Page 84 of Game Misconduct

thirty-two

. . .

Nick

For two weeks, everything is perfect. We have a road trip to New York and then onto DC, where I somehow manage not to sneak into Bex’s hotel room, and every night we’re at home, she’s in my bed. I like falling asleep with her in my arms, and I like waking up to her even more.

She’s grumpy as fuck in the mornings, takes twenty-minute showers, and leaves half-full drinking glasses on every surface. Her idea of a healthy breakfast is an untoasted strawberry Pop-Tart and about a gallon of lukewarm coffee.

Whenever I see her at the rink, it takes everything in me not to claim her in front of the team. I’ve held off, though. While we’ve talked briefly about filing the relationship with HR, she’s not ready, and I won’t push her. She stands to lose a lot more than I do, but I can’t help thinking that if team management knew about us, I’d be the one on the chopping block. She’s doing good work with us. Meaningful work. I’m on the dark side of my career.

But if I let myself think about the end of my career, I start to wallow, and I’m not in the mood to dwell on what could be. Not when I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms and in my bed.

One night, she goes to book club with “the girls,” as she calls it, and I trail through my empty apartment, cataloging all the ways it’s different without her. MacGregor and Logan invite me to dinner—Hailey is at book club, too—and Sinclair and Jenkins join in. We gorge on chicken wings and light beer while MacGregor whips all our asses at video games.

It’s nice hanging out with the guys. Being accepted as part of the team. These men battle it out with me everyday on the ice, but sometimes teammate relationships can be shallow and superficial. I’ve never felt like that with the Grizzlies. They’ve welcomed me with open arms, and always made clear that my place is here, with them.

Just like Bex has made clear that she’s here to stay. That this isn’t a fling, that she actually cares. Tonight, we’re meeting her brother for dinner, and she’s going to tell him. We’re going to tell him.

And I’m shitting bricks.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, squeezing my hand. “We’ve got this.”

“Right,” I croak.

Her red smile tips up. “Nothing he says to you, or about you, will change my mind. Not about this.”

I’m not used to second-guessing myself like this. Overall, I’m comfortable with who I am, confident in my skin. I like who I am.

But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to my faults. I’m impulsive, quick to anger, and holy fuck, can I hold a grudge.

Including against this asshole. We’re meeting her brother for dinner at some tiny dive bar in Fenway-Kenmore, a place he requested. It’s not the usual hockey player hangout visiting players tend to frequent, much more low-key and laid back. Perfect for what we need.

I really don’t want to die today.

Bex spots him across the bar, and we weave through the crowded, dimly lit space until we reach her brother at a high-top in the back.

Whitney frowns when he sees me trailing after her, but he gives me an upward nod, acknowledging my presence.

“Hey, B,” he says, rising from his barstool. He gives her a hug, then offers me his hand for a shake. For once, he doesn’t try to crush my fingers. “What’s this chump doing here?”

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought my boyfriend with me,” she says as I help her into her seat.

He knocks over his drinking glass, the sticky table flooding with ice and water. “The fuck did you just say?” he demands, his face turning red.

“We’re together,” she says calmly as I take my place beside her. “Nick and I are dating.”

“But—but—” He pats the table with his napkin, but it does a poor job of mopping up the spill. I pull mine free from the silverware roll, helping to clean up.

“We’re not asking for your permission, simply informing you of our intent.” I take her hand, my thumb brushing over her knuckles soothing me as much as it does her. “I want to date your sister.”

Whitney reaches across the table, punching me in the shoulder. “It’s about time. You’ve only been making eyes at her for the last year and a half.”

My face heats. “So you’re okay with this?”

“I don’t have any other option, do I?” There’s a sullen set to his jaw, but his eyes are bright with amusement. “How long has this been going on?”

“It’s new.” Bex picks up her menu, perusing it. “How do you feel about cheese fries?”