks since Easton drove me to Coach Brennan’s office. Two weeks of tabloid coverage, and after days of hiding, I’m finally ready to face the world.
It’s my first time out, with Easton, officially.
Nothing special. Just a team cookout, but it’s more than enough.
My nerves are threatening to drown me, because I’m anticipating the looks. They’ve all seen the news in the tabloids. The headlines:
The woman who’s stringing along Preston Sinclair, and famous hockey star, Easton Blake. The troubled Ex. The Sinclair bride. The Unpredicted Affair.
The list goes on. But one step at a time, and soon, it’ll die down.
The Saturday sun is high, and the car is turning off a private drive into a gated cul-de-sac I don’t know, one of those quiet residential streets that could be anywhere in Southern California but has the specific weekend hush of a private estate.
Coach Brennan’s house is at the end of it. Low and long, all wood and glass, screaming of quiet luxury.
There’s a line of cars up front and I begin to get cold feet.
My eyes dart to Easton.
He's next to me in a dark green Henley with the sleeves pushed up and his hand on my thigh.
“Are you sure they’ll want me here? I mean, with the recent scandal and…”
“Trust me, Riley. The guys are dying to meet you. And they’re curious too.”
He chuckles.
I don’t know how to feel about that, but it makes me smile.
“Come on, sweetheart, you’ll love it.”
With a kiss to the cheek, he gets out, comes around, and opens my door. He offers his hand. I take it.
The unease makes my legs weak, but he’s there to hold me.
I follow him through the side gate, into a backyard that smells like charcoal and cut grass and something spicy on a grill, and I brace for the small moment of truth.
They turn all at once, and the eyes are many.
I mentally count. Twelve? Thirteen? A kid?
They wave.
“Easton!” The shout comes from the grill, where a tall dark-haired man is standing with a beer in one hand.
“About time,” he calls. “Bring her over here.”
The guys cheer on, and I exhale for the first time all morning.
Easton walks me across the yard. The dark-haired man at the grill is Kai, the captain. Easton introduces him, and he waves.
“Glad you came, Riley,” He offers his hand, and I shake it. “Welcome to the team,” he says, raising his beer with a warm smile.
“Thank you,” I smile, unable to contain it.
Easton’s hand wraps around my waist, and he pulls me close as if it’s a silent acknowledgement that I’m safe and welcome here.
“Settle in. Have a wonderful night,” Kai says and turns back to the grill.
Behind me, another man appears. He appears much younger as my eyes scan the rest, who have now gone back to their businesses. With others making their way towards us.
“You must be Riley. I’m Wyatt. I’m his favorite,” The younger man introduces himself.
I see Easton roll his eyes, but he doesn’t leave my side.
“Don’t tell him I said this. But I think I’m his favorite, even though we have a love-hate relationship,” Wyatt whispers beside me, and I can’t help but laugh.
I try to imagine him annoying Easton in the locker room.
“You wish,” Easton cut in.
“See?” Wyatt says, arms spread.
“He's lying, Riley,” Easton says from beside me. “don't encourage him.”
“Come on, don’t be like that, man,” Wyatt says. “I brought you a drink.”
He presses a lemonade into my hand. “It has absolutely no alcohol because I have no idea what you drink yet, and I wanted to make a first impression that didn't end with an ambulance ride.”
He winks at Easton. “Also, I'm shamelessly trying to get on your good side, so your man here can go easy on me the next time I get on his nerves.”
My laughter finally dies down, and I take the drink.
“Wyatt. I already like you.”
“Easton, she likes me.”
“I heard.”
Kai grunts something from the grill that sounds like she has taste, and Wyatt hits his own chest.
Theo comes over next, a tall defenseman with a three-year-old attached to his hip. The three-year-old has curls and a juice box.
“Riley, this is Emma. Emma, this is Riley.” Easton does the introductions again.
“Yeah, Papa Bear is here,” Wyatt announces.
Emma looks at me for approximately one second and then reaches for me.
“Oh,” I say.
“She does this all the time when she meets a new person,” Theo says. “You don’t have to.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I want to.” I hand my drink over to Easton, who has stepped aside, and I take the little girl. She settles into my hip like she has always been there.
“You have kid experience,” Theo says.
“Not at all, but she’s lovely.”
He looks at his daughter, who is now inspecting the collar of my shirt with the seriousness of a jeweler.
The afternoon goes by.
