Chapter 37 Brooke
Brooke
"Hey, Brooke!”
Walking toward the locker room, a voice calls from behind me.
"Max?” I ask after spinning around to find the Flames' equipment manager jogging down the hall.
"Yeah." He continues toward me as he talks. "Drew asked me to find you and let you know that he and a few of the guys are getting some reps in on the ice.”
"After the game?”
Max stops in front of me, exhales heavily, and places his hands on his hips. "Yeah, something about making up for lost time today. You know how the boys are.”
"Oh, uh, okay." I look around unnecessarily as if the walls might tell me what to do now. "Did he say if I should wait?”
Max nods, his eyes bright. "He actually said you should join them when you get here. Behind the bench or whatever.”
"Um, alright.”
I clear my head of all the expectations I had for when I finally saw Drew again, my mind racing as it attempts to pivot. Max shoots me an easy grin like he always does despite the situation and turns on his heel.
"It's propped open!" he calls from over his shoulder.
It takes so long to realize what he's talking about that he's almost out of sight before it clicks. "Thank… you..." My voice fades off as I yell to him, waving awkwardly to the back of his head as he rounds the corner of the hall.
Shifting in a half circle, still thrown off, I turn back around. I walk past the locker room, continuing down the hallway toward the door Drew and I so recently escaped to.
The door that leads to the ice.
And to the penalty box.
After Drew left this afternoon, I felt on top of the world.
He came. And he's staying. And he's… falling in love with me?
That I didn't expect. All of it was a toss up really, but to hear those words come from his mouth, took me by surprise.
Since then, I haven't stopped thinking about what he said.
"You have no idea what it feels like to be falling in love with you, Mystery Girl."
Just like Drew, it was bold and unexpected.
But also like him, it was familiar and comfortable.
I would've thought hearing that would scare me—especially after the last twenty-four hours and everything we've been through.
But instead of wanting to run, I wished I could wrap myself in his words like a blanket.
The truth is, I'm not sure I knew how I felt until he said it out loud.
I want to fall in love, that's been my plan all along.
But I guess I didn't realize it would feel the same as it did when I met Alex or saw Selah as a newborn.
Every relationship I mistook for love in the past, I had free fallen into—heart racing, head spinning—a complete loss of gravity.
But maybe those weren't real. Or this is just what growing up really feels like.
Because when Drew told me how he felt, it wasn't a cliff dive. It was a warm, steady hum.
And just like that, I knew.
I feel the same.
But now, nerves hit that I wasn’t expecting. This will be the first time the guys are around us since that moment. And since we can be together.
How do I act?
What do I say?
Why do I suddenly not know what to do with my hands?
The palm hooked around the handle of my bag grows clammy, a slight panic taking over as I get closer to the tunnel door.
I start to overthink if I should even join them—considering the conversation I know he planned to have, maybe this calls for a bit of a boys day.
But just as I begin to hesitate, the faint sound of music seeps through the crack in the door.
"What the… ?"
I take a few more strides, and the noise grows a bit louder, the vocals calling me closer.
Sticking my fingers through the inch of space that separates the door from the wall, I pull it open.
A folded piece of paper that must have been wedged in the frame to prop it open, falls to the floor.
I pick it up, humming the familiar tune to a song I've listened to a million times in the last month—one off of the playlist. I shove the paper in my pocket and step into the tunnel, the sound of the door slamming shut, ricocheting off the walls around me. Damn, Drew was right.
Moving toward the ice, I expect to see Drew and the boys taking shots on net or passing the puck back and forth across the blue line. Instead, Drew, Brett, and Alexei stand at center ice in street clothes and skates. And they're all staring directly at me.
"Hi, guys," I say hesitantly, stepping onto the bench.
Drew skates forward as the other two stay put. Brett and Alexei both wear straight faces, Burnsey clearly struggling more than Storm with the task. When he gets to the boards, Drew stops on a dime.
"Hey you." He smiles that boyish smile, and just like that—despite the weird freaking circumstances—all of my nerves disappear again.
