Page 11

Eleven

NAT

The game is crazy, but going good so far. I mean, no one has been outright ejected and the Vipers are up, so for now, that’s a big win. I’m on the hunt for drinks and cotton candy for the woman-child that is Hattie, and I wind my way through the crowd on the main concourse towards the concession stand where staff can get our goodies for free. Perks of the job and all that. The place is jam packed and while it’s frustrating when you’re really fucking thirsty, it’s amazing. It means that all the things Hattie is doing—well, all of us, but she’s the mastermind—are working. We’re going to save the organization and keep their asses right here in Seattle.

Just as I make it to the east side of the concourse one of the front office guys, Joey, comes towards me. I wave and smile.

“Hey, Joey,” I say when a family of eight finally passes and he can reach me.

“Hey, Nat, I was just heading down to the seats to find you.”

“Oh,” I say, brows flying up. “You were looking for me?” I figured he was just craving a beer and a hot dog. “What’s up?”

“Um, some guy is looking for you?” My brow furrows.

“A guy?” Who the hell would be looking for me?

“Older guy. Seems…important. And a little scary. He has one of the VIP boxes filled with a bunch of rich looking people.”

My heart thuds in my chest. Shit.

“Which box?”

“Four.” I want to roll my eyes. Of course it’s Box Four—the most expensive luxury box in the entire arena.

“Thanks,” I mutter and rush off towards the Box, beer and cotton candy forgotten for the moment. I apparently need to go see my father.

When I enter the room I see dad over in the corner, laughing with a group of men with a glass of scotch in his hand. I walk over, trying to keep my temper in check. He has every right to be here, I remind myself, but it seems like an attack of some sort, or like he’s checking up on me or something. I don’t know. Maybe I’m paranoid and he just wanted to show some clients a good time. He has season tickets to the Wolves and the Rattlers, after all, so it isn’t like hanging out at sporting events is strange for him, exactly, but he’s never really been that big into hockey. It was one of the draws of this job—no real chance of running into him in the course of business, as it were.

He sees me approach and nods, telling the others to give him a moment, and comes over.

“What are you doing here?” I snap, a little more peevish than I intend.

“Well that’s a lovely way to greet your father,” he muses, but he smirks. He’s clearly having a good time and isn’t going to let my bad attitude get in the way.

“Sorry,” I say, feeling a little bad. “Hi, dad.”

“Hi, Natalie.”

“Enjoying the game?”

He smiles. “I’d forgotten how entertaining these games could be, actually. I might just have to buy out this box permanently.” Well, that would mean a lot of money to the organization, but I can’t say that I love that idea. Having him here makes me feel uneasy.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask, glancing down at the rink to see Rizzo streaking across the ice. Go, go, go. I pull my gaze back to dad, waiting expectantly.

“I was here, so I figured I’d say hello, that’s all.”

I arch a brow. “That’s all?”

“I may also have some news.”

“There it is. Spill whatever it is you want to say dad, I need to get back to my friends.”

“Lysander is moving to London to start up our international branch.”

I stare at him blankly. “Uhh, tell him I said congratulations? And Pip Pip Cheerio?” His lips twitch at the corners.

“You will take his position,” he says simply, as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You start after the first of the year to give you time to…wind things up here. It’s already in the works.”

“ In the works? ” I repeat. Audacity must be half off for the holidays because what in the actual fuck?? “I don’t want Lysander’s job, dad.” Did he really call me here in the middle of the game to ask—no, he didn’t even fucking ask . He told me that I’m coming back to work for him. “Why would you just assume that I would??”

“Natalie,” he sighs, clearly exasperated. The crowd goes crazy and I glance sidelong and see some Kodiaks breaking away down the ice. Shit! I turn back to dad as he continues. “This has gone on long enough.”

“Who are you to decide that?” I snap. Something is happening down on the ice, but I can’t pull my gaze away from dad’s, now starting to burn with anger. Well, let him be angry. I’m fucking pissed.

“I’m your father,” he grits out, keeping his voice low as not to draw attention, though no one seems to really be paying us any regardless. Must be another big fight down there.

