Page 41

THIRTY-NINE

SWEETHEART

The few disrespectful shouts from Denver fans only make me want to smash their players harder against the boards.

The picture came out, as promised, but we didn’t pay them any mind besides checking that they’d been posted. Clearly, everyone in the arena is aware, or was made aware when they arrived.

Their fans are out for blood, and so are the players.

We don’t make it easy for them, though.

Not at all.

Our cheesy declaration of love that I will never forget—and it will never not give me butterflies, though I’ll never confess that to anyone—gave me a high of happiness unlike anything I’d felt before.

But it also reinforced my determination to put Nik in a position where he can show the world why he deserves the James Norris Memorial Trophy this season.

His viral save back in April made enough buzz that he’s one of the finalists, but I want to guarantee he gets it. Because he does deserve it.

Of course, I also want us to achieve the ultimate feat and win the Stanley Cup, but the whole team is putting all our energy into that anyway, so no need to focus on it any more.

Nik and I keep our record intact, we don’t let a single goal in throughout the game, but our line doesn’t put in a single goal either, and by the time there’s ten minutes left of the second period, we’re getting frustrated.

It’s then that the crowd goes wild during a commercial break, and I look around, trying to find out what all the fuss is about.

Then something on the jumbotron catches my eye, and my mouth falls open as I slap Nik’s chest to get his attention.

“What?” he mumbles, and I just point for him to see. He’s as speechless as me.

I recognize the man they’re showing instantly. How could I not when he’s a carbon copy of the one sitting next to me?

But what’s baffling isn’t that Max is standing in Gab’s suite, or that he’s surrounded by smiling Hearts, but that he’s holding up a sign with my grandmother.

“Brotnik + Heart Forever” is written on a big white cardboard, and they’re waving it around like maniacs. I don’t know how any of them got here on time, they must’ve left to fly down here as soon as I texted them about the photo, but I’m painfully grateful that they’re here.

The packed arena is still going with their cheers, and suddenly the song playing changes.

“Santa Baby,” the Ariana Grande version, comes on, and I have to burst out laughing when the feed on the jumbotron changes to Nik. He snaps his mouth closed and tries to scowl at the attention, but the way his cheeks redden at an alarming rate betrays him.

It goes on long enough that the crowd is singing along, but then the song changes again, and I shake my head in amazement.

It’s the first time they’ve played it for me in this arena, though they used to play it almost every game back in Atlanta.

“Sweet Caroline” rings out, and the crowd changes the lyrics too.

“Sweet Charlie Heart, pa pa pa.” I applaud the great rendition and smile like an idiot, but soon enough my gaze returns to Gab’s suite, where my family inexplicably is, and surrounding Max no less.

“Did you know he would come?” I ask Nik quietly, right when the game is about to resume.

“No, I didn’t,” he whispers. His eyes are filled with wonder as they stay locked on the suite as well.

I pat his leg and nod at the ice, a signal that we still have a game to win. I see the familiar intensity come into his eyes, harden his jaw, and I know it’s on.

But by the time there’s only two minutes left in the third period and we’re tied at four, I know we have to do something drastic.

No matter how fucking locked in we are, we just can’t find a way in.

Laney calls a time-out ten seconds after we hit the ice, and we’re huddled by the bench as he shakes his head.

“You have to put one in, guys. Finish this.”

“We know,” Spiderman grumbles. “They won’t let us get fucking through,” he spits, clearly as frustrated as I feel.

The thought of losing this game, tonight , is dreadful.

Of course I want to win so we can go all the way in the playoffs, but we could lose a game in the round and still win it.

But not tonight.

Not after yet more players of this team have been disrespected on a national level.

It’s that second I remember.

“Your trick play,” I whisper furiously, hoping that no one from Denver can read my lips as I push on Nik’s shoulder so he’ll get what I’m saying faster.

“What trick play?” he asks with a frown.

“The one you did on my first practice with you guys.” I turn to Laney, desperation clear in every word. “Put Bates in instead of me. I can go to first if they don’t get it, but you know it’s our best shot. Jules and his guys are all exhausted but Bates can manage it.”

Laney takes two eternal seconds to think about it then turns to the bench.

“Bates, you’re in for Charlie.”

“No,” Nik protests. “We’re the wall,” he tells me urgently.

“We need to win.” I leave no room for argument. “You can hold them off after you score. But you have to score, Nik.”

There’s no more time for argument, Bates is over the boards and so am I, and I leave Nik to go do his thing while he’s staring at me with disappointment in his eyes.

He’ll get over it.

The ref blows the whistle and the players all get into position.

Seeing it from the sidelines for the first time, I see how fucking beautiful the play is. How perfectly timed Nik’s backward pass has to be, how Bates is in the right place at the right time, and so are all the baby forwards.

It works exactly like it did all those months ago.

The Denver players were all confused enough by the switch in players, but then Nik went ahead and confused them even more.

