26 - Wesley
Wesley
I’ll never admit it out loud, but going out with Nathan’s team is fun. The Blue Line is loud with everyone celebrating the Blades’ win. Too many bodies are packed together, and the undercurrent of adrenaline hasn’t burned off yet.
The whole team is still buzzing from the shutout, and it shows. Jerseys have been traded for button-downs and hoodies, but it’s still obvious who the players are.
Nathan’s teammates have taken over two couches and a standing table near the back, beer bottles lining the edge like trophies. Someone is replaying highlights on a phone. Someone else is shouting about missed calls that don’t even matter because they won.
I’m wedged between Nathan and Avery on one of the couches. Harpers perched on the armrest, typing away on her phone, annoyance etched into every inch of her body.
Liam is sucking face with a girl I’ve never seen before on the couch across from us, her legs draped over his lap like she’s claimed territory. He hasn’t come up for air in ten minutes.
“Jesus,” Avery mutters. “Does he even know her name?”
Harper doesn’t look up from her phone. “Bold of you to assume he cares.”
“That’s just Liam,” Nathan says, as if that sums everything up.
It’s no wonder Nathan has earned a bit of a reputation for dating around when Liam is his best friend.
Nathan’s thigh is pressed against mine. Not aggressively, but not accidentally either. Just there. Every time he shifts, I feel it. Every time I breathe, I’m aware of him.
I tell myself it’s for show.
He is my fake boyfriend. We’re in a public setting for a team outing, so it’s all part of the arrangement.
My body does not care about logic.
Someone bumps into our table, sloshing my drink. Nathan’s hand comes out automatically, steadying my glass before it tips. His fingers linger a little too long around mine.
“Careful,” he whispers close to my ear.
My pulse reacts, remembering how his breath felt as it danced across every part of me, only two weeks ago. Would we go there again tonight? Should we?
Harper sighs loudly and finally locks her phone.
Avery turns to her immediately. “Where’s James?”
I widen my eyes. Avery always teeters the line between straight to the point and flat-out rude, but this time, she’s asking the same thing I’ve been wondering.
Harper shrugs, a little too quickly. “Home. Busy.”
“Busy doing what?” Avery presses.
Harper lifts her drink and finishes it in one long pull. “Being tired.”
I catch Avery’s eye to confirm that she’s as worried as I am. James has never been our cup of tea, but he’s never been this MIA either. They’ve only been married for seven months, but Harper doesn’t seem as happy as she should be.
Nathan’s hand slides from my shoulder to my knee, and though I’m wearing jeans, the contact is distracting. I resist the urge to lean into it.
“Hey,” I say, turning toward Harper, forcing a topic change. “How’s school going?”
Harper takes the bait, launching into a hilarious story about the kids in her class. The mood lightens again instantly.
Time stretches. Drinks appear and disappear. Someone puts money into the jukebox, and something loud and nostalgic starts playing through the speakers. Liam and his mystery blonde stumble toward the dance floor. Others start crowding it, too.
Nathan doesn’t leave my side.
Every time I stand to grab another drink, he stands with me. When someone tries to squeeze past, his hand finds my waist. When a guy from another table glances my way a little too long, Nathan shifts closer, shoulder brushing mine, his presence unmistakable.
It feels like foreplay disguised as optics.
I’m very aware of it. Of him.
Becca and Haley show up halfway through the night in Blades gear, their cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Wes!” Becca squeals, throwing her arms around me. “We saw you on the screen!”
Haley grins. “You’re basically famous now.”
I laugh, a little breathless. “Trust me, I’m not.”
I’ve never really spent time with either of them until the past month, but I regret not having done it sooner. They’re nice and fun. It’s exactly what Coach Bennett was trying to get me to understand when she pointed out how my isolation hurts the team.
Grayson slides into the empty space Harper left when she went to the bathroom, flashing what I’m sure he thinks is a charming smile at Avery.
“So,” he says. “You come here often?”
Avery glances up, grabs her coat, and mumbles, “Nope.” Then she breezes past him and out the front door.
Grayson watches her go, then exhales.
“Don’t take it personally,” I say.
“Well, in that case…” Grayson stands and trails after her.
I shake my head. That’s not what I meant. Avery won’t change her mind no matter how much Grayson pesters her.
“Does he stand a chance?” Nathan asks, thumb stroking circles on my waist
“Not a chance in hell.” I find myself leaning in. “She dated a hockey player before. Damon Woods. He plays for New York.”
“That guy is an asshole.”
“Yeah, which is why she’s not interested in anyone from that world.”
“What about you?” He leans in, smirking.
“I’m not interested in anything with anyone.” The words stick in my throat, and his grin widens.
The group starts to fracture after that. People peel off in twos and threes. Wyatt pulls an Irish goodbye around the same time we watch Liam take off with a redhead that looks nothing like the blonde he started the night with. My teammates have all scattered, too, leaving us alone on the couch.
“You want to get out of here?” Nathan finishes off his beer.
The relief is immediate. “Yes.”
We grab our coats quietly, slipping out without announcements. The cold hits hard when we step outside, the noise of the bar muffled behind us.
I shove my hands into my pockets. “I can walk home from here.”
