Page 32 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Rafe hands me his pool stick and I chalk it up.
“You play pool or are you fooling around?” he asks.
“Good question,” Finn says. Aiden hands over his stick and O’Rourke reappears with a Brawlers shirt in hand. He tosses it to me.
“This should fit. Put it on before you do anything else. Make yourself at home, part of the family. Because our team is like our second family and I swear that’s the key to our success.” I put the stick aside and pull off the old NOLA shirt then slip on the new Brawlers colors.
“Fits perfectly,” I say, though it’s snug. O’Rourke eyes me, looks me up and down.
“Sure. If you like showing off your muscles. Just remember we’re a family-oriented team here.”
“Not that you’re expected to be a monk as a single guy,” Finn adds, slapping my back.
“Oh, but I am expected to be a monk,” I say, embracing the full-disclosure, all-in policy if these guys are going to be like family. And I hope they will be. Tension twists in my gut with the need, the realization that these men hold my future in their hands as much as I do, and fitting in here is more than a want. Feeling like the new kid in fifth grade all over again, I grin at Finn’s skeptical look and the chuckles from the others.
“Whose rule is that?” Finn asks. “Harper dishing out that shit?”
“There’s more to it than that,” I say, surprised at the defensiveness in my voice. Letting out a breath, I admit to the whole fucking nightmare. “I’m contractually obligated to behave. And by behave, I mean, I believe the words were, ‘no tomcatting around.’”
“What the fuck?” Finn almost spits out his beer. O’Rourke and the others laugh. Rafe slaps my back.
“Don’t worry, Knight. The season won’t last forever. Only until June, because we’re not going home until we win the cup of Lord Stanley.”
“Fine with me. I’d do just about anything to win the cup.”
“Including become a virtual monk?” Finn laughs, shaking his head. “You’re in a worse fucking mess than I was ever in and that shit was pretty messed up.”
“I’ll be fine. Better than fine. I’ll be all about hockey twenty-four-seven. Nothing else.” I give Finn a back slap. “Except kicking your ass at pool for a two grand right here and now.” A rumble of approval mixed with guffaws goes up and the guys gather round as I rack up the balls.
“You want to break?” Finn asks.
“That was your first mistake,” I say, “because you won’t see one shot before I’m done.”
“You’re telling me you’re going to run a hundred balls?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I firm my resolve, hoping my skills haven’t deserted me, because in truth it’s been a good six months since I’ve played. But it’s one of those things you never forget, and I’ve played pool all my life in between playing hockey and cooking and eating. And sex, of course. “I’m a shark. My record is a run of two hundred thirty-six balls.” I nod at him, satisfied at the sudden slack in his jaw. “You?”
A hundred three balls, four ice-waters and a shit-ton of pizza later, I leave the O’Rourkes' house with Finn, my rep and my place on the team cemented. Truthfully, I’m not sure if it’s my recipe exchange with Chelsea or my run of eighty-six balls before Finn took a shot that impressed the guys more. Either way, once I donated the two-thousand bucks to Rafe’s wife Zoey’s girl’s camp, the nods of approval felt genuine.
“Don’t thank me. It’s Finnegan Reed’s money,” I say as I follow Finn out the door and he chortles.
“Go ahead. Grind it in. You’re just lucky we don’t have a skate in the morning or I would have called this thing an hour ago.”
“Good night, guys. Drive safe,” Chelsea says as she stands in the door with Ryan’s arms wrapped around her. Finn gives me a ride back to the hotel.
“What time is it?” I ask absently as I get into his car, a solid-looking Audi.
“After one a.m. I’m surprised Harper hasn’t sent the dogs out looking for you.” I laugh because he’s right.
“Shit. I had my phone turned off.” She couldn’t have been serious about waiting up for me. He laughs.
“Are you sure you’re not a couple?” he asks, and I jerk my eyes to his.
“Fuck no. What would make you say that?”
“Don’t get all pissy.” He shrugs. “But I saw the way you looked at her—not that I blame you because she’s—”
“There’s nothing between us but business. That’s the way it has to be.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever you say.” He drops it and says he’ll pick me up tomorrow to give me a ride to the Garden for the game.
“Thanks, man. Enjoyed the night. I’m going to like it here.” He nods and I get out of the car wondering what the fuck I’m going to do or say if Harper is still up and divided down the middle on whether I want to find her awake or asleep.
Wishing I could do something with her either way until I feel the ache of loss because I can’t. What the fuck is that about? Replaying the last pool shot in my head on a repeating loop, I get to the hotel room door and heave a breath, nerves firing up like well-timed fireworks sparking all at once. I open the door and step inside the dimly lit sitting room.
Once my eyes adjust I see her on the couch. She’s asleep. And her computer is open on her lap with her screensaver flashing replays of a hockey shot at me. Taking a closer look, I realize the player taking the shot is me. She has me taking a slap shot in my last playoff game as her screensaver. There’s a quote across the top. It says “How lucky I am to have something that people want. And luckier still to give it.” Fuck. A cascade of soft vibrations rumble through my chest and my breathing catches as I lean down to pick up the computer and put it aside on the cocktail table.
She stirs and I stop breathing, but then she settles back, still sound asleep. Fuck. If I pick her up to bring her to bed, she’ll wake up. Instead, I go into her bedroom and get a pillow and blanket. I manage to tuck the pillow under her head and lay the blanket over her without waking her. Her breathing is quiet and she looks so soft and vulnerable. I stand watching her for a few beats and I don’t know what I’m looking for, what I’m hoping to see, or what I’m feeling that makes me stay, but I finally force myself to move because it’s late.
And there’s no way I’m sleeping tonight without dreaming about her. If I sleep at all.