“That doesn’t mean you get to dictate my entire life!” I grit out through clenched teeth, trying desperately to keep my temper in check. “I let you for a long time, but not anymore. I don’t want to work for the company. I don’t want to just be the girl in the corner office on the sixtieth floor who only has the job because of her daddy.” He starts to interrupt, to say that I have an Ivy League education, that no one would dare think that, but we both know it’s bullshit—no matter what education and accolades I have. I’ll only ever be seen as his daughter who didn’t have to work for her position. Having a different last name is helpful, but gossip travels fast up the corporate ladder. The way people looked at me in New York once word got out, like the only thing worse than having my daddy hand me this position on a silver platter would have been sleeping my way to the top. Either way, it fucking sucked.

“I want to forge my own path in whatever place I choose. I am happy here! I’m doing things that matter.”

“Oh, coordinating reindeer tosses?” he says derisively, gesturing towards the flyer on the wall for the event happening after tonight’s game. With four simple words he manages to make me feel two inches tall. I stare at him, not sure what the hell I want to say back. Part of me wants to tell him to fuck off. Part of me wants to cry and ask why he can’t just be proud of me no matter what I do. Another part wants to punch him.

“Oh my god, I think he’s really hurt,” someone says quietly from one of the seats and that gets my attention. I realize now that the entire stadium has gone eerily quiet. Something is wrong. I jerk my head away from my toe-to-toe with dad, searching the rink down below. The goal is clear against the wall and medics are on the ice loading someone onto one of those boards. My heart clenches. Oh God . I run across the room, closer to one of the big screens that display the games up in these suites to get a better look. Who is it? What happened? Oh God, not him…please…

“Natalie?” dad says, stepping up beside me and putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. The animosity from moments ago has disappeared, and I want to throw my arms around him. For a second, he’s just being my dad, concerned by something that’s obviously upsetting to me. He has his moments, I’ll give him that. That’s why our relationship is so fucking frustrating, because in times like this, I’m reminded of how much I love the man, how alike we are and how if we could just shift a few edges a tiny bit, we’d fit together perfectly. He’s a good dad, great even when he puts all the other bullshit aside, but he can only seem to do that sporadically, and it’s in those times that the edges that need shifting seem like mountains that we’ll never be able to move.

But for the moment, I appreciate his steady hand on my shoulder as I try to figure out what the hell is going on, to see which one of my friends might be hurt. My heart pounds loudly in my ears, over and over as the words echo through my mind. Not him. Not him. Not him.

And then the camera angle shifts as one of the medics moves out of the way and I see who it is.

“Oh God, Shep,” I whisper, covering my mouth with a hand. The camera is focused in on him, on his unmoving body and my stomach twists. Oh God. Where’s Rizzo? The cameraman isn’t helping, staying focused on Shep, so I turn away from the screen and run to the front of the box, leaning out over the railing as my eyes dart over all of the players, trying to find 15…

And then I see him, beating the shit out of one of the guys on the other team. Was he the one responsible for whatever happened to Shep? Is that why Rizzo is going to town on the dude? I’ve seen him in plenty of game time fights, but this is different. This is…frantic and brutal. Eventually he’s pulled off, and the medics get Shep off of the ice and down the tunnel. Everything feels slow and kind of unreal, and I feel cold and detached. I know I need to get myself together.

“Hattie,” I whisper in horror. She’s probably freaking out. Shep is…well, officially he’s her best friend, but it’s easy for anyone to see that she’s completely falling for him.

“Natalie, are you alright?” dad asks when I turn to fly from the suite.

“Not really, dad. That’s my friend down there on that spine board and one of my other friends needs me. I have to go.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About your friend. We’ll, uh, discuss everything else later.”

I shake my head, trying to focus but my head is a melee. Worry for Shep, worry for Hattie, fucking fury that dad even brought the job shit back up again right now, relief that Rizzo is ok, but worry for him too seeing his best friend hurt…and an intense urge to just throw myself into his arms. It’s all too much.

“Fuck the job offer, dad. I decline.”

With that, I bolt from the room and go to find Hattie.

Shep was awake and talking before they took him to the hospital, and that seems to be enough to let Hattie keep herself together through the rest of the game and the Reindeer Toss afterward. I ask if she wants me to handle it so she can go, but she insists that she stay. I think the distraction is the only thing keeping her sane, honestly, so I throw myself into the event beside her, letting all the crazy block out everything else for a while. I’m desperate to see Rizzo, to make sure he’s alright and…I don’t know, seeing Shep hurt like that just has me feeling like if I don’t get my hands on Rizzo I might go crazy.

I offer to drive Hattie home when it’s all said and done, but she says she’s fine. I think she plans on camping out at the hospital, and I don’t blame her. We say our goodbyes and she goes back up to her office to grab a few things and I wait in the wide hallway on the ground floor. I debate if I should try to find Rizzo or just text him later to check on him, but the decision is made for me when he rounds the corner.

