Page 72

Chapter Fifty-Two

Alex

“Hey, Brewer, the guys and I are headed out to Gemstones to fuck shit up, you in?” Stone, AKA Vance’s replacement , asks me.

He’s twenty-four. A baby, practically. Reminds me a lot of me when I first signed with the Rioters.

He’s an okay kid but he still has a ways to go in terms of his abilities.

I would know, since I’m the captain and I picked him.

He has a lot of potential. He always asks, and it’s no secret among the team that he is a fan of mine.

But my answer is always the same. It’ll always be the same.

“No thanks, Stone, I’m good.” I slide my wallet out, pull out a couple twenties, and hand it over to him. “Have a couple on me, though, okay?”

His eyes light up like the Fourth of July, and that gets half a smile out of me .

“Aww thanks, man!” he says, shoving the bills into his pocket and giving me a solid bro hug.

I sling my duffel over my shoulder as I head up to my hotel room.

Six games left until I’m done with my contract and I can put this all behind me. I never thought I’d see the day I’d leave the ice. Thought I’d be out there kicking ass and taking names until my body bitched it couldn’t do it anymore.

My comeback has been bigger than I ever thought it would be.

Not only did I come back, but I got promoted to captain while Vance is out fighting assault charges in court.

It’s not looking good for him, either. I’m pretty sure the team is going to buy him out and kick his ass to the curb.

Good fucking riddance, asshole. Karma is a bitch.

I’ve done a better job in a year than he did in five. We’re killing it right now and are on a winning streak. Going out on top is the fucking way to go, in my opinion.

My heart’s just not in this anymore. It hasn’t been for a year. My heart is, and forever will be, in Ashbourne.

I breathe a heavy sigh as I step into the elevator and pull out my phone to look up somewhere to order food from when I see the text notification for the group chat.

My body tenses when I see Jordan’s face.

He’s posted a picture of himself in front of Madison Square Garden.

Right in front of the sign that says Rioters VS Bobcats .

That’s three blocks away.

I knew he was here, in New York, because he’s been sharing photos since I sent the text last week about Austen’s opening. That vicious little voice told me it was for me, but that’s only wishful thinking. We haven’t spoken in a year. Since I ran away.

Does he see the fucking sign? Probably not. I mean, who actually notices those big ass posters?

I should just send a thumbs up, or not respond at all.

The elevator opens and I head to my room.

When I get there, I throw my duffel on the bed and start to unpack, thinking about how to respond to his text when my fingers graze something soft and familiar at the bottom of my duffel.

I pull out his flannel, which I’ve never taken out of my duffel for more than a few minutes.

It lives at the bottom of my bag, going everywhere I go.

I pull out the shirt, feeling the softness between my fingers. I swear it still smells like him.

I look at the flannel in my hands, at my duffel on the bed, and get an idea.

I toss the shirt over the bag and kneel in front of the bed to frame the open window and the New York skyline behind my tableau and send out the photo.

Hudson You guys suck. I’m not even leaving until tomorrow morning. *crying face*

Trey Driving right now. Will be there tomorrow morning. Can I get some tix, Alex? Hook a brother up.

Andre Yeah Brewer, hook us up!!!!

Paul I thought we were going to see that circus show or whatever.

Andre …I don’t remember agreeing to that

Hudson You guys are there, too? WTF

I wait a beat before I respond as the chat goes off with Hudson cursing over being the last one to get in. Jordan doesn’t answer and my heart sinks. Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet. Maybe …

Maybe he didn’t actually notice the sign. Of course not, and now I probably just look like an asshole. Fuck.

I sigh, tapping out my response.

Sure. I’ll leave a couple at will call if anyone wants to come see me tomorrow.

Jordan sends a thumbs up.

What the fuck does that mean? Is he just acknowledging he saw it? Does this mean he’s coming to the game? Or is he just late responding to my photo or….

The guys all send their acknowledgments and thumbs up, and for the first time in forever, I feel excited for a game. Because maybe… maybe he’ll be there, even if it is with other people. I hope he is.

I left tickets for seats right at the glass so I can see who shows up. So I could see if he shows up. I try to shake the nerves off; I can’t afford to be nervous on the ice. I have to play the game the same way I always do. To win.

I see him on my first skate by and can’t help but smile.

He fucking came. So did the others, but…

He came.

