Chapter 27 Brooke
Brooke
Watching Drew Anderson on the ice is always mesmerizing.
Watching him not even an hour from the last time he was inside of you is a totally different experience.
Not to mention the fact that I now know how hard he's working to make this all look effortless.
It's amazing to think he's performing twice every time he laces up—amazing, and yet, still so sad.
But hopefully not something that will go on much longer.
I knew he'd like the playlist. I didn't realize it'd mean as much to him as it seemed to, but I know music is his love language. What I didn't predict was how aware he'd be of why I made it. How lyrics seem to explain the things I think or feel in ways I would never be able to say aloud.
I am trying though. And I do want to let Drew in.
I just didn't realize when I set out to settle down with someone seriously, how hard it would be to open up.
It should be obvious—being in a relationship means giving someone your heart and trusting them not to completely destroy it.
But I'm realizing that's the reason committing never seemed to appeal to me.
Going all in is scary as hell. I get shit on every day by people who are supposed to love me—talk about a love language.
Why would I willingly allow someone else to do the same?
"Alright, spill."
I practically throw the camera in my hands into the boards thanks to the jump scare Alex causes from sneaking up behind me. "Holy ninja! Warn a girl."
She shrugs standing in front of our seats, glancing over my shoulder at the boys as they skate to the bench for the final ice cut before puck drop. "Tell me whatever it is you're not telling me."
I stare straight ahead, hoping she'll suddenly get amnesia or lose this sixth sense she seems to have. Damn her and her parental instincts.
"You slept with him, didn't you?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
She inhales slowly, her eyes trailing Levi behind the bench. "Mhmm. Where was it this time? A kitchen, a laundry room… maybe a nice foyer."
"The shooting bay."
"The shooting bay?" she hisses back at me, turning her body so it faces mine.
I stay where I am, but take a deep, steadying breath, knowing the rest of this conversation's inevitable. Alex is my best friend. We don't keep secrets. Or at least not well.
"And his place," I add quickly.
"What?"
"And mine."
"B!"
"And the Flames' sauna like forty-five minutes ago."
At this point my words are just spewing out as quickly as possible to get the whole thing over with.
I watch her mouth fall open from the corner of my eye before twisting to face her, waiting for any kind of verbal response.
She holds that position, pausing briefly with her eyes narrowed and her lips still parted, until she finally leans in slightly.
"Was it on?" she whispers, her brows fully creased.
I roll my eyes as I face the ice again, escaping momentarily into the satisfaction that is the sleek lines that trail behind the Zamboni.
"No, it wasn't on," I answer after it curves around the corner.
Suddenly my head snaps back to her, a more important detail on her end yet to be mentioned. "But what gave it away?"
Now it's Al who rolls her eyes as she brings her attention back to our team's bench. "Please, B. I've known you for how long? And all but the last six months have involved seeing you quite frequently in your post-coital glow."
"Dammit," I mumble. "I do glow, don't I?"
Alex chuckles under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah," she says confidently. My whole face scrunches up as I curse myself for not preparing better for this conversation when she speaks again. "But you also smell like man."
I instantly raise my shoulder, inhaling deeply as I stuff my nose into the cotton of my gray Flames t-shirt.
The all too familiar scent of my favorite player hits me, and I instantly ache between my thighs…
and surprisingly, my chest. Drew's cologne takes me back to where we were just before this, his body pressed flush to mine, his warm breath lingering past my ear as he tried to punish me with his strong hands and flawless cock—his movements anything but cruel.
I shiver at the memory of him pleading for me not to leave him, and my gaze coincidentally—or not—lands on him.
"Just be careful, B," Alex says, as I watch Drew talk to her husband, his helmet in his hands revealing his slick hair and boyish grin.
For a second I wonder if he's smiling because of me until Alex brings me back to earth.
"You're a tough one to crack, but once you do, you're total mush on the inside. "
I look at her sideways, defensive but also reluctant to fully look away. "Am not."
