The Game Changer

Chapter Twenty-One

DELILAH

“Stop being nervous,” I mutter, pinching Ian on his side.

He hisses, his nose wrinkling as he peers down at me. “I’m not nervous.”

I roll my eyes as I watch him immediately turn back to watch the small crowd filing into the stands around the rink; Jack worked with the Druid’s PR team to have the annual charity game moved to the rink at the orphanage last summer, something I was stoked about since it will mean a great time for all the kids, but it also means that many more eyes on the ice to watch what I’m beginning to suspect is a real source of anxiety for Ian.

“You know the guys are going to be happy to see you, right?”

He shakes his head. “Most of these guys I haven’t spent any real time with outside of the rink since I got traded.”

“So? People fall out of touch all the time. It just means you’ve got a good place to pick back up from.”

His teeth worry at his lower lip, his arms crossing tightly over his practice jersey as he considers. It’s honestly cute on him, these nerves; he looks like someone waiting for their first date, which is adorable on a man who looks like a ginger, freckled Thor.

I bump his hip with mine. “It’s going to be great, Cupcake. Jack will be there.”

“Where is he, anyway?”

“Running late, as usual,” I say with a shrug.

“Ian!”

We both turn our heads toward the little voice, spotting a familiar head of blond curls bounding our way. Ian’s face lights up immediately, his prior nerves melting away when he spots Kyle coming down the steps of the bleachers two at a time toward the landing where we’ve been lurking.

“Hey, buddy,” Ian says, crouching to meet Kyle on his level. “Good to see you again.”

Kyle’s expression looks stern for all his seven years. “You haven’t been back.”

“Oh.” Ian’s eyes round, his face flushing with guilt. “I haven’t. I’ve been pretty busy with training camp.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Kyle grumbles.

Ian stands, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulders. “But I tell you what. How about I get you tickets to our first game? And then the weekend after that, I’ll come back by for more practice, yeah?”

Kyle’s face pinches like he’s trying to maintain his stoic facade, but I can see the way his lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. He purses his lips together for a beat like he’s considering, finally bobbing his head with a nod.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. That would be cool.”

“Awesome.” Ian flashes Kyle a bright smile, and my heart does a little flip-flop when the boy grins back at him. “You’d better go get your seat. I’ll try to come say hi after.”

“Okay!”

He waves at us both before taking off toward the steps again, and I poke Ian’s arm. “See? Someone’s already excited to see you.”

“I wish everyone were that easy to please.”

“I don’t know…You do a pretty good job pleasing me.”

He glances at me from the side, with heat in his eyes, the weight of his heavy stare something I can feel all the way down to my toes. “Be good, and I’ll please you again after this.”

“Promises, promises,” I laugh.

He angles his body as if he’s going to drive his point home, and my heart hammers in my chest in a Pavlovian response to the anticipation of any sort of Ian’s touch.

“Ian!”

Our heads turn to spot the small woman waving wildly from the entry, her face lit up and her silvery hair bouncing behind her in a long braid. The man behind her looks decidedly less friendly, his sharp features hardened and his frown practically etched in.

Jesus, he looks so much like Ian.

It’s the first thought that hits me, but even as I think it, I immediately question whether or not that’s true. Sure, there can be no doubt that Ian is Bradley Chase’s son with their matching hair and builds and similar features—but there’s a coldness to Bradley. Something opposite of the warmth Ian radiates. He must get that from his mom.

Ian’s mother reaches us and throws her arms around her son’s waist, beaming up at him. “Oh, honey. I am so glad you’re here! I have so missed seeing you play at these.”

“Mom,” Ian greets fondly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to give her a squeeze. “Glad you could make it.”

“Well, it wouldn’t do for the owners to stand up their own event, now would it?”

Bradley’s tone is just as chilly as his expression, and I can’t help but wonder what Christine sees in him.

The woman in question smacks her husband’s chest. “Oh, don’t start. There will be no sniping from either of you today, got it?”

“Delilah.” Bradley regards me curtly. “So nice of you to host the event.”

“It was mostly Jack’s doing,” I tell him as politely as I can manage. “But I was all for it, of course. The kids don’t have a lot to look forward to.”