Nathan raises an eyebrow. “Then I’ll walk with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
He leaves his car where it is. I know immediately that I’ll be inviting him inside. My skin prickles with anticipation.
We start down the street together, our steps syncing effortlessly. Our shoulders brush. His hand keeps finding mine, then letting go, then finding it again.
“This is still fake,” I say lightly. A reminder for us both.
“Of course,” he says. “Keeping up appearances.”
I laugh. “For who?”
He glances at me, eyes teasing and warm. “Anyone who might be watching.”
Finally, when his hand finds mine, he keeps it there. The warmth of his palm presses against my own. I should pull away. There are no cameras or teammates. We have no reason to keep up the act.
But we do.
My pulse starts to skitter, anxiety tapping at the edges of my chest. I focus on the cold air in my lungs, the sound of our footsteps on the sidewalk, and anything else that will keep me grounded.
“Your game was insane tonight.” I tap my free hand against my jeans. “Chicago had nothing on you guys.”
He chuckles softly. “They got scrappy there at the end.”
“Scrappy is generous. And then you slammed that guy so hard, he’s probably still seeing two of you.”
Nathan glances sideways at me. “Worth the penalty.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “Two goals. You looked unstoppable.”
There’s a pause before he speaks again, like he’s deciding something. “Coach Rylan pulled me into his office after.”
My heart jumps. “And?”
“Good things,” he says. “Nothing official yet, but positive. The front office is happy. He said if I keep playing like this, I’m in a strong spot.”
“What?” I turn toward him, excitement bursting through my chest before I can stop it. “Nathan, that’s huge.” He stops too, surprise flickering across his face as I launch into his arms without thinking. “That’s everything you’ve been working for.”
His ears go a little pink. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
“I’m proud of you,” I say, without hesitation.
My words hang between us, his face a flurry of emotions before settling on something heavier than I expect.
He ducks his head. “Thanks.”
We start walking again, hands still linked and our bodies closer than before.
“I appreciate you coming tonight,” he adds after a moment. “Would’ve been even better if you wore my jersey.”
I laugh. “Absolutely not. I won’t feed into that misogyny.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Harsh.”
“No, think about it,” I insist. “You don’t see guys wearing their girlfriends’ names. No one’s walking around with ‘Wesley Miller’ stitched across their shoulders.”
He hums thoughtfully.
The conversation drifts, the way it does when you’re distracting yourself from the elephant in the room. Our elephant is the sexual tension that seems to be burning my lungs the closer we get to my apartment.
“Your family wasn’t here tonight.” I’ve been wanting to ask about them more and more lately, always chickening out. Something about the night makes me brave enough to press. “Do they come to games much?”
“No,” he admits. “They’re local, but they’ve never been to a game. Hockey isn’t their thing.”
My brows furrow. My dad would love to be close enough to come to my games regularly. Even if he hated the sport, he’d be there to support me. It’s what parents should do.
“My sister, Delaney, comes occasionally, though,” he continues, a smile creeping in. “She’s in college. When she’s in the stands, she’s the loudest person in the building. You’d like her.”
“You say that like I’m meeting her.”
“I mean,” he shrugs. “You probably will. At some point.”
That feels like crossing a line into something more real than we’ve agreed on. There are only a few more weeks until we stage our fake breakup and move on.
“And your family?” he asks. “You must be close if you go back home often.”
“Yeah. My dad and sister are both really important to me.”
“What about your mom?” he asks, not realizing the landmines he detonated.
“She’s dead.” I chew on my lip.
He doesn’t flinch or rush to fill the silence, instead squeezing my hand gently.
“That sucks. That kind of loss doesn’t go away.”
Something in my chest loosens at the way he says it. There’s no pity in his words. No apology or promise that it gets better. Just understanding.
“It’s been a long time since it happened, but my family really relies on me to be the glue that she was.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever said those thoughts out loud. I know Avery and Harper have an idea, but that’s after years of bits and pieces.
“That’s a lot of pressure on you.”
I swallow, nodding. “Yeah. Sometimes it feels like if I stop moving, everything will fall apart.”
His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “You’re allowed to be more than just the glue. Even the people who sacrifice the most sometimes have to pick themselves.”
“I don’t really have that choice.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to decide something. “Or you just don’t let yourself.”
My breath catches.
“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “Why shouldn’t you want something for yourself?”
“Taking risks is a luxury. Wanting things is a luxury. I won’t let the people I love down over things like that.”
“But what about you? When do you get what you want?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Just thinking about it almost undoes me, but I focus on the sidewalk until the tears that I refuse to let fall go back to wherever the hell they tried to escape from.
We shouldn’t be talking like this. We should be keeping things light. Yet, somehow, I always find myself opening up to him. I know better, but it happens again and again anyway.
Nathan doesn’t acknowledge it, instead keeping his hand firm in mine, grounding me back to the night.
By the time we reach my building, the silence has washed away the existential crisis in my head. Now, my head spins for new reasons.
I’ve never had a guy in my place. I’ve never wanted to.
As if sensing my hesitation, Nathan speaks up, “Did you get my note?”
I smile, warmth blooming low in my stomach, squashing my uncertainty entirely. “Yeah.”
“And?”
I pull him up the stairs behind me, unlocking my door and stepping inside.
I meet his eyes. “Come in.”