Page 259 of Cross Checked
“Ohhhhhhhhh,” Briggs yelled. “Deflection.”
Easton looked horrified. “That is not the same thing.”
I leaned back against my stall, grinning now. “Really? Because from what I hear, you’ve had a suspicious amount of movie nights.”
Easton pointed at me aggressively. “Aura and I are normal.”
“Sure.”
“Don’t do this before a game.”
Ryan shook his head slowly. “He’s rattled.”
“I am not rattled.”
“You’re blushing,” Briggs informed him.
“I hate all of you.”
“Love you too, Wade.”
The room cracked up again while Easton buried his face in his gloves.
Coach walked in before the chirping could escalate into violence, and the locker room snapped back into focus instantly. Music lowered. Guys straightened. Helmets started going on.
But even through the shift into game mode, Briggs still leaned toward me one last time.
“So, are we officially using the word girlfriend, or are you still emotionally constipated?”
I stared at him flatly.
Briggs nodded once. “Got it. We’re close though.”
Honestly?
Closer than he realized.
Because the second I woke up in Bliss’s bed this morning with her smiling at me like she finally believed she was allowed to be loved safely, something inside me locked into place permanently.
Mine.
The kind of certainty that settled into your bones and stayed there.
Coach started final pregame talk, but my focus flickered for half a second toward the tunnel leading out to the ice because somewhere beyond it was Bliss behind the glass in my jersey just like she promised.
And heaven help anyone standing in front of me tonight because of it.
The second we hit the ice for warmups, I found her immediately.
My eyes tracked automatically toward the seats behind the glass near center ice, and there she was, wearing my black MERCER 55 jersey over ripped skinny jeans and Nikes, hair down in loose waves while Aura and Charm screamed beside her like complete lunatics.
But she wasn’t only with the girls tonight.
Her family had taken over half the row around her like a Bennett security detail dressed in game-day casual. Daniel stood behind her shoulder in a Fury hoodie that looked brand-new enough to tell me someone had made him buy it for tonight, arms crossed, eyes already narrowed at the ice like he was trying to decide whether hockey was a sport or a sanctioned excuse for assault. Ryker was beside him, jaw tight, posture rigid, looking like he wanted to hate me on principle but couldn’t quite manage it while Bliss bounced on her toes in my jersey. Knox stood near the aisle with that cop stare of his scanning exits, players, crowd movement, everything, because apparently hypervigilance was a family heirloom. Lyon and Emmitt were already chirping eachother over something on the ice, while Kellen had his phone up recording like he had appointed himself family historian of my public emotional downfall.
The second her eyes found mine, Bliss smiled, and my chest physically tightened.
Not the polished smile she used when people were watching too closely. Not the careful one she gave the world when she wanted everyone to believe she was fine.