Christine reaches to squeeze my hand. “It really is so lovely. All the work you’ve been doing here.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply with a lot more warmth than I afforded Bradley.

Christine waves me off. “Oh, none of that. I mean”—she winks at me—“you are dating my son.”

“Christine,” Bradley says tersely. “You know that’s just for show.”

“Mhm.” Ian’s mother looks coy, shrugging. “I guess an old woman can dream, can’t she?” She places her hand on Bradley’s forearm, glancing at him with a fond expression. “My romance with Ian’s father was such a whirlwind—” She gives me a pointed look. “I mean, the owner’s daughter and the star player? It was the talk of the town for such a long time. I’ve always wanted that kind of love for my son.”

Yuck. If she only knew.

Bradley looks unaffected by her reminiscing, but Ian looks tense. I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, and I wind my arm around his waist, giving him a subtle squeeze of encouragement. That seems to snap him out of his reverie.

“You should probably make your way up there,” Ian says, looking only at his mother as he does his best to ignore Bradley completely. “The game will be starting soon.”

“I’d like to speak with you after,” Bradley says pointedly.

Ian barely spares him a glance. “I have plans after. I will call you when I can.”

I can tell that his father would like to say more, but Christine is already tugging on his arm. “Come, come, let’s get our seats before we’re hounded by some reporter you’ll have to schmooze.” She pauses to press on her toes, kissing Ian’s cheek. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he murmurs back.

We watch as she pulls Bradley toward the risers, and despite her best efforts, they are stopped by what seems to be a reporter, Bradley’s entire demeanor changing as he dusts off a megawatt smile that feels forced. Or maybe that’s just me.

“God, look at him,” Ian grumbles. “I bet he’s telling them all about all the ‘good work’ he does. As if this was even his idea.” He rolls his eyes. “This game was always my mom’s baby.”

“He really knows how to turn it on for the press,” I notice.

“Yes,” Ian agrees. “He’s very good at faking being a good person.”

I can sense the slight air of defeat in his tone, and I know that he’s allowing himself to be dragged down in memories, ones that will do nothing but threaten to ruin this day for him. I have every intention of leaning in to tell him exactly what I think of Bradley Chase and give him a much better occupant for his thoughts, me mainly, but before I can even open my mouth to speak, I feel strong, thick arms circling my waist, picking me clear off the floor as I yelp in surprise.

“Little Dee!” I’m spun around, feeling disoriented for a second before I’m plopped back onto my feet. “What’s up, Baker?”

“Logan?”

He flashes me a bright white smile, reaching out to pinch my chin. “Miss me?”

“Like a hole in my head,” I laugh.

He clasps a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Logan Thomas went to college with Jack and Ian, but got drafted to Tampa Bay in his senior year. He never misses our annual charity event, usually crashing with Jack while he’s in town. I wonder how that will work now that Ian is there.

Speaking of.

I peek back at the man in question, noticing a tightness to his jaw, his fists clenched at his sides as he watches me with Logan. Part of me wants to tell him to knock that shit off, but a much more feral part of me secretly likes seeing him wound up over me.

“Ian, you remember Logan, right?”

This seems to snap Ian out of it, his eyes blinking a couple of times before he really gives his attention to the man who’s joined us. “Lo?”

“Ian! Fucking hell, man. Get over here.”

Logan pulls Ian into a bear hug, Ian pausing for only a moment with surprise before he returns it full force. I notice his lips turn up in a smile as he wraps his arms around the other man, the tension leaving his face as they clasp each other tightly.

“How long has it been since you’ve played one of these,” Logan asks. “Six years?”

“Almost seven,” Ian tells him.

“Fuck, man. We missed you up there in ice land. It’s good to see you without having to shove your ass into the boards.”

“It’s really good to be back home,” Ian tells him. His brow cocks. “And when have you ever shoved me into the boards?”

“I see your memory has worsened with age,” he laughs. Logan’s warm, umber eyes flit between the two of us, deep dimples etched into the light brown skin of his cheeks with his mischievous smile as he crosses his corded arms over his chest. “So what’s this I read about the two of you being a thing?”

“Oh,” I start, my eyes darting to Ian for help.