I get to meet Coach Brennan and some of the other teammates. Easton and everyone make it easy. I also meet Quinn, the one woman in the group.
I join her on the wide deck at the back of the house, while the boys go about chatting. She’s dressed in cutoffs and a Hockey Camp t-shirt from what looks like 2016, one leg up on the bench, drinking a beer with the ease of a woman who grew up in this yard.
She's Coach Brennan’s daughter. She's home from her senior year of college for the summer. She sees me coming with Emma on my hip and grins.
“Hi Riley, have a seat.” She taps beside her. “And yes, I’ve heard about you from the guys, and how you’ve had Easton wrapped around your finger.” She winks.
Her words hit me, but she says them in such a cheerful manner that I catch the joke, and I laugh before I can stop myself.
I like her.
Emma settles into my lap without asking. Quinn passes me a napkin without me asking.
“It’s nice to meet you, Quinn.”
“Oh, it’s more of a pleasure for me. You have no idea how it is being the only woman around these loud-ass men.” She chuckles and waves at the yard.
My eyes travel around, and I definitely understand.
“I don’t have anyone new to talk to at these things,” Quinn says. “Ever. I have known most of these idiots since forever. So, it’s a delight to have you here. And of course, Emma too. Love her to death.”
I laugh again, this time louder than I intend, and for once I don't feel embarrassed about it.
Emma is staring at me now, a wide, toothy grin lighting up her face.
Quinn pinches her cheeks. With a happy squeal, Emma toddles straight into Quinn's open arms.
“This little pumpkin has been my mate. I babysit her whenever I’m home from college. And no one would believe the kind of friendship you can have with a three-year-old. Emma is special.”
“She’s beautiful. So cute too,” I say, watching them.
“She is. The best gift Theo gave to the team.” She kisses Emma’s cheeks.
“Oh, shoot. I should get you a drink. Or something to munch on. Have you had anything?” She's about to stand up after handing the baby back, but I stop her.
“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve had lemonade, and I’m good for now. Easton gave me some food a while ago.”
“Okay. I could get you something to take home,” she winks, and I smile again. “So what do you do, Riley? I’m assuming you’re out of college? By the way, I’m a business major.”
I look at her.
I haven’t been asked that question in a decade.
I open my mouth. “I take pictures.”
“Oh, you’re a photographer.”
“I’m becoming one. Again. I was one. I put it down. I picked it back up recently.” I look at Emma’s small hand on my collar.
“I’d love to see your work. What do you shoot?”
I tell her.
We talk for an hour. Maybe two.
Emma falls asleep on my lap somewhere in the middle of it, mouth open, one hand fisted in my shirt.
Quinn hands me another lemonade without me asking.
She tells me about school and life with her dad.
She opens up about her mother leaving when she was nine.
She doesn’t ask me about Preston, and doesn’t ask about the tabloids. She asks me what I want to shoot next.
Nobody I have met in this yard has said the name Sinclair.
Nobody has asked me if I’m okay.
Everybody has just handed me a drink and made room on a bench. Gave me food, told me stories of the ice, and made me comfortable like I’ve always been one of them.
Across the yard, Easton is with the guys. He's doing something with tongs at the grill. He has taken his cap off. He's laughing at something Wyatt said. He looks… different.
Not like the softer version of the man I know at home. But like a man with his family.
Quinn nudges me. “He’s been watching you a lot.”
“He has?”
“Yeah. Every three minutes. Clockwork. It's disgusting. But I like it!” She claps her hands and giggles.
I laugh. Emma doesn't stir.
The sun goes down.
Someone lights a fire pit. Another brings blankets out. Quinn shifts to sit closer, throws a blanket over my legs and Emma’s, and settles her chin on her hand, watching the yard.
Her eyes land on Wyatt.
They stay there a beat too long.
I don’t say anything, but I know what watching a man for four seconds looks like, and I know what pretending not to be doing it looks like even better.
I look across the fire.
Easton is looking at us.
At me, with Emma asleep against my shoulder, and Quinn beside me with the blanket on our legs and her eyes still on Wyatt and the firelight on all of us.
He's looking at the three of us with an expression that I have not seen on his face before, an open, reverent look. When our eyes meet, he quickly looks away.
My heart skips, and I look away too.
Emma sighs in her sleep.
Quinn shifts her chin on her hand.
I close my eyes and exhale. The realization hits me.
I like it here. I like the company of Easton’s people, and I want to stay.