Page 52

RILEY

The arena is electric. Even though the final buzzer has sounded, the crowd is still buzzing, reluctant to let the moment end. The scoreboard may say it all—3-2, a hard-fought loss in the championship game—but there’s an undeniable sense of pride in the air. The team made it further than expected, especially after losing Jacob mid-season.

I glance at him now, sitting beside me in the stands. He’s not wearing his usual tough-guy scowl, just a quiet, contemplative look as he watches the team he once played for line up to shake hands with their opponents. His arm drapes over my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I lean into him, relishing the warmth and solidity of his presence.

“They battled,” I say into his ear, my voice loud enough to carry over the noise.

“They did.” His voice has that low, gravelly tone that always makes my chest tighten, and he doesn’t have to say more. I know what he’s thinking. This could have been his moment: the championship, the spotlight, the chance to prove he’s not just Carl Drayton’s son but Jacob Drayton, a force to be reckoned on his merit. But life doesn’t always play out the way we think it will. It can kick us and leave us reeling. Or, in Jacob’s case, force us to look at the path we’re traveling on and decide whether we want to continue.

Ice hockey had been an anchor for Jacob, a point on the horizon that was not about intention or a love for the sport but a way of proving something to himself and the world. Letting go was tough. Waking up and finding himself adrift was terrifying. But he had me and his brothers, and when he finally started receiving treatment and gave his body and mind a chance to rest and heal, he realized he was anchoring himself to someone else’s dream.

His father, such a big and negative presence in his life, is being forgiven in parts and pieces as their understanding has grown. And with that forgiveness, the ball of fire and fury that had propelled Jacob for most of his life burned down to a flickering flame, barely noticeable. Some things are too painful to forgive, though, but that’s okay, too.

Now, he’s focused on a different path that is all his own, and I’m privileged to have been able to guide his journey and join him on the road to somewhere new.

Skarsgard, the kid who stepped into Jacob’s shoes, pulled off a solid performance in the playoffs. He doesn’t have Jacob’s grit or experience, but he has heart, which counted for a lot tonight.

“He’s not you,” I say, nudging Jacob gently.

He lets out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that makes my heart skip. He doesn’t miss hockey, but there will always be a part of him that’s muscle memory and misses being a part of something big and important.

And a part that misses the adulation.

“No, but he’s good and he’ll be even better next season.”

Below us, the team skates off the ice, their heads held high despite the loss. The crowd stands, cheering them on, and my eyes find Hayes as he lingers near the bench. He removes his helmet, wipes the sweat from his brow, and glances around the arena like he’s trying to soak it all in.

“His last game,” I say, my voice tinged with sadness.

Jacob nods, squeezing my hand. “It’s what he wants. He’s ready for the next chapter.”

Hayes has been the rock of this team, both on and off the ice, so watching him hang up his skates is like the end of an era, but I know he’s got big plans. He’s going to use his experience to train to assist athletes in crisis. Calm, stoic, and logical, he’s going to be brilliant.

And then there’s Shawn.

I watch him on the ice, leaning casually against the boards, interviewing like a Hollywood heartthrob on the red carpet, all languid posture and cocky smile. Even from a distance, charm radiates from him like the sun’s warm rays, lulling even the most challenging reporter into asking easy questions. But his eyes speak of something different: the determination that’s been burning brighter ever since he put out a statement in response to the photos that could have destroyed his career and promised to clean up his act.

He catches my gaze and winks, his grin widening.

Jacob snorts beside me. “Still a show-off.”

“Always,” I reply, grinning. “But you have to admit, he’s come a long way.”

“Yeah,” Jacob says, his tone softer now. “Maybe one day he’ll get his hands on the Cup.”

The Stanley Cup . The dream that’s loomed over the Drayton brothers since they were kids. It might not have happened for Carl, Jacob, or Hayes, but Shawn? With his talent and fire and how he takes everything in his stride, it’s easy to imagine him lifting it one day. Only time, and a little luck, will tell

“Do you think he’ll do it?” I ask, turning to Jacob.

He shrugs, his calm, blue eyes meeting mine, no furrow to his brow or pain etched lines around his mouth. “If anyone can, it’s him.”

“And you?” He’s told me more times than I can count that he doesn’t want to return to the game, but here and now, I want to find out if this milestone has made him change his mind.

He smirks, leaning in to kiss my temple. Then he taps his own. “This… it’s too important, Riley. I don’t ever want to go back.” His gaze fixes on a faraway place for a few seconds before he returns to me and smiles, exuding a new sense of peace. “Besides, I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Jacob’s journey hasn’t been easy. Haunted by his father’s legacy and battling his own demons has been deeply challenging, but he’s found his way. And so have we.

The crowd thins, and I glance back at the ice one last time. The players are gone now, the boards empty, but the echoes of the game linger. And still, it doesn’t feel right to leave. Maybe I’m more sentimental about this closing chapter than any of them.

“You ready to go?” Jacob asks eventually, standing and holding out his hand.

“Yeah.” I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. “I’ll post on Instagram when we’re in the car. Your final mention.”

“Well, I’m very close to the social media manager, so who knows.” He kisses the end of my nose, and I beam up at him.

“I still can’t believe they didn’t fire me after they found out all my secrets.”

“You’re the perfect candidate for the job,” he reminds me, and leans in closer. “Who else has soundbites from top athletes whispered directly into their ears?”