His entire body seems to relax when he sees me and I immediately go to him and wrap my arms around his neck. He hugs me back and in this moment, there’s nothing sexual or heated between us. It’s just two friends being there for each other. He lets out a long, shuddering exhale and then pulls away.

“Are you alright?” I ask, searching those blue eyes that I’m quickly becoming all too familiar with.

“Yeah, I’m good, I just—” His phone rings and he gives me an apologetic look as he fishes it out of his pocket. “Oh I need to grab this, one sec.” I nod, assuming he’s going to walk away to take the call in private, but instead he tugs me out of the middle of the corridor towards the wall with him. A bunch of the other guys walk by and I nod and wave as they leave for the night, Rizzo doing that guy-head-jerk thing in farewell.

He slides the bar to answer what I see now is a FaceTime call. I take a small step away, not wanting to intrude as he holds the phone up in front of his face.

“Hey, ma.” I blink in surprise, the shock on my face making him laugh lightly. He smiles widely, an easy, genuine smile that makes my heart melt a little.

“AJ!” she exclaims in a mix of relief and worry.

I arch a brow at him and mouth AJ?

He cuts his eyes at me over the top of the phone, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Oh God, honey, is Connor alright? We were watching the game on television and saw him get hurt and I was so, so worried.”

“He’s ok. Coach just heard from the hospital.” I exhale roughly in relief and he reaches out and squeezes my hand, almost absently, and I glance around to see if anyone is watching us, but we’re alone. “He’s got a mild concussion and a cracked rib, but no internal bleeding or anything like that. He’s got a couple of stitches for a cut on his head, but it’s superficial—you know how much head wounds bleed even when they’re minor. You remember the time I cracked my head on the workbench in the back of the rink with Hank? Looked like an episode of CSI back there, but it was totally fine, barely a scratch.”

“Oh I remember it vividly, thank you very much,” she says dryly and I can hear a small hint of her Irish accent. It’s not thick after so many years here, I guess, but it’s definitely there in the almost musical lilt. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, ma, I’m fine, just a little banged up. You know how the Kodiak games always are.” He leans one shoulder against the wall and I mirror his stance, facing him.

“No, I mean about Connor,” she says. Rizzo’s smile fades and I can see just how worried he’d been, how much Shep being hurt really rattled him. “I know seeing him hurt like that must have been hard.”

“I’m alright now that I know he’s alright.”

“Give him and Ollie big love for me. Oh! Do you have a closing date yet?”

“Oh, yeah, actually.” I eye him with interest. He’d mentioned moving out of his apartment that night we spent together, but I haven’t asked him about it since. I’ve had other, dirtier things on my mind. I’m a bad friend. A bad, horny friend.

“Next week and she’s all mine. You’ll have to come visit after you get back from your trip.”

“That sounds great, honey. Ok, I’ll let you go—I’m sure you have…things to do after the game.” She says it with a knowing smile in her voice and I bark out a laugh, quickly slapping a hand over my mouth to stifle it while Rizzo rolls his eyes.

“Who was that?” his mom asks.

“Your mom knows you’re a slut?” I whisper, shocked.

“Shut it,” he whispers back, before answering his mom. “That’s my very rude friend, Nat.” He shifts so that we’re beside each other and tilts the phone so I’m on the screen now too. My brows fly up in surprise. Being on a FaceTime call with Rizzo’s mom was not on my Bingo card, but here we are.

“Oh!” she breathes in surprise, blinking. “Well, hi there, rude friend Nat!” She gives me a warm smile and I can see so much of her in Rizzo.

“Hi, Mrs. Rizzo.”

“Oh, call me Muriel, dear.”

“Nice to meet you, Muriel,” I say, smiling.

“Is that a girl’s voice?” A man’s head pops onto the screen in front of his mom’s. He’s got black hair with a few streaks of gray at his temples, deeply tanned skin, and glasses hanging around his neck. Rizzo’s mom swats at him and he shifts back so he’s a little farther from the screen, settling in beside her on the couch. Rizzo rolls his eyes.

“Dad, this is my friend, Nat. Nat, this is my dad, Ray.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” I say with a small wave.

“Back at you, young lady. Are you keeping our boy there in line?”

“Well, I’m not a miracle worker.”

