Page 61 of Game Misconduct

twenty-three

. . .

Bex

Luke Henry grins, his arms outstretched. “Babe!”

I cross the five steps of the restaurant’s entrance in a hurry, burrowing into his barrel chest. He folds his arms around me, holding me close.

“It’s good to see you, B,” he says into my hair.

He’s a good six foot three, two hundred twenty pounds, and the sweetest cinnamon roll ever to exist. He pretends to be a playboy, and yeah, he sleeps around a fair bit, but he’s never once made me feel like one of his playthings. Like he’s just interested in me for sex. He treats me like a real person. Like he cares about me. Like I actually mean something.

And I fucking love it as much as I hate it.

Love it, because I’m severely lacking this sort of unconditional friendship in my life. Hate it, because it only serves to remind me of everything I’m missing and desperately want.

To my everlasting horror, a few tears leak from the corner of my eyes. To hide them, I bury my face in his neck, his skin warm and rough with stubble. His cologne is comforting, the scent branded into my brain as safe. He’s my protector. My bestie. He’ll never toy me around or do me wrong.

And not because my brother would kick his ass. Because he genuinely likes me for me, and not what I can do for him.

I missed the damn bastard. Why did he have to sign with Tampa and not with Boston? Doesn’t he know I need him here, with me?

“It’s good to see you too, Lukey.”

His warm chuckle rumbles through me. “Oh, don’t cry. I promise I’m not worth crying over.”

Although he’s pretending to joke, I know it’s what he truly believes, and I poke him between the ribs, hard. He flinches, his entire body spasming around me.

“Shut up with that. You know I don’t like when you talk that way.”

Seb’s hearty laugh sounds behind me. “Damn. Finally someone who knows how to put you in your place.”

Luke grins, shifting his arm around my shoulders. “She’s good at that.”

The tension eases from his body, and I watch as my goaltender embraces his brother, followed by Audrey wrapping her arms around him.

She cuffs Luke on the back of his head. “You don’t write, you don’t call… You can’t even send a carrier pigeon?”

“Audrey,” he whines. “You know what the season’s like.”

“I do. And that’s why I know you promised to keep in touch, and you haven’t fucking kept your part of the deal.” She kisses his cheek. “Don’t worry, I forgive you. This time.”

Seb laughs, reaching for his wife’s hand. “Be nice, Auds. If we’re too hard on him, he might never leave. You know he likes when you’re mean.”

Luke rolls his eyes at his brother’s good-natured teasing. “Yeah, yeah, it’s make fun of Luke night.”

“You mean every night,” he shoots back.

“How about some dinner?” I cut in. It’s always a toss-up whether they’ll laugh or throw punches. Tonight, they seem to be in a good mood, but I’ve seen how quickly cajoling can turn into a fistfight with the Henry brothers.

The restaurant’s host is waiting expectantly. He seems relieved when we finally approach, and in short order, we’re whisked away to a quiet corner in the back, where nobody can fawn over the two NHL superstars.

There have been a few articles published about my being related to Wyatt, how his career and mine intersect. Since I work for the team, and am young (and female) for my position, I get a decent amount of media attention. It’s exponentially more intense when I spend time with Luke. The press—and the internet comment section—always think there’s more going on than there is.

Joke’s on them, though, because we are friends. Great friends. A questionable pair, maybe, the twenty-four-year-old hotshot hockey player and the thirty-one-year-old neuroscience nerd. But we complement each other. Nobody else has to understand it. We do.

Dinner is excellent—the food good, the company better. Seb and Luke joke and tease each other, and Audrey gets in on the action, too, taunting both her husband and brother-in-law in equal measure.