I forget that not all the hockey players in our lives know that this thing between us is for show. Or rather, that it used to be. Since it’s not actually for show now. But I guess it still is to everyone else? Except for people like Logan, who didn’t know the truth to begin with. Jesus, we really need to put a label on this thing before I break my brain.

That thought gives me pause, but since I’m just standing here with my mouth hanging open, I shove it away.

“It’s complicated,” Ian says for me, scratching at his beard in what I’ve come to recognize as an anxious gesture. “You see—”

“We are,” I blurt out. “A thing.”

I can practically feel Ian’s surprise projecting from his eyes to the side of my face, but I just reach out and lace my fingers in his, not allowing for him to second-guess.

“That’s awesome,” Logan says with a happy grin. “Look at you, Dee. Making good on that puppy love.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

“What?” Ian cocks his head. “You noticed that?”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure the guys on the space stations noticed it.”

“Fuck off,” I mumble.

Ian surprises me with a loud laugh, his fingers squeezing mine as he flashes me a teasing smile. “Aw. You really were obsessed with me, huh?”

“Getting less so,” I huff.

“Don’t worry, Lila, your secret’s safe with me.”

“All right, all right,” Logan laughs. “Enough with that cute shit. Some of us single people can’t take it.”

“What happened to Serah?”

Logan rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t work out.”

“Aw.” I frown with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” he sighs.

“Yo! Logan! Ian!”

There’s a small crowd moving toward us from the entrance area, my brother and a few other of their old college buddies making their way inside toward the ice. I see at least two players who they didn’t meet until later when they were drafted, but no one that Ian doesn’t know, I think, thankfully.

Which reminds me that I’m still holding his hand.

I let go without making a thing of it, not quite sure that this moment is the right one to unload everything on my brother, but when I meet Ian’s gaze, I don’t miss the flash of displeasure there. It’s definitely a discussion we need to have. Soon.

“About time you showed up,” Ian greets my brother, letting the moment roll off his back. “I wasn’t sure who was going to lead the cheerleading squad.”

Jack snorts. “I was out getting my bloomers resized. They didn’t have any big enough to fit my dick.”

“Gross,” I groan.

Oscar guffaws. “That’s not what Lyle’s mom said.”

The player in question punches Oscar on the shoulder, and I feel myself smiling. These guys are idiots, but I sort of love them.

One a bit more than the others…

Ian looks almost nervous again—so minuscule in his features that someone might miss it, but I don’t. It’s in the slight tic in his jaw, the wary set of his eyes, the press of his mouth. It makes me wish I were still holding his hand. I watch the way he eyes the other players, guys he hasn’t seen in years off the rink, not since everything went down with him and Mei, and I know that he worries about how they see him. What they might think of him now. I know it because it’s all we talked about last night, cuddled in my bed while I ran my fingers through his hair. I’m willing to beat down any man who has something negative to say about him—regardless of how much bigger and stronger than me they are—but, as it turns out, these big dummies have a way of surprising me. In a good way.

Oscar’s eyes light up. “Ian!”

I watch a repeat hug performance like the one Ian and Logan had a few minutes ago, and it takes no time at all for the other guys to follow suit—each one embracing their old friend like no time at all has passed. I can see the way each interaction melts more and more of the stress he’s been carrying, his entire body becoming more relaxed with each Dude, how have you been? and clap on the back.

I linger at the edge of the tiny crowd, content to watch him, but I catch his eye amid the conversation, noticing the glint there, the hint of solidarity that only exists between the two of us. It makes me feel a bit surer about my blurted acknowledgment of what we are. Makes me realize how good it felt for someone else to know, someone who had no stake in what we are other than being happy that we are. It makes me want to feel that a hundred times over, to let the entire world know.

“All right,” Jack interrupts, checking his watch. “Everyone needs to head back to the locker room and suit up so we can get out on the ice.”

“Oh,” Lyle snickers. “Should we call you Coach Jack today?”

“If it will make you move a bit faster,” Jack answers sweetly. My brother aims a finger in my direction. “Ava is looking for you.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “She went around the other way. Somewhere back there.”

“I’ll find her,” I tell him.

Jack squeezes Ian’s shoulder even as the other guys start to file into the double doors that lead to the hall where the locker rooms are. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ian says, looking like he means it. “I am, actually.”

