Chapter 9 Brooke
Brooke
Holy shit.
What the hell did I get myself into?
This is going to be harder than I thought—especially if Drew isn't going to let this go.
Maybe working for Levi, even temporarily, was a bad idea.
It may even be a sign that I should retreat from this whole putting down roots thing.
If I was a weaker person, I might have caved.
Instead, I stood there dumbfounded with my mouth ajar, chest burning, as Drew winked and disappeared under the tunnel.
It doesn't help that I was reminded all morning of the way he stretches or how his smile shines even behind his mouth guard.
Not to mention the charm that the world—and I—get sucked right into.
Drew spent that practice dominating the ice.
He's powerful and captivating and draws your attention.
He might not literally be the biggest on the team, but his presence is unmatched.
Of course, the other guys aren't shabby either.
A few times I forgot I was the one doing Levi a favor taking pictures from the outside of this boy aquarium.
It sounds bad considering I should be professional—and future-Brooke definitely wouldn't approve of comments like this—but every player on this team could totally get it.
Burns is hilarious, I'd damn sure let Petrov throw me around, and their goalie can bend his body like a goddamn pretzel.
But Drew is just… Drew.
He really is a star. My God, he takes his helmet off for water and it's an image of perfection.
Of course, he has his usual antics, but it's also so much more than that.
He's a natural out there. I mean, the guy gets paid millions of dollars to play—but hockey isn't just what he does, it's part of him.
His skates and his stick are like an extension of his body—his movements on the ice like rehearsed choreography.
Honestly, I'm jealous.
Most of my life I've felt like I have no real purpose.
I know my worth and that there are things I'm good at, but sometimes it feels like I'm the one person who hasn't found their true calling.
No, I don't feel behind like Mom might think I am—and I don't often let it show—but it does get to me.
Unlike Aunt Ivy, who thrives on flying by the seat of her pants, I do have some desire to at least find my place in the world. It just hasn't come that easily.
Today was enlightening. I never considered myself a creative type—there haven't been many opportunities to use things like photography or content creation in my day-to-day life. But I had a lot of fun, and it turns out I might not be half bad at this.
It was easier than I thought to come up with a list of ideas before seeing the boys in action.
I actually managed to get a few decent shots too, which is key.
The logistics, though, still throw me a little.
How close can I get? Where should I stand?
Do I follow the boys into the locker room or is Brett Burns just fucking with me?
It's all things I'd figure out, eventually.
But none of it matters for the short time I'll be here.
I did make a mental note to check in with Levi after this weekend to see if the team has a nice camera lying around.
I'm thinking a Sony or Nikon might create images better than what I threw in portrait mode on my iPhone.
I did Yearbook Club back in high school so that I could get out of class to walk around and "take pictures.
" I think I'd remember my way around a lens.
Maybe not as vividly as I'd remember my way around a Swisher under the bleachers after fifth period…
but it would come back to me, eventually.
Sitting in the stands now, waiting for the game to start, I swipe through the couple of photos that I favorited from earlier today.
Most of them include Drew in some way or another, but after about five minutes of practice, I knew that's how it would be.
I don't think it matters that I know what he looks like when he's coming undone.
I think anyone watching the team would find their eyes drifting toward him.
My scroll wanders to a series of images I took back to back.
The first is of Drew balancing the puck on his stick held parallel to the ground.
The second is of the puck in the air, half a second after he tossed it, and the third is of him with his skate turned sideways, the disc just centimeters from touching the blade.
They're silly really and have nothing to do with the first game tonight.
But the simplicity makes him look so… accessible.
If you took off his practice jersey and deleted the view of the million dollar arena behind him, you wouldn't know if it was a guy out back having fun on his pond or a professional athlete preparing for battle.
This is the Drew that I connected with. He's softer than the guy I know from the media. Genuine. Human. The pictures are a reminder that I wasn't crazy—another version of him must exist. But they're also a visual representation of what I know I can't have.
A puck smacks the glass in front of me and I jump, startled. A kid two rows down yells something at the ice and claps his hands. I laugh awkwardly, then glance back at my phone, suddenly self-conscious about my internal monologue and deciding whether or not people could hear it aloud.
"Hey, that's a good one," Alex says from over my shoulder. I quickly swipe out of the photos as if she'd somehow be able to know what I'm thinking, and throw her a smile as she finds her seat.
"Yeah, I figured I could put some casual photos up on the page's stories, then pick a few to put in a carousel."
She looks at me blankly. "Huh?"
"My God," I say, shaking my head. "You and Levi are perfect for each other."
A blush creeps up her cheeks as she shrugs her shoulders. "I know."
"Someone had a good night last night." I raise my brows in her direction as she squirms in her seat.
"And a good morning." She winks as her grin grows into a smile.
"Jesus, you two fuck like rabbits." I roll my eyes, scanning the ice. "I'm so jealous."
Alex nudges her shoulder into mine. "You still going through a dry spell?"
I spin my body toward hers, leaning back in my seat. "Excuse me, it is not a dry spell when it's by choice. I told you—I'm trying to be good—giving myself the chance to really meet someone."
"And I'm so proud of you," Al says as she locks eyes with Levi stepping onto the bench.
He tips his chin up at her, then runs his tongue over his top teeth, his one eyebrow cocked flirtatiously.
I sigh audibly, watching their interaction, my gaze wandering naturally to… him.
