Chapter 7 Brody
seven
brody
The question hangs in the air like a puck suspended mid-flight, and I’ve got maybe two seconds to decide if I’m going to catch it cleanly or let it drop and shatter everything.
How exactly did you two meet?
Maya’s looking at us with genuine curiosity—the kind that comes from sisterly love, not suspicion. But Derek is right beside her, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’s not curious. He’s testing.
Chloe’s body goes rigid under my hand. I can feel her heart racing through the thin fabric of her dress.
This is it. First real test. Don’t screw it up.
I smile—easy, charming, the one that’s gotten me out of trouble since I learned to talk. “Funny story, actually.”
Maya leans in, already invested.
Chloe leans into me. “You remember Barcelona guy?”
Maya’s eyes go wide. “Wait—that was you? The mystery guy?”
Chloe nods and I chime in. “Hold on, you know this story?”
Maya turns her gaze on me. “Of course I do!”
And I prepare myself for the obligatory you-hurt-my-sister look, but it doesn’t come. Huh. Maybe Chloe never told her about the ghosting part.
“So, you know how we decided not to exchange information,” I continue. “The evening felt like this perfect thing we didn’t want to ruin by dragging into reality. So we just”—I shrug—“let Barcelona stay in Barcelona.”
Chloe and I share a look before going on. “So, two weeks ago, we ran into each other in a coffee shop. Literally. I crashed into him, spilled coffee all over him.” She turns those gorgeous brown eyes on me. “Completely ruined that suit you were wearing.”
“Worth it,” I say, my hand instinctively tightening against her waist, and I feel her relaxing slightly against my side. We’re in this together. A team. And for a second, I almost forget we’re lying. Because the way she’s looking up at me, the small smile playing at her lips—it feels real.
Maya clasps her hands together like we just performed a Broadway musical. “That’s so romantic! It’s serendipity!”
Derek says nothing. Just watches us with those calculating eyes.
“Something like that,” Chloe says.
Maya’s buying it completely—she’s already tearing up, which seems excessive for a two-week relationship, but I’m not complaining.
Derek’s still not convinced. But he’s not calling us liars either.
So, small victories.
The next hour is a blur of handshakes, small talk, and me pretending I’m not cataloging every threat in the room like I’m preparing for a playoff game.
Chloe’s parents arrive—James and Patricia Dawson, normal people from a small town. Her dad’s wearing a casual polo, and her mom, a sweater over slacks.
“Brody Kane!” James pumps my hand enthusiastically, grinning like he just won the lottery. “This is incredible. My wife and I have been following your career for years. That defensive play you made in Game Six against Chicago last season? Unbelievable.”
He remembers a specific play from last year’s playoffs?
I relax slightly. “Thank you, sir. That was a good game.”
“Good game? You shut down their entire power play in the third period!” He turns to his wife. “Patty, remember? We were screaming at the TV.”
Patty laughs, squeezing Chloe’s shoulder affectionately.
“James wouldn’t stop replaying it on his phone for a week.
Our son Devon played hockey in high school—left wing.
” She gestures across the room toward a man with dark curly hair and the petite blonde tucked under his arm.
Devon and the wife, presumably. “Not professionally, of course, but we’ve been hockey people forever.
Small-town Minnesota, you know. Friday nights at the rink. ”
“Maple Lake, right?”
“That’s right! You been there?”
“The Blue Ox minor league team practices there.”
James lights up and claps me on the shoulder. “Come on up sometime. We’ll show you the real Maple Lake.”
Patty is beaming at Chloe. “Sweetheart, you didn’t tell us he was this Brody Kane. When Maya said you were bringing a hockey player, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought, but certainly not this!” She laughs. “We’re just so happy you found someone who—”
She stops herself, but I catch the end of that sentence.
Someone who…?
“We’re just getting to know each other,” Chloe says softly, and I hear the careful hedge in her voice—protecting herself, managing expectations.
“Well, you picked a good one,” James says, winking at his daughter. “Anyone who can handle Derek’s ego in the locker room deserves a medal.”
I laugh. “Derek can be competitive.”
“That’s a polite way of putting it.” James leans in conspiratorially. “But he knows what he wants. Can’t fault him for that. Maya’s a catch.”
And just like that, I see it. The dynamic that’s shaped Chloe’s entire life.
Her parents aren’t the problem. They’re warm, genuine, excited to meet me—not because I’m famous but because they love hockey and they love their daughter.
But they’re also completely swooning over Maya’s world.
Maya’s wealthy fiancé. Maya’s destination wedding. Maya’s perfect life.