He really is a great fucking player , I think, and maybe that’s at the top of the list of things I love about him.

Like he’s not in the thick of chaos, he picks up the puck with masterful precision and deposits it into the back of the net, easy as can be.

The horn sounds, the guys bury him in hugs, and the rest of us scream and shout and jump from the bench as well.

I line up with all of them when Nik moves to give each of us a passing high five, and when he gets to me, he sends me a cheeky kiss.

I just roll my eyes at him—something I’m going to be doing the rest of my life if I’m lucky.

The minute and a half left of the game is excruciating.

Laney calls out the third line, and then the fourth, and the whole time I’m shaking like a leaf, begging that they don’t let them score.

Bear’s on his game, though, and he stays focused until the very last second.

We celebrate like we just won the whole damn round and not just one game. But it does feel like we won something more.

Something that matters way more than hockey. Shocking, I know, but it’s how I feel.

“I just have to say it one more time,” Silas tells us seriously as we come to the door of the press room. “You don’t have to do this.”

His eyes shift from Nik to me, and I turn to Nik, letting him decide. I’ll follow his lead on this .

“We are doing it,” he says, resolute, but lets out a noticeable enough burst of air that I squeeze his hand once, then let go when Silas goes to open the door for us.

Flashes go off as soon as we step in, and Nik and I make our way to the table at the podium and take our seats.

There’s a marked beat of silence, and then about fifty hands go up.

Silas does his thing, and chooses one.

“Santa, you’ve never been one to talk to the media. Can we assume you’re here tonight because of the picture that was made public of you two before the game?” The woman looks nice enough, and I want to balk at him getting the first question but I should’ve known better.

“Yes,” he says, leaning in just a little to be closer to the mic. His gravelly voice is hard, and when he doesn’t elaborate, the reporter hesitates.

“Do you want to make a statement?” her words are more careful this time, hesitant.

“No.”

I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing or even smirking. If these people only knew that I can’t ever seem to stop crazy, ridiculous shit from coming out of this man’s mouth, they’d put me in a psychiatric hospital and accuse me of hallucinating.

She sits down and the next reporter stands.

“Sweetheart,” he starts. “Can you tell us why the decision was made to change lines at the end of the third period? ”

“Because we wanted to win,” I tell him simply

“Well, I have a stat here that shows that when you two are playing in the same line, you don’t let goals in, ever.”

“Yes, we know that,” I tell him, cool as a cucumber now that Nik set the tone.

“It just seems illogical to split you two when the game is on the line.” He waves his hands around as if that’s going to make him sound smarter.

It doesn’t.

“I hate to be the one to have to point this out, but when you’re tied with less than a minute on the clock, you need to score more than you need to stop the other team. The play Santa made,” God, it’s weird calling him that . “Is one he’s only ever done with Bates next to him. And it paid off.”

“So does that mean you’re going to be on the same line otherwise?”

“That’s a question for our coach. He makes those choices, not us.”

The reporter nods and sits down, then the next one stands, and she smiles at me apologetically before she even speaks, so I know I’m not going to like the question.

“Sweetheart, will you retire after this season?”

I open my mouth to answer but Nik beats me to it.

“You can stop calling him that now.” His words are hard and unforgiving, and again, I have to stop myself from laughing at his jealousy. “We gave him a new nickname; it’s King Charles.”

There’s absolute silence in the room, until I let out a chuckle as I reach over and pat his arm affectionately. At the same time I lean into my own mic.

“He’s a bit possessive,” I explain, and smile like a lunatic at their stunned expressions.

I don’t know if that’s what Nik wanted us to do during the press conference, but I’m still pretty happy with it.

There’s a party going on in the locker room when we get back there to shower, and Eagle is at the center, dancing like a maniac as the rest of the guys make a circle around him and wave their water bottles around so the drops make spirals in the air.

“What the fuck?” I mutter.

“Eagle got that magazine shut down,” Benny shouts from the circle.

“Really?” Nik asks, delight in his voice. Then... he joins the party.

I stay on the outside, and watch with a smile as he magically turns back into his true self now there’s no media around.

He’s a complicated man, my boyfriend.

“I know we’re going to hang out with everyone,” Nik says quietly as we walk toward the family room. “And I know we’re in the middle of the playoffs, but we don’t have a game tomorrow so you’re fucking me tonight.”

And that’s why I’m walking a bit funny on my way to greet my family... and meet Max.

I make sure to give the Brotnik brothers all the space they need for their reunion by stealing the family’s attention, making a big show of opening my arms and running toward the big-ass group. They’re taking up half the space in here, and it’s not a small room by any means, so when they all move at the same time, it’s absolute pandemonium.

Engulfed in Yoyo and Lala’s arms, I turn slightly to see Nik engulfing Max in his.

Max is just as tall as Nik, but... well, skinny.