That vicious voice tries to tell me he didn’t come for me. That he’s only here for Austen’s opening, and he’s just hanging out with a bunch of friends he hasn’t seen in awhile.

But I can’t deny seeing him sitting behind the glass wearing a Rioters jersey makes me feel more confident than ever.

I play my ass off. I’m ruthless. Goal after goal, we crush the other team, and I pull a badass trick shot for the win.

I’m showing off, but I can’t help it. I text the group chat as soon as I get to the locker room, letting them know to wait for me at the trendy cafe thing next door.

My heart is in my throat as I race to the locker room to shower and dress myself as fast as humanly possible.

I ask one of my teammates to take my bag for me, since I’m not going home and don’t have my car.

He’s staying for a few days, too, and told me I can grab it from him tomorrow.

I take one look at myself in the mirror.

Flannel’s never been my aesthetic, but it doesn’t look bad on me.

It goes well with my black fitted tee, dark jeans, and my silver choke chain which I also found in my duffel, squeezed beneath the sides—which I wear like a regular necklace now—and my white Nikes pull the look together nicely.

I run a hand through my hair, spritz myself with some cologne, and race to the cafe.

I see them all standing outside and Hudson is the first person to run up and hug me .

“Sorry I missed your game,” he says. I hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I just got here. Trey said we were hanging out.”

I hug him back and Trey pulls me in next. “Fuck yeah. Just like old times,” he says.

Andre and Paul bro hug me and smack my back, and my gaze finds Jordan’s. He makes no effort to hide the way he’s checking me out. His eyes slowly trail up my body until his fiery amber gaze meets mine.

“Nice shirt,” he says cooly as he pulls me into a hug like the rest of the guys did. I am powerless to fight the way my eyes close, or the way I breathe him in.

His crisp vetiver and alpine scent makes me want to melt into a fucking puddle on the sidewalk. His body is warm and solid and I can’t help but relax for the miniscule moment he touches me.

“Thanks,” I say cockily. “It’s kinda my lucky shirt. I bring it to every game.” I grin.

He smirks, shaking his head.

“You guys hungry? I’m fucking starving,” Hudson whines and we all laugh.

Jordan opens the door for me and the guys, and my heart does a stupid little flip.

The cafe itself is like a giant cafeteria with a shit ton of kiosks that have lots of different things to choose from.

Hudson goes for the chicken and waffles while Trey goes straight for the sushi.

Andre and Paul wait in line for the burger kiosk.

I jump in line for tacos and the air around me thins the moment I feel him come up behind me in line.

“I thought you hated tacos,” I say casually, sliding my hand in my pocket.

“They aren’t so bad,” he says smoothly.

I let out a soft chuckle.

When I get to the front to order, he pushes past me to be first and I grunt in annoyance.

“What do you want?” he asks after ordering an entire taco platter—light on the lettuce—and a beer for himself.

“Oh, I got—”

“What do you want ?” His voice takes on that familiar dark tone that makes all the switches flip.

“I’ll have the nacho stack and a chicken quesadilla and, uh… a mango margarita.”

He casts me a smirk as he pays for our food, and I feel my cheeks get hot because that is not a friendly smirk. Not in the slightest.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to remember why we’ve been apart for a whole year when our chemistry is like this .

“Of course,” he says nonchalantly.

Hope swells as the little things start to come together in my brain. The photos. Him showing up to my game. His hug that felt a little too tight and a little too long even though it was still too quick. His cocky attitude. Buying me dinner .

But it’s not just those things that catch my attention.

It’s him. He seems different. Bolder. Cockier. More confident. It’s hot as hell.

We grab our food and find a table big enough to fit us all amidst the crowd.

Jordan takes his seat beside me and my heart skips a beat.

I know we’re just cramming in together at the table, but it feels deliberate.

Just like everything he’s done so far. His leg brushes against mine and I have to fight the desire to lean into his space.

He’s so fucking close…

We laugh and catch up, and soon enough, I relax.

The margaritas definitely help with that.

Trey tells me all about his engagement. Andre dishes about his job working for the NFL and shows off pictures of his son while Paul shows off pictures of his daughter and tells us all horror stories of being a middle school gym teacher.

Hudson is quiet, but he usually is, so no one pushes him to talk.

If he wants to tell us something, he will.