Chloe’s parents fit into that world the way I fit into a tuxedo—uncomfortable, out of place, trying their best.
And Chloe has spent her whole life watching her parents try to keep up with the life Maya built, while her own quieter dreams got overlooked in the chaos.
Not because they don’t love her.
Because Maya’s life is just…louder.
Chloe catches me watching her, and for a second, our eyes meet.
She sees that I see it.
Something changes between us.
“Chloe did a great job on all of this, don’t you think?” I gesture around the room at the flowers, the lights, the perfectly arranged tables. “The decorations, the setup, the coordination. She’s got an incredible eye for detail. You must be so proud.”
Patricia blinks. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”
But she wasn’t thinking about it. Wasn’t acknowledging it.
Chloe’s contributions are invisible to her own mother.
I feel something crack open in my chest. Protective. Angry.
I shift on my feet, sliding from the easy, comfortable conversationalist to something…harder. Just because we’ve only been “dating” for two weeks doesn’t mean I’m going to let anyone walk all over her. Not my girl.
I’m in the game now.
James Dawson, still wearing that cheery expression, takes a sip of his beer and jumps back to the topic of hockey. “You know, Brody, I know you’ve had a rough season, but you’ve got a tough position to fill. Defense—not an easy job.”
Oh good. Here we go. I brace myself for the usual unsolicited advice. But something in his gaze softens.
“It’s an important position. Lot of responsibility.” He glances at Chloe. “You’ve got to be reliable. Steady. Not too flashy.”
Is he talking about hockey or relationships? I can’t tell.
“I try to be all of those things.”
“Good. Chloe needs someone steady.” He says it like she’s fragile. Breakable. “She’s had a rough go of it lately. Business struggles, you know. Not everyone is cut out for entrepreneurship.”
My jaw tightens. Chloe’s staring at her shoes.
“Actually,” I say, maybe too firmly, “I think Chloe’s business is pretty impressive. Event planning is brutally competitive, and she’s built something from the ground up. That takes guts.”
James looks at me like I just said something mildly interesting but ultimately irrelevant. “Well…she’s had a pretty great example to learn from. Maya’s always been the go-getter in the family.”
And there it is again.
Everything leads back to Maya.
I glance down at Chloe. She’s smiling—the kind of smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. The kind that says I’m fine, I’m used to this, it doesn’t bother me anymore.
Except it does. I can see it in the way she’s holding herself. Small. Invisible.
Her parents drift away to greet other guests, and Chloe exhales like she’s been holding her breath. “Sorry about that,” she mutters. “They’re—”
“A lot?”
“Enthusiastic about Maya’s wedding.” She’s deflecting. Making it about the wedding instead of admitting her parents barely see her.
I want to tell her They should see you. You’re right here. You’re incredible.
But I can’t. Not here, with everyone watching. And not privately, where too much of my heart would be in it.
So instead, I say, “You should be really proud of what you did here today. They all should.”
She looks up at me, surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting the compliment.
“Thanks.”
And I realize—she’s not used to being seen.
The murmur of the crowd dies down as Derek announces the bowling tournament at four o’clock, and I immediately regret every life choice that led me to this moment.
“Couples competition!” he says, grinning like this is the best idea he’s ever had. “Prizes for the top three teams. Bragging rights for everyone else.”
Chloe glances at me. “You bowl, right?”
“Define ‘bowl.’”
“Oh no.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. How hard can it be?”
As it turns out, it is not, in fact, fine.
My first ball careens into the gutter so fast it’s almost impressive. The second one follows its predecessor like they’re magnetically attracted to failure.
Tyler Anderson is in the lane next to us with his girlfriend, Ava, and he’s laughing so hard he has to lean on the ball return.
“Kane!” he shouts. “You’re supposed to hit the pins, man!”
“Thanks, Torch. Super helpful.”
Chloe is trying not to laugh. Failing spectacularly.
“It’s not funny,” I mutter.
“It’s a little funny.”
Derek appears at our lane, arms crossed, that smug captain smile plastered on his face. “Thought athletes were supposed to be coordinated, Kane.”
“Different skill set,” I say through gritted teeth. “Very different.”
“Clearly.” He turns to Chloe. “You should probably teach him. Before he breaks something.”
Chloe picks up her ball—a sparkly purple thing that looks like it belongs in a kid’s party—and steps up to the lane.
She bowls a perfect strike.
The pins explode like she just fired a cannon at them. The crash echoes through the venue.
Everyone stops. Stares.
“Holy—” Tyler starts.
“That was incredible,” I finish.