They both bust out laughing and Rizzo tries to look disgruntled but he can’t hide his smile.

“Hey, that was a great game, kid! Is Nat here your lucky charm?”

Rizzo scoffs. “As if I need luck.”

“Ahh, I don’t know, son, you’ve been even more impressive than usual the past few games,” Ray says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. I mean, he has seemed to be on fire lately, but that definitely can’t have anything to do with me…The logical part of my brain knows that’s true. The other part loves the idea that he’s been absolutely tearing it up because of me somehow. It’s so stupid.

“Now, Nat, are you one of the…what do they call them, hun?” he asks, turning to is wife. “Puck bunnies?” I snort and Rizzo coughs, nearly choking in surprise.

“Dad!” he groans, running his hand through his hair.

“What?” Ray asks, innocently. “Is that not the right phrase?” Muriel tries and fails to stop laughing, and Ray cringes. “Oh, is that something you’re not suppose to call them to their face?”

“Oh my God, dad, please stop. Nat isn’t a…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re just friends,” Rizzo says firmly. “She works for our media department.”

“Oh! I love all the videos of the boys answering questions on the…oh what’s that app called again? Clipper? They’re so fun!” Muriel exclaims. I love that she calls them ‘the boys’ like she still sees Rizzo as a kid playing pee wee hockey with his friends. “Was that your idea? It’s so creative!”

“It was a collaborative effort with my boss, Hattie,” I say with a smile, a surge of pride warming my chest to have our work complimented. It may not seem like much to someone like my dad, but it means something to me. If what I’m a part of can bring a smile to someone’s face, not just pad someone’s already very padded wallet, then that makes me feel as if I’m doing something good in the world.

“Well, keep them coming, they make my whole day!” Rizzo smiles at me and I can’t help but grin back. “Ok, honey, we’ll let you go. You kids have a fun night. AJ, let me know how Connor is doing, ok?”

“I will.”

“It was so nice to meet you, Just A Friend Nat.” Muriel gives me a smile that says she’s not sure she believes that for a second and my cheeks heat.

“You too.”

“Love you. See you soon,” Rizzo says, waving.

“Love you,” they both echo in unison.

He hangs up and sighs.

“AJ?” I ask immediately.

“That would be my name.”

“Uh…what?”

“I mean, pretty much only my mom and dad use it anymore, Shep every now and then, but it’s what everyone called me growing up—before mom married Ray and he adopted me and I officially had a cool last name to go by instead.” He grins and I huff out a laugh. “Anthony James. Anthony was the sperm donor’s name and I think it was hard for mom to call me that after he left—which was when I was like two—so I just became AJ.” He hikes a shoulder and I wonder how many people know this story, know this name. Does him sharing it with me…mean something? Or am I just being an idiot?

Probably the latter , I think with an inward roll of my eyes. I tilt my head, studying him.

“It suits you, actually.” He eyes me and his lips curl up into one of those crooked, sexy smirks of his.

“Care to try screaming it while I lick your pu—" I clamp my hand over his mouth and look around again. We’re still alone, thankfully, and when I pull my hand away, he’s grinning like a lunatic.

“You are terrible,” I say, laughing.

“I know,” he says with a sigh. “I’m gonna grab Shep’s stuff and check in with Sara to make sure she’s good to keep Ollie the rest of the night, and then head to the hospital.”

I frown, looking at my watch.

“Aren’t visiting hours way over by now?” He gives me a pointed look. “But of course you think that won’t matter because you’re Anthony Fucking Rizzo.”

“You’re finally getting it, Nat.”

“Tell him I’m glad he’s ok. Text Hattie and let her know what the doctors said, ok?”

“Will do.”

I lean up and kiss him softly on the cheek, forcing myself to behave.

“I’m really glad it wasn’t you,” I say quietly. “When I first saw…I wasn’t sure…” I shake my head, trying to push past the memory of that moment of absolute terror when I thought it might have been him on the ice, unmoving. “I’m glad you’re alright,” I finish. Too many things seem to be flashing behind his eyes and before he can land on any one of them, before he can ask me what that means or pull me into his arms like I want him to so desperately, I tug gently on the front of his hoodie and then pat his chest before turning to walk away.

“The offer still stands!” he calls out when I make it halfway down the hall. I turn and walk backwards.

“Which offer? Dinner? Or screaming your name?” I ask, really hoping that everyone is actually gone like I think.

He laughs lightly. “Both.”

“Good night, AJ,” I say with a smirk.