If he were a few inches shorter he wouldn’t look as skinny, but as it is, the embrace of his older brother swallows him whole.

I see the same icy blue eyes I fall asleep to every night dampen, then close with what looks like relief.

And I know nothing’s mended. I know they can never get all those years back.

But today, Nik calling him, Max coming to support him, it counts for a lot. A whole hell of a lot.

Suddenly there’s a loud sound of static.

Most of the people in the room cover their ears, and I turn to the door, scared there’s a fire and we have to evacuate or something like that.

But it’s just Gab, holding a fucking megaphone .

She only speaks when she sees she’s got everyone’s attention.

“Since there are so many family supporters here tonight, and today is the day when we can all sigh in relief because Santa has found someone who can match his freak, I’ve arranged for a party at my house. Players, please make sure to help King Charles’s family get over there, I couldn’t get a bus here on such short notice.”

With a quick smile my way, she walks out of the room, and then the chaos resumes.

The celebration goes on well into the early hours of the morning.

My family informed me they’d all gotten rooms at the Winner resort for three nights, so they’ll be here for the next game.

I couldn’t be happier.

There were laughs to be had at every turn.

First, when my teammates all got sorted as designated drivers by my aunt Allegra, and then, watching the caravan of cars make their way from the arena to Gab’s house.

As promised, there was a lot of food there, and everyone took advantage, but then Gab, brilliant woman that she is, realized who she had in her home and begged Lala to show her how to make the famous Warm Heart Ragu.

Lala was more than happy and ended up holding a kind of cooking class for all the young guys in the team. She explained that this was the dish she made sure every one of her kids knew how to make before they moved out of her house.

It was hilarious, since most of the guys didn’t even know how to set up a kitchen scale.

Amateurs.

They were still dazed when she announced it was her bedtime, then pointed at Spiderman and informed him he was the one who was driving her and Yoyo to the hotel.

Little by little, we all started going home, and when the time came for my brothers and Max to say their goodbyes, Beau informed me that Max was going with them.

“Yeah, I got a room for myself since there’s no way I’m rooming with these two dorks.” He points back at Finn and Lou who, to be fair, are making googly eyes at each other. “So I invited Max to stay with me.”

“Thank you,” Nik tells Beau seriously, then he hugs Max one more time, something I’d seen happen a lot throughout the night.

They barely spend any time apart, talking about anything and everything while I flit around the room.

Bear volunteers to drive them since it’s on his way, and that’s when we decide we’re done for the night too.

Despite his declaration after the showers, Nik falls asleep on the short drive and can barely keep his eyes open when we climb the stairs .

“You can fuck me tomorrow morning,” he mumbles as he brushes his teeth with his eyes half closed.

“Sure, I can do that,” I tell him with amusement.

When I walk back into the bedroom, he’s completely naked, over the covers, and already snoring.

A perfect end to the longest day of my life.

Wet suction on my dick has me thinking this is the best dream ever, but when I hear the sound of something ripping, I realize it’s not a dream at all.

“Wha—” I say, my eyes unable to focus for a long moment, until I see Nik kneeling between my legs, stroking my dick and trying to rip open a condom with his other hand.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says with a knowing smirk.

“You—” I start, but have to swallow hard, desire taking its toll on me. “I gotta prep you,” I mumble.

“No you don’t. I already did that.”

“When?” I ask distractedly. Why am I even asking?

“I woke up like forty minutes ago,” he explains. Then the condom foil is finally torn apart and he covers my dick gently. “I’m going to ride you so hard,” he warns.

I groan and throw my head back against my pillow.

“You’re gonna do that edging thing again, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” he says happily .

“Your legs are gonna get tired,” I say, like that’s a winning argument.

“No they’re not. My legs are strong enough to take two hours of riding.”

“Oh, God. Please don’t take two hours to make me come,” I whine, though he knows I secretly love it.

But I also know he loves my whines so neither of us are going to stop.

“Maybe I’ll take even more time.”

He places his knees on the outside of mine and shuffles forward, grabs my dick to line himself up, and then sinks down, torturously slow.

He waits a beat and doesn’t move, even when I’m as deep as I can get, and then he leans forward, grabs something from my nightstand and offers it to me.

I can’t help but smile, but I stick my tongue out so he can place the heavy-duty mint on it.

“I wanna kiss you,” he says like he has to defend his actions.

He doesn’t.

“I wanna kiss you too,” I tell him truthfully, and rise up to wrap my arms around his torso. I kiss his chest, right where his heart is in an act of cheesiness that’s surprisingly natural to me. “I love you,” I whisper, still amazed that I can say it freely and trust that he’s going to say it back to me.

“I love you more,” he tells me, managing a challenging tone even as he starts to move his hips slowly. “Always more,” he whispers right against my lips before he kisses me.

It’s like that first kiss. The rush of light, the feeling of rightness is still there, and since he promised he’s never going to stop chasing me around, I’m going to make sure it always is.