Page 30

Chapter 30

It’s the way I feel about you

Jayna

I met Braydon’s parents for breakfast at their hotel. I’d read a confusing text from Braydon when I woke up and needed to talk to him. I had strong doubts about seeing him at this breakfast. Pretty sure he’d been beyond wasted when he texted me at four a.m.

The Mitchells had already been seated at a table when I arrived. They were watching the entrance, and for a moment when they saw me, looked relieved. When they realized I was alone, their expressions fell.

“Hi, Bree, Sam.”

“Hello, Jayna. Braydon isn’t with you?”

I shook my head as I sat down. There was a carafe of coffee on the table, so I poured a cup immediately. “You haven’t heard from him?”

They exchanged worried glances. “We got a message at about three a.m.—we didn’t see it till this morning.”

Bree slid her phone over. Braydon had sent a short message.

Sry. Fxit. Sry

I took a sip of the coffee. “I got a message kinda like that too. I think he dealt with the loss by drinking.”

His mom’s eyes widened. “But he has a two-beer limit.”

“He just lost a Stanley Cup Final. I expect most of the team is hurting now after self-medicating last night.”

“Should we check on him? We gave him space last night since he asked for it, but we’re worried.”

I pictured what his place would look like. Empty cans or bottles, maybe glasses, maybe not, stale smells, and a hungover, possibly vomiting hockey player. “I’m not sure he’d want you to see him this morning. He was hurting when I first met him, after he learned about Frank. If he’s like that, it’s not pretty.”

“He’s my son. I changed his diapers.” Bree had her chin lifted.

“I think he’d be disappointed if you saw him like that. Maybe I could go over there first? I’ll let you know if he needs you, but it might be good for him to talk to someone who’s been through this.”

His mom looked at me, and then reached a hand over to mine. “Thank you, Jayna. I’ve seen him at his worst, but I have to remember he’s an adult now. Tell him he has nothing to be sorry about, or to fix. We love him and we just want him to be okay.”

I finished my coffee, glad they hadn’t asked what my message was. “You two are great parents. Let’s plan to meet up for dinner. He should be feeling a little better then.”

* * *

I messaged Braydon that I was on my way but he didn’t respond. Not a surprise. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get into his place. His roommate Luke had left to see his family in Newfoundland after the Inferno were out of the playoffs, and Braydon might not hear the door any better than his phone. But the door wasn’t locked.

I stepped in carefully. Braydon’s suit jacket was lying on the floor in the entryway, along with his shoes. There was a trail of clothing leading into the living room, and I flashed back to my first visit. If he’d brought some woman home?—

But Braydon was passed out alone, on the couch, in a T-shirt and sweats.

He’d gone for bourbon. There was a mostly empty bottle on the coffee table, with an overturned glass. No signs of water or painkillers, so he’d be hurting. I picked up the bottle and glass and took them to the kitchen. There were already dishes in the sink, so I added them to the stack.

I might be a girlfriend, but I wasn’t a housekeeper. I had my own place to take care of. Then I thought about his parents coming over for dinner, because it didn’t look like Braydon was going out, and washed them up. I took his suit and shirt and tie to his room. I hung up the suit, threw the shirt in the laundry, and ignored the unmade bed and pile of clothes near his hamper. His mom could come in here at her own risk.

I went downstairs and brewed some coffee. Might need that when Braydon woke up. Since I hadn’t eaten at the restaurant, I was hungry, so I made scrambled eggs and toast. Maybe it was the smell—Braydon started to stir. I sat on a stool at the kitchen island and watched him. He frowned, tried to open his eyes and quickly closed them again. He groaned and rolled over, trying to push himself up.

“There’s water and painkillers on the coffee table.” I kept my voice low, but he still flinched.

He peeled his eyes open and reached for the pills. He washed them down with the water and leaned back on the couch. Then launched himself for the bathroom.

Been there, done that, never want to repeat it.

After last night’s game, most of the Blaze were probably in the same condition. Team management had been smart enough to keep the day clear of commitments for the players. The press would want sound bites, but the players had done enough of that after the game.