“Good.” Jack nods. “Coming?”

Ian eyes me briefly. “I’ll catch up.”

I don’t miss the way my brother’s gaze flits between us, a wrinkle forming at his brow, but he seems to dismiss it for now, following after the other guys through the doors.

Ian immediately blows out a breath when they’re gone. “Fuck.”

“I told you,” I say, “that it would be fine.”

“I just thought…It’s been so long since I’ve spent any real time with any of them. With everything that happened…”

I reach for his hand again, not giving a damn who sees when I squeeze it with mine. We’re supposed to be seen, after all, right?

“Anyone who knows you,” I tell him firmly, “knows who you are. No one who really knows you could ever think you’re capable of the things people have said about you.”

He nods, swallowing thickly. “I wish I had as much faith in me as you do.”

“It’s fine,” I answer. “I have enough for the both of us.”

His gaze lingers on my face, his jaw working. “You told Logan that we’re a thing.”

“Aren’t we?”

“I hoped we were,” he says quietly.

My lips quirk. “Then what’s the problem?”

“He could say something to Jack,” Ian points out. “You okay with that?”

“He’s going to have to find out soon, anyway.” I step closer, sliding my arm around Ian’s waist. “I don’t really think I can keep the way I feel about you a secret for much longer.”

His breath hitches, and his eyes flick to my mouth, like he’s considering taking it. “And how is that?”

“Hm.” I throw caution to the wind, pushing up on my toes and brushing my lips gently against his in something that can barely be called a kiss but lights me up inside all the same. “Go win your game, and we’ll talk all about it.”

“Okay,” he sighs against my lips.

I step back, beaming at him before I land a hard slap on his ass. “Get out there, Cupcake. I’ll be watching.”

The heat in his eyes as he leaves me could melt the entire rink.

The game has been a rush of excitement for both of the teams the various players have split into; Ian ended up on the same team as Jankowski and Rankin, joined by Logan, Oscar, and Lyle. I’ve watched them all laugh and smile between plays, each interaction bringing Ian more and more out of his shell and looking more at ease.

“Wait, so why did they blow the whistle?”

“Offside,” I tell Ava.

“Is that why they’re going back to the little circles?”

“Mhm. The player can’t pass that blue line before the puck.”

“This game seemed way more fun when the players could still beat the shit out of one another.”

I frown, imagining Ian being mauled by another player. “Yeah, let’s not hope for that.”

“Your guy could handle himself,” Ava says, snorting. “He’s practically Wreck-It Ralph with red hair.” She cocks her head, watching Ian as he blocks Connors on the other team from shooting a goal past Lyle. “Now I’m imagining him in overalls.”

“Stop imagining Ian in things,” I hiss, elbowing her in the side.

“I’m single,” she huffs. “Let me live vicariously through the good dick you’re getting.”

“Shh.” I slap her knee. “There are kids around.” I scowl when I glance back at the ice, jumping to my feet with dozens of other people around me as we all shout at the referee at once. “Dude, move! You’re blocking the play!”

Ava eyes me with a cocked brow as I sink back down onto the bench, grumbling. “What just happened?”

“Ref got in the way of the play,” I tell her. “Logan couldn’t score because he was blocking the goal.”

“You know this is a friendly game, right?”

“Shut up,” I mumble.

“You’re as bad as your brother,” Ava laughs, pointing at the man in question, who is hanging over the boards at the bench, shouting at the referee. “Do you think he’s going to start a fight?”

I watch as Jack waves his one good arm frantically, his face turning red as he shouts God knows what at the irritated-looking ref. “If he had both arms it definitely would have been a possibility.”

“When will the cast come off?”

“It should only be another few weeks, so he should be playing by the second week of the season if nothing goes wrong.”

“At least he won’t miss too much.”

“Thank God,” I chuckle. “He’d be driving everyone up the wall if he missed much more.”

“I can’t believe he still hasn’t picked up on what’s going on between you and Ian. Are you going to tell him anytime soon?”

I bite my lip, shifting guiltily in my seat. “Yes…soon.”

“Do you think he’ll be weird about it?”

