Page 34 of Face Off

“Those aren’t for the suits.”

Easton turned one between his fingers.

“You carried the team when I couldn’t,” Cade said. “You took the C when I was hurt, held the Fury together. Detroit knows what kind of player they drafted. I know what kind of man came with him.”

Easton’s jaw tightened. “You would’ve done the same.”

“I know.”

They clasped hands before Easton pulled Cade into a brief embrace, striking his back once before stepping away.

Briggs opened his box before Cade gave it to him.

“You ruin everything,” Cade said.

“I’m excited.”

A silver pocket watch rested inside, the lid engraved with the outline of a goalie crease. Briggs opened it and found another inscription.

For the wall that kept us standing.

His eyes filled immediately.

“Fuck you,” he whispered.

Cade smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“No, seriously. Fuck you. I had an argument with my girlfriend, traveled across the country, and now you’re ambushing me with feelings inside a library.”

“You kept every one of us standing when we should’ve fallen,” Cade told him. “You made us laugh when nothing was funny, showed up before anyone asked, and never let one of us believe we were alone. You’re more than the guy in the net, Briggs. You’re the heart of this family.”

Briggs closed the distance and wrapped both arms around Cade hard enough to lift his shoes from the floor.

Easton grabbed Cade’s drink before it spilled. Rider rescued the remaining boxes from the table, while Cade cursed and ordered Briggs to put him down.

Briggs lowered him but didn’t release him immediately. When he finally stepped away, he wiped his face with both hands and looked toward the ceiling.

“I hate rich people,” he announced.

“You cried before checking the price,” Rider said.

Cade took the final box and turned toward me.

I accepted it and opened the lid.

A simple silver tie bar rested against the black velvet. It was clean enough to wear with the black suit Charm had probably helped Bliss choose for me before either woman knew whether I would come. I lifted it from the box and turned it over, finding a row of numbers engraved across the back.

“What are these?”

“Coordinates.”

“I figured that much.”

“The community rink in East Harlem.”

My thumb stopped against the engraving.

“The place we met,” Cade added. “Bliss explained the whole coordinate thing to me after I ordered it, so if they’re wrong, blame the internet.”