An hour later, Braydon had showered, emptied his stomach out completely, changed into sweats and made his way carefully down to the kitchen.

“Why are you here, Jayna? I mean, I’m glad, but why? I think I broke up with you last night.”

I nodded. “I wondered if that was what you were saying, but you make a lot of typos when you’re drunk. Something about veal op that was maybe close to break up?”

He closed his eyes and winced. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you but it was a bad night.”

“Which is why I’m here now. Maybe we shouldn’t have left you on your own. It’s tough, and everyone has their own way to handle it.”

He snorted, then flinched.

I passed him some coffee. “So first, is there anything going on here beyond a hangover after a horrible loss?”

He frowned, stirring sugar carefully into his beverage. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not sick with something else? Didn’t get news like Luke had been in an accident, anything like that?”

“No.”

“And your brain cells are mostly online?”

A twitch of his lips. “Mostly.”

“Then tell me why you want to break up.”

He dropped his spoon and closed his eyes. “I’m not sure I’m recovered enough for this.”

I considered. Push it or go with what else I had to say? “Then there’s something I need to show you.”

His shoulders dropped and he swallowed some coffee. “Okay, I guess.”

I’d brought a tablet, and had it cued up, ready to go. “This was my first Olympics. Gold medal game.”

His lips tightened, but he let me start the video. The American goalie blocked a shot and passed it to one of her D-men. They made a long pass to their center on the blue line, and just like that the Americans had a two on one with Faith in goal. The Americans scored, the place went nuts, and the video ended.

He kept his gaze on the screen. “So, what, blowing the big game runs in my family?”

“No. Let me show you the play before that.”

I had that ready as well. This time, about thirty seconds before the beginning of that clip, I carried the puck into the American zone. It wasn’t a rush, but I was the first one in, my teammates following quickly while the Americans were moving to cover us. I took a shot on goal, the goalie blocked it, and the play continued as before.

Braydon was frowning now. “So, you missed your shot?”

“Obviously. But look.” I ran it back. “Right here, I had the chance to pass it to Randy. She was clear, the pass lane was open, and she had a better angle on goal.”

I waited. Finally, he asked. “So why didn’t you?”

“I wanted to get that goal. It was a tie game, overtime, the medal on the line and I wanted to score the winner. That was my first Olympics. My parents had said it was too difficult to come, so I desperately wanted them to regret that. To prove I was a better player than my brother. Basically, I was selfish. I cost us the game.”

Braydon leaned back. “Like me.”

I reached out my hand, grasped his chin and made him look at me. “Last night you were dropped into the highest-pressure situation a hockey player could possibly face. Stanley Cup on the line, no prep, fluke accident and everything depending on you. That would rattle the most experienced players, and you’re a rookie. You’ve played less than five games on this level.”

He tried to shake his head. “But still?—”

I pressed my thumb on his lips, and he stopped. “There were a lot of things leading to that goal, and there are a lot of your teammates blaming themselves. First, JJ, who tripped onto Petey. That stopped the game, interrupted the team’s momentum, took out your goalie and one of your best defensemen. Which freaked out the team.”

He frowned but kept silent.

“Then, which you may have missed, Cooper made a pass to Crash. A no-look pass that JJ would get every time, but Crash is slower. He didn’t get there. Minnesota did. That resulted in the breakaway that ended in the goal.” I removed my hand from his mouth, reluctantly. “The guy who scored has more playoff goals than anyone else on the ice last night. He’s in his fifth season, at his prime. I wish you had blocked the shot, as does everyone else in this city. But right now JJ and Cooper and Crash and probably Petey are all replaying those few minutes, trying to change what they did. And the rest of your team. All thinking if they’d just done something different, none of those events would have happened.”

I twisted my hands in my lap. Braydon had talked about breaking up and I didn’t know how much of that was the game, or if there was another reason. I was here to fight for us, but if he was struggling with what happened last night, I needed to give him a better perspective on it.