“Probably.” I shrug. “But he’ll get over it. He loves us both. He’s not going to do something drastic like disown us over it.”

“He loves you, you love each other…It’s all very disgusting and cute.”

I feel my face flush. “What?”

“Oh, come on.” Ava rolls her eyes. “You’ve spent the first two innings of this game—”

“Periods,” I correct.

“Whatever,” she huffs. “You’ve spent the entire game watching Ian like he’s got a golden dick and shits saltwater taffy.”

“Well, that’s utterly awful.”

“But not incorrect,” Ava laughs.

I press my knuckles to my burning cheeks, wondering if they’re as red as they feel. I catch sight of Ian’s bright smile as he claps Logan on the shoulder after a successful play, gliding back down the ice effortlessly and looking every bit in his element. The things I feel for Ian aren’t new, or at all a surprise, and they’re definitely strong, but can I really say that I love him? Wanted him, dreamt of him, burned for him, yes—but love?

The crowd around me starts to grow restless as the clock ticks down the last sixty seconds of the game, interrupting my train of thought. The teams are tied right now, and if nothing happens, they’ll have to go into overtime.

People are standing up again as the puck drops to the ice, the center for Ian’s team, Oscar, slapping it away from Felix on the other team and pushing it toward the other team’s goal. Ian and Logan work in tandem as the left and right wing to block Prescott from making a go for Oscar, and I can feel myself standing again as well, my heart thudding, as it seems like they might pull ahead.

“What’s happening?” Ava stands next to me, grabbing my arm and shaking it as the crowd starts yelling again. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening!”

“Oscar’s about to try to score,” I tell her, biting my thumbnail. “He’s the one with the puck. Oh! That was one of the other team’s forwards that just shoved him into the corner. They’re battling now.”

“Battling?”

“It just means the other team is trying to get the puck so they can—shit!”

“What? What happened?”

“Puck is loose—someone get it!” I wave my hands in the air as if anyone can actually hear me, adrenaline coursing through me. “Yes!” I shake Ava. “Ian’s got it. He’s got it! Oh! He just shot it to Jankowski, I think they could—fuck yeah!”

Our section explodes with noise when Jankowski shoots the puck right between the opposing goalie’s legs as Ian’s team takes the win at the last second.

“They won!” I shout to Ava, who is wild-eyed but smiling. “They fucking won!”

“There are children around!” Ava shouts back, laughing. “But fuck yeah!”

My heart is beating so hard in my chest that it feels like it might pound right through my rib cage, and I can feel my cheeks starting to hurt from the wide smile etched on my face. I’m still holding on to Ava as I watch Ian and the other players on his team crowd around Jankowski, shaking him and trying to hoist him up as if they’ve won a championship game and not a friendly charity match that didn’t matter. The pure joy on Ian’s face as he celebrates with his temporary teammates is infectious, and I feel it bubbling up inside me as if sharing it with him, ecstatic that he can have this moment after all the stressing he did over this game.

I notice his head moving when he breaks away from the other guys, his neck stretching as he peers into the stands as if searching. He skates closer to the rails as he continues to crane his neck this way and that, and it’s then I realize that it’s me he’s looking for. I rush down the aisle and take the steps two at a time, barreling toward the railing and immediately dropping to my knees to duck under the lowest bar that opens up into the rink that’s set lower than the stands. At this angle, Ian’s face is almost level with mine when he reaches the edge, and in this crowd of so many cheering people, it feels almost like we’re in our own little bubble.

“You won,” I tell him, beaming. “You’re supposed to be celebrating.”

His smile makes my chest hurt, but his words make it feel like it’s too full. “You’re the only person I want to celebrate with.”

“Yeah?”

“Always.”

I know there’re people all around us, but at this moment, I find I don’t care. I spare one quick glance down the ice to confirm that my brother is lost to the sea of celebration, just one second before I bend until I can wrap a hand around the back of Ian’s helmet, pulling him up to meet me as I crash my mouth into his. He doesn’t hesitate to melt into the kiss, his fingers sliding over my knee and squeezing me there, tingles sparking along my skin where he touches me and spreading to fill me up. I realize all at once that there’s no question. Not really.

Because I still want him, I still dream of him, I still burn for him—and I absolutely love him too.