"Twelve," I say back, my voice still wary. "What are you doing?"
He raises an eyebrow, attempting to maintain his confidence. His cheeks grow rosy, though, and something tells me that it's not from the temperature of the ice. "It seems you're officially off the Flames' clock."
He tips his chin up toward the stands behind me as the song fades out. I turn around to see a very giddy Alex sitting in the third row, her phone in her hand.
"Al?"
"Hi, he's right. I just met the new girl, so you're no longer needed," she explains quickly.
I scoff, faking offense. "Well, damn. Thanks a lot."
She rolls her eyes playfully. "You know what I mean. You're no longer employed by the Flames, and therefore, free to see whoever you'd like." She wiggles her brows at me, and I narrow my eyes in her direction. "Not that it really matters," she mumbles under her breath.
"Where is McHottie?" I ask, passive aggressively.
"Who now?" Drew hurries to lean forward, but I ignore his question, my attention still on my best friend.
"I don't know, reviewing film from the game or something. But you're good, I promise! And I'm here to document." She shakes her phone at me, and I spin back to Drew.
"Document what?"
He pulls his bottom lip in and drags it between his teeth. Between that and the way he's looking at me—mixed with my full reign to kiss him in public—I'd be turned on if I wasn't so confused.
"Well," he starts, resting his forearm on the boards. "I remember something about you asking for a performance."
My eyes go wide as I consider all the ways he could possibly mean performance. "No."
Drew nods, glancing at the boys over his shoulder.
"No," I say again, this time dragging out the last letter as several dots connect in my mind.
"Let 'er rip, Ward!" Drew yells.
His voice echoes around the rink until it's replaced by music—the opening to my, and now Drew's, favorite song.
"No," I deny for a third time as he bends over the boards between us and grabs a pile of hockey sticks. Drew throws one to Brett and one to Alexei before kissing me on the cheek and skating back to center ice.
Machine Gun Kelly's voice rings out, and when it does, it mixes with Drew's as he sings the lyrics into the butt of his stick. "Oh my God," I whisper.
I stare in awe as he belts out the whole intro, Burnsey and Petrov bopping behind him. They mix in a few spins here and there—Alexei still stone-faced despite his pirouettes. But no matter how ridiculous they look, I can't seem to fully rip my eyes away from Drew.
When the first verse starts, he pushes off his back foot and glides toward me, his hockey stick microphone still in hand. He stops at the boards, and slides his hand past my cheek, serenading me with a pop song and two backup dancers who are doing surprisingly well prancing around on skates.
I can't hold in my laughter as he dramatically sings the words I know so well just inches from my face. Drew smiles, breaking character completely, and I almost cut him off with my mouth, endorphins rushing through me like I'm actually on stage.
But I don't want to stop whatever's happening here.
As the hook begins, he moves back to center ice where the other two boys join him again. I look over my shoulder at Alex, who is staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed, her phone in front of her face as she watches through the screen.
I turn back around just in time for the chorus—and air guitar—to start.
All three boys belt out the words, Petrov's low grumble the perfect anchor to whatever stage voice Brett seems to be using.
The group of professional hockey players in front of me, swing their arms over their sticks—complete garage band style—and Drew melts me with his piercing eye contact and flirty grin.
He sings the lyrics like a question—asking whether or not I'd stand by him despite his imperfections.
If I'd take the risk on us even though it might be safer just to walk away.
His performance is pure comedy—full of off-key harmonies and grown men dancing on ice—but tears still sting my eyes.
I don't know if he chose this song because it's fast-paced or we both like it.
Or if the lyrics mean as much to him as they do to me.
But I picked it for his playlist because he's all I think about when I hear it.
And now I'm reminded of why.
Drew has a lot going on. And no, he hasn't always made the right choices. But he's filled with so much good—so much kindness and quiet empathy—that he's hidden all these years behind an image that he has had to maintain. But if you know him, you see it right away.
You feel it when he's with you.
Or at least I do.