Drew drops to his knees and begins thrusting into the ice, taunting me with each motion.
"B, you're the bravest person I know and fiercely independent," Alex says, her hand landing on my arm. "It's the pot calling the kettle black, but you just have to put yourself out there. With jobs and with guys."
"Uh huh," I say, attempting not to get lost in the rhythmic movement of Drew's hips.
"I'm serious. You got this."
I nod mindlessly. "I know." Drew slides onto his stomach, grabs his stick, then pops up into a textbook push-up position.
"Brooke!" Alex hisses as he starts banging out reps. "Too bad he's not ten years older," she laughs, and now she's got my attention. "Or even five, for that matter. You'd clearly have no problem opening up for—I mean to—him."
My jaw clenches as my whole body tenses. Alex's face crinkles as she scans mine that's probably dropped a few shades in color.
"Brooke..."
I flash a tight-lipped smile, taking a vested interest in the Dunkin Donuts' advertisement posted on the boards. "Would you say the Dunkin Donuts' pink is more magenta or—"
"Hold on." She pulls on my arm, literally forcing my hand. I slowly turn so I'm finally facing her. "Am I missing something right now?"
Breathing in deeply, I buy myself time, scanning her dark denim jeans and tight long-sleeve Flames shirt. When our eyes lock again, her lips drop open. "No."
"Mhmm."
"No."
I nod slowly.
"When?"
"At the gala. Took a play from your book."
She gasps, her eyes growing wide. "You did it in the bathroom?" she whisper-shouts.
I purse my lips. "Definitely worth the hype."
Alex opens her mouth ready to agree, then snaps it shut and shakes her head. "But how? Why?"
I huff out a laugh. "I'll let your imagination handle the how." I wink, tapping her knee with mine. "And why?" I throw my arm toward the ice. "Look at him!"
I instantly find Drew amongst the sea of red.
In perfect timing, he takes off his helmet, runs his hands through his hair, then lifts his jersey to wipe sweat off his forehead, leaving a glistening six-pack completely exposed.
I catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his ribs I didn't know existed and curse past-Brooke for insisting he leave his shirt on.
"You know what," Alex starts, and I cringe, anxious about what may come next. "That's fair." I smile as we both gape at Drew as he pushes off the bench, glides backward effortlessly, and licks his lips before bringing his helmet back to the top of his head.
"But why didn't you tell me?"
I swing back in her direction. "I guess I thought you'd make a big thing of it."
She scrunches her nose, creases her brow, and folds her arms across her chest. "With good reason," she says, leaning into me. She lowers her voice. "Brooke, he's twenty-five."
"What are you trying to say?" I deadpan.
Alex rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."
"Yes, Al, I know what you mean. But that was ten months ago." Not that I'm counting. "I didn't have any plans of settling down yet. I was still out having fun and going with the flow." Before I realized everyone in my life was moving on without me. "Blame the old Brooke."
She nods in understanding as she looks down at the ice. "Just promise me that won't happen again. You're on a good path—finally figuring out what you want. And I'm guessing whatever that is doesn't look like Drew Anderson."
I lean back in my seat, exhaling as I watch Drew skate a quick circle, then tap gloves with a teammate. "Yeah,” I mutter, more to myself than to Alex. "I know.”
That's the hardest part. The one thing that might have felt right in the moment isn't anything that could be sustained long-term.
Like it or not, I'm drawn to him, but the Drew I got behind a locked bathroom door isn't the Drew I'd get out here.
Hell, he's not even the twenty-five-year-old I'd get in the real world.
A professional athlete's world is a whole other ball game even if you aren't the golden boy.
And the combination of the two is deadly.
The things I could ignore while we were entangled on the porcelain sink would flash like warning signs any other time.
The problem is that's sort of how I feel about everything right now. The change in dating, my makeshift job, this half-hearted attempt at adulthood, feel good but seem just out of reach.
I sigh at the thought, and just then, Drew's eyes lock with mine. He freezes in his tracks, and I think maybe I'm seeing things until Alex leans over and says, "Does he know it was one and done?"
As if to answer, Drew slides his shield up, revealing those baby blues.
He smirks, then pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
Now I freeze, unable to react, but also not wanting to.
Suddenly, Cooper's voice floats over to me on the other side of his mom as he takes his seat.
Alex's body shifts to face her son, but I'm still paralyzed by Drew's attention.
The horn bursts through the arena, signaling the end of warm ups.
Both teams make their way to their respective benches, but still, Drew and I stare at each other.
The lights dim as the crowd around me hoots and hollers for the players as they skate off the ice and dart into the tunnel toward the locker room.
Finally, Drew slowly slinks toward the boards, all the while, his eyes still on me.
When he gets to the gate, other players step past him to leave as he comes to a stop.
When he's one of the few people still on the ice, he lifts both thumbs and forefingers in two C shapes facing each other, just inches apart in front of his face. I look to Alex to see if she's watching—and if she can possibly explain what the hell is happening—but she isn't.
When I turn back around, Drew turns his head, framing one eye between his hands, and closes his lid, lifting and lowering his one pointer as if he's holding a camera and taking a picture… of me.
My mouth falls open, my only movement. How do I react to that? What do I do with rows of fans sitting between us?
Fortunately for me, I don't have to respond because before I can, Drew flashes me a charming smile and steps into the tunnel.
Then, just like earlier, he's gone.