She scoffs. "Mhmm. Tell that to my teenage son who has you eating out of his hand."
I suck my teeth and shake my head, my eyes following Drew as he walks down the bench, the entire front row of spectators banging on the glass beside him trying to get his attention. Man, this really is a boy aquarium.
I clear my throat of the annoyance—and slight jealousy—that's building in my chest from their relentless pursuit of him while he sits trying to prepare for his game. "That doesn't count," I eventually rebuke. "Cooper's young and adorable."
Alex laughs. "Yeah." She looks at me and smiles slyly as I stare at Drew. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of here."
Before I can argue that she makes me sound like a total creep, the lights dim slightly, and the announcer’s voice booms through the arena as the players skate to their respective blue lines for the anthem.
The crowd around us rises as I press my lips into a firm line and hold the camera up in front of my face, finally getting to the reason why I'm here in the first place.
Behind the lens, my focus drifts back to Drew standing at the end of the line.
His stick is in one hand while his other arm hangs loosely by his side, his head bowed.
The music starts playing, leading in the singer standing by the announcers' box, and for the first time since the sauna—where he froze while buried deep inside me—he’s completely still.
Throughout all of warm ups he seemed to pace, occasionally diving into a stretch or spinning his stick as he caught a puck on the blade.
He still gave the crowd his usual show of pouring water down his hair or spraying ice at the glass as he came to a stop.
But his energy was shifted slightly. Even if I'm the only one who would have noticed.
Attempting to focus the lens with my mind on his well-being, I slowly lower my pointer on the shutter button. Just as it clicks, Drew raises his head and brings his eyes right to me as I snap the first shot of the day.
I lower my camera to meet his gaze, but that quickly, it's back on the ice. Instead, I scan the image that's momentarily up on the preview. It’s Drew—a little blurry and slightly off-center—but it’s him.
And maybe that’s the perfect start to the game.
As the clock winds down to the end of the first period, I look at Alex who has been straining to keep quiet this whole time.
Admittedly, Drew has been playing… not his best. He's fumbled a few passes, missed the net on the only shot he's taken, and turned the puck over more than a couple times.
Nothing outlandish—the Flames are still up by one—but definitely not his norm. And maybe that's the problem.
I follow him as he lines up for the last minute of play, his body language slouched in defeat, and Alex peers over at me, her eyebrows high but her lips sealed shut.
"Don't," I say bluntly, my heart-rate kicking up.
"B..." she presses.
"Al..."
She stares through me until I look at her. "Did you break him?"
"No!" I shout, quickly glancing around to make sure I didn't draw any attention. "No," I repeat quieter, but more definitively. Alex holds my gaze as everything about Drew's situation and his feelings toward it—as well as our last conversation—runs through my mind.
His dad, his attitude, his PR manager.
"I'll tell you what, I'll give you more if you give me more."
"I want to see you be you out there today."
"I promise I'll make it worth your while."
"I don't think so," I whisper under my breath.
Alex smacks me with the back of her hand. "Brooke!"
"No, that's not what I—here." I toss my camera in her lap and jump from my seat. "I'll be right back."
I hit the stairs, rushing toward the main concourse.
Thankfully, during my meeting with Sadie from Spark the Flame, she gave me the inside scoop on how to get back to the facilities quickly from the stands in case I needed any last minute pieces of equipment.
Thank God for that woman's attention to detail.
Luckily for me, the directions still apply even if what I need is worth a little more than a tripod.
As I bound down the first turn toward the offices, the buzzer sounds throughout the arena signaling the end of the first period of play.
Frazzled, I spin around, gathering my bearings, knowing that somehow this hallway leads me to three places—the exit, the rest of the facilities, and the tunnel I need to be at in just a few seconds.
Holding my breath and making my best guess, I stride down the longest hall, knowing if I'm wrong, I won't make it in time.