It had taken me months to get over that Olympic game. Braydon would need time as well. But more experienced players had helped Faith and me, and I would help Braydon if I could.

“I’m still the guy who went down too early.”

“But you’re more than that.”

He didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue either. He drank more coffee, so I continued with the other thing I wanted him to see.

“Also, fucking Frank Devereaux. If Petey wasn’t his client, I’d wonder if he was trying to sabotage the game for Minnesota. Hell of a time to come and try to make nice with you and your parents.” I’d been wanting to strangle Frank since he showed up in the doorway of the restaurant.

Braydon set down his coffee. “He gave me money for my project.”

“Still an asshole. Sorry, that’s your relative.”

Finally, a smile, though small. “That’s also the truth. You’re right. Yesterday was a lot. That’s why I sent you that text. About breaking up.”

“Not veal op.”

He stared at his coffee. “I just—have all these rules set up so that hockey works. And suddenly my mind wasn’t focused. I wasn’t all there last night, on the ice, the way I should have been.”

“I owe you an apology for that.”

He looked up under his brows, frowning. “What for?”

I sighed. I didn’t like apologizing, but I was in the wrong. “I was not the supportive girlfriend you needed. Of anyone, I should have known better.”

He shook his head. “You never wanted to date a hockey player. You don’t need to be pushed aside for someone else.”

“But I’ve been through playoffs. I know how important it is to focus. Not that playing a sport means you get a pass to always be the center of everything. But during the playoffs like this? If it was me playing, I would have pushed aside all distractions. Instead, I kept going on and on about this thing in Montana this summer.”

“I appreciate that you’re doing that. I had no idea what all I was taking on.”

“What I was doing was good. But distracting me from my own problems by trying to get you to focus on it before your games was not.”

“It’s coming fast. You had to get things settled.”

I shook my head. “It’s more than organized enough for now. We still have a couple of weeks before we start. I had a hole that hockey was leaving in my life and filled it with this project so I didn’t have to think about what I was losing. And I ignored what you needed so I could stay in my little bubble.”

He blinked at me. “Really?”

“Really. I mean, this project was a lifesaver. It gave me something to do, and I felt like I still had value, you know? I couldn’t focus on anything else connected to hockey, or I’d remember what I’d lost. But that’s not healthy, so I’m going to start seeing that therapist Cooper got the team to pay for. I need to work that out.”

“That’s really smart.”

“I didn’t want to deal, but I need to. And while I don’t think your job on the Blaze is more important than anything I do, when you’re in the playoffs you do get to be a priority. And I didn’t do that. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly his arms wrapped around me, and I melted. This was where I wanted to be, but if he really wanted to break up…

“I was so scared, Jayna,” he said into my shoulder. “That I couldn’t do this, couldn’t play in the NHL. That I’d blown my chance. And I wanted to do something to fix it. And I thought maybe if I gave you up, it would all balance out somehow.”

I gripped him back, tightly. “You don’t have to give up anything. You’re good, and you’ll still have a chance. I swear. But I want to be with you.”

“You do?”

I held up my hand, pinky stretched out. “Pinky swear.”

He shook his head but hooked his finger with mine. “Pinky swear. I want to be with you. I just felt like…I had to give up something big. And, well…”

I glared at him. “I get enough criticism of my size from my mother.”

“It’s not about how you look. It’s the way I feel about you.”

Something inside swooped from my abdomen to my chest, making breathing almost impossible.

“Yeah?” I forced out.

“I’m in love with you. I was so happy to see you here this morning. I was afraid I’d totally blown it.”

I gripped him tightly again. “I love you too,” I muttered into his neck.

“Wait, what did you say?” He pulled away, a little grin on his face.

“I said your parents want to have dinner. Are you up for it?”

He shook his head, then winced. “We’ll work out something. What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Come on, I said it.”

“Well, since you’re having a bad day, fine. I love you. Now, what about dinner?” I stood up, but he pulled me back down.

“I don’t care about dinner. I just want to snuggle with my girlfriend, who loves me, until this headache goes away.”