“Only me, I hope.” A shiver passes through me as it always does when any of the Drayton brothers are this close and whispering huskily.

“Only you,” he confirms.

As we leave the arena, the future is like a yawning, open thing, as it should be. We’re young, with all the time in the world, to test out our dreams and make our way.

And the only thing that matters is that we do it together.

***

We head to O’Connor’s, where the team will end up for the post-game and end-of-season celebration, and drink beer together while Jacob trawls up small memories of our shared past that I marvel he still has stored away.

“Remember that time your dad burned the pancakes, and Mr. Douglas from next door called nine-one-one because he thought our house was burning down?”

We both laugh at the one. “Yeah, Dad’s pancake skills have improved over the years.”

“He seems okay about things.” He brings his bottle to his gorgeous mouth, and I feel a little lightheaded looking at him. I think I’ll always feel that way about all the Drayton brothers, in awe of their handsomeness, drawn to their confidence and light.

“He is.” I reach out to entwine our free fingers. “You know he loves you all, right? That was never a part of his reservations about the relationship.”

Jacob smiles and strokes my fingers like a pianist preparing to caress a lullaby from waiting keys. “He’s a good man, your dad, and I don’t blame him for having reservations. Dealing with your daughter having one boyfriend is hard enough, but three?” He shakes his head. “The trouble with an unconventional relationship is that people’s minds just go to the sex.”

I grimace at the suggestion that my dad’s mind might have gone there because of the situation, but Jacob is probably right, which is more than mortifying. Our friends have all asked inappropriate questions, and not just in private. It’s like our sex life is a trashy reality show that everyone believes they have a right to dissect. Thankfully, Shawn, Hayes, and Jacob have shut down those questions, first with eye rolls and then, when that was ineffective, with angry stares that promised violence. They haven’t had to deliver on that promise yet, but I don’t doubt they’ll preserve my reputation and honor. They’re old school like that.

“What are your plans for Icing the Cake ?” he asks.

We haven’t talked about it much since I revealed my secret identity, and I haven’t made any new content for a few weeks.

“I don’t know,” I say. I spin a beer mat, like Hayes did on our first date, finding it a good distraction. “It’s hard to make the content I used to. Roasting hockey players has lost its appeal. But it’s something I built, brick by brick, and I enjoy baking and the hockey commentary. I just feel bad.”

“Hockey players have giant egos,” he says, arching a brow. “They need someone to take them down a peg or two when they overstep. They’re tough… the toughest! They can take the occasional roast.”

“Wow. Is Jacob Drayton really admitting to having been an arrogant ass who needed calling out?”

His grin is as cocky and sweet as Shawn’s. “Absolutely, ‘anonymous show host.’ Absolutely. And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Behind Jacob, the door flies open, and Shawn and Hayes almost tumble inside in their haste to get to us. I drop from my stool, open my arms, and draw them into a fierce group hug completed by Jacob when he envelops me from behind.

“We didn’t win, Riley,” Shawn says, laughing at my enthusiasm.

“I know, dufus. This is a commiseration hug.”

“An end of an era hug,” Jacob says.

“The beginning of a new one,” Hayes adds.

Malik, not wanting to be left out, throws his arms around Hayes’ back and squeezes him like a rabid koala. “I’m not letting you assholes leave,” he says. “Just come back for another year.”

Hayes squirms out of his embrace, which looks hilarious because he’s so tall and bulky. “How many times do I have to tell you? We’re not in prison, and no one’s welcoming that kind of attention. Quit pressing your dick against my ass.”

“You can press it against mine,” Katerina says, appearing with Imani. In a form-fitting red dress and spiked heels, her hair wild around her slim shoulders, she’s a bombshell waiting to explode.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Malik says, approaching with an exaggerated walk, but Imani forces her way between her friend and her brother, wagging her finger.

“I don’t fucking think so, Malik. You’ve dipped your dick into too many apple pies. Leave my friend’s alone.”

“Cock block,” he grumbles, and we all laugh.

With no practice to attend and no more games to worry about, the team descends into some seriously raucous behavior, earning a few warnings from the manager, but it’s all good. They’re just happy to end a difficult season with such a close call, and they know that next year, the slate is wiped clean, and they can begin all over again. And it’s all worth it when I finally get to see them all dance to Justin Timberlake’s ‘Stop the Feeling’, finding joy in their victory song despite the loss; the last time this particular group of men will celebrate being Icebreakers. It’s bittersweet but I don’t get a chance to shed a tear before Hayes’ drags me into the center of the throng and tries to teach me the terrible dance moves.

***

And after all the fun, I drive my men back to their place, where we hunker down together, four of us blissfully happy, wrapped up with the world at our feet, ripe for the taking tomorrow.

Maybe Shawn will get his name etched on the Cup. Maybe Hayes will succeed with his new purpose off the ice. And maybe Jacob will finally release the rest of the weight he’s been carrying for so long. Maybe I’ll find my dream job, or maybe I’ll just carry on with Icing the Cake and make cupcakes and babies one day. Who knows!

But right now, none of it matters.

Right now, it’s time for my very own hockey gods to show me exactly how skilled they are with their sticks. There’s no clock ticking. No keeping score. We’re playing to win at this game called love, and these three players are mine forever.