Page 21
Arden
I aggressively drop the hot cookie pan on top of the island counter space beside the cooling rack and glare at the male across from me. “ This is all your fault. ”
Becks crinkles his nose in confusion. “How is you burning cookies my fault?”
“Because I can’t get my head in the game!”
“And…” he leans a little closer to examine the latest batch to barely escape a crispy catastrophe, “how is that my fault?”
“Because of your little verbal breakaway at rehab last week-”
“Week before.”
“Our whole dating playbook has just gone out the fucking window!”
“It’s a metaphorical playbook, aye?” He picks one of the loose raisins off the pan. “Not like…an actual one?”
“Ever since you decided to cross-check us-”
“Stick taps for all the hockey references.”
“-I have no idea what we’re doing or which way we’re going or what period we’re in because I’ve barely fucking seen him!”
“ Moi non plus. ”
“That’s because every spare minute he has he’s training to minimalize his risk of being traded!”
“Hennington’s not gonna trade him.”
“I know that! But you…” wagging the spatula near his face is attached to my voice lowering, “ you got under his bucket and in his head to the point he’s too tired to even sneak into my room on the road for a blowie!”
I pop him in his t-shirt covered arm. “Ou!”
“And he hasn’t stayed over at my place once since your little stunt!”
Another swat lands on top of the first. “ Ou! ”
“Which means I haven’t had good lunch,” a third, “or dinner,” a fourth, “or been dessert in like two,” a fifth, “weeks!”
“ Fuckkkk! ” Becks grumbles, scooting the stool away from the island. “Were you in the MLB in your previous life?!”
“You’re about this close ,” my fingers demonstrate a tiny gap, “to finding out what you’ll be in your next one.” Becks comically cringes in what can only be described as a genuine fear pushing me to whine, “Why did you instigate? Why did you get in his head? My head? Have me start looking at sports communication jobs in other cities?!”
His head leans slightly off center. “What kinda jobs?”
“Uh…assistant director of athletic communications at some university in Florida and game radio analyst for some small-town local hockey team in Michigan and brand strategist in NY which really irritates me because it’s unrelated to my field but a guaranteed gig because it’s part of the family business and I am the family business but I don’t wanna be in it like the tumor that grew into a person I call my twin. I wanna stay in sports. I wanna stay in hockey. I wanna stay right where I am, and I wanna know why the fuck would you ask me that?!”
“Because.”
“Don’t make me hit you again.”
Becks gives his arm a small rub prior to professing, “Frosky’s the only person I’ve ever met in my entire life willing to give something up for me.”
My arms fold across my chest in a wordless declaration to keep talking.
“I’ve been on a lot of teams, Hoss. And played with a ton of boys. But none of them have ever had anyone’s back on and off the ice the way he does. Even after I was cut, he still called. He still texted. He still fucking cared. It’s rare shit.” His shrug is more innocent than anticipated. “And someone that fucking giving deserves a broadskie that can be that giving to him. I just wanted to know if the puck drop came that the snipe in his life would be willing to give shit up for him because there’s no doubt that he would give up everything for her.”
Internally groaning doesn’t take long to transition itself outward, “ Ughhhhhh….fuck you for being a good friend. ”
“ Bien? ” Becks shakes his head in denial. “Nah. But trying to be better, aye?”
He can have that point.
He is trying to be better.
He got out at the start of the week after finishing the program and really started to get his shit together.
According to the texts from Tanner – you know since we barely date in person anymore – they cleaned out his digital shit – including his contacts and social media – removed all booze and non-OTC meds from the apartment, and had a maid come in to deep clean.
It appears as if Becks has been keeping it tidy ever since.
They also found him a therapist to start seeing once a week – who specializes in dealing with athletes – and have hit the gym together a couple times to get him back into some sort of fitness routine.
I’m proud of Becks for not giving up.
And I’m prouder of Tanner for not giving up on someone who had no one.
Even if it means I’m spending a little more time on the bench while shit gets adjusted.
“Mmmmm,” happily hums Trent Frosky as he casually strolls into the room with Carson at his side, “your cookies smell absolutely heavenly.”
I redirect my stare to the man who gave my boyfriend his blond hair, blue eyes, and adorable accent at the same time Becks pipes up, “And they taste heavenly too.” He wiggles off a corner edge piece prompting me to slap him with the utensil. “At least what I’ve managed to have.”
Light chuckles pour out of both men upon their arrival at the island, yet it’s Carson who probes about the sprawling selection, “What all we got?”
“These are chocolate and orange,” my gesturing begins to my far right, “these are spicebush berry honey cookies-”
“My mum’s recipe that I sent?”
“Yup.” Uneasiness settles in my gaze. “And as someone who had no idea what the fuck spiceberries or wheat germ was, let’s just say I’m grateful for the adorable little Concession Stand broadskie who knew more about baking than I do about hockey, which says a shit ton.”
“That really does,” Becks agrees around their chuckles.
“And then these are oatmeal, apple, raisin.” I tap the edge of the finished pan.
“Such a wide variety,” Carson comments on a nod of what I hope is approval.
“Needed a backup,” the tool is motioned to the chocolate orange treat, “and an ebuc,” the object taps the closest pan again.
“Ebuc?” Trent puzzles out loud.
“Emergency backup cookie,” the three of us reply together.
“A hockey quip, I’m certain,” he chortles and slides his hands into his pants pockets. “And one I’m sure our son will appreciate.”
“Along with you arranging for us to come down for family night,” Carson adds, arm draping itself around his husband’s shoulder.
“I’m so glad you both could be here.”
It’s a first.
And I can’t wait to see Tanner’s excitement.
As much as I don’t love all this hockey girlfriend PR shit – especially ones that require me to fucking bake nearly burning down my boyfriend’s kitchen – I’m really amped about this one.
Not only because I can do it – and not get caught like the bracelet making – but because of how meaningful it is.
Tanner’s never had both of his parents out for anything hockey related in his pro career, and I think now is the perfect time to change that.
To give him a chance to see, yeah, the league does still suck, but there is change.
There has been progress.
There can be more.
Hockey is for everyone.
Should be for everyone.
And more importantly?
The team that he’s on doesn’t shy away from breaking out-of-date traditions or paving the way for new acceptance.
I can’t wait for him to see that.
Experience it.
Plus, slyly getting his parents numbers, texting with them, securing their seats, and the recipe for “Baked with Love”, the Valentine’s Day themed event for the first home game in February, was all very secret peace treaty style which momentarily gave me something else to focus on besides the possible dissolving of my relationship.
Meeting them today – without Tanner – was oddly less stressful than had he been privy to the whole sitch.
Becks and I picked them up from the airport this morning, took them to lunch, dropped them off at their hotel, and then I got to baking the second my boyfriend was out of the apartment for the rest of the day courtesy of an array of personal medical appointments that basically have him having to head straight to the barn afterward.
“Now, these need a few more minutes to cool before they can be loaded onto one of the snowman plates, but those are good to go.” My eyes oscillate between Tanner’s dads. “You’re sure you don’t mind loading, wrapping, and bringing these for me?”
“Not at all,” Trent warmly exclaims. “I rather enjoy the plating process.”
“Weird,” Becks murmurs while attempting to reach for another cookie.
Another slap stops him again except this time I sass, “You can have whatever doesn’t fit pretty on the plate if you just stop trying to prematurely eat them.”
Becks juvenilely sniggers, “Premature.”
There’s no stopping the eye roll his impish laughter causes. “Your name is on the list for family with theirs.”
Surprise overwhelms his stubbled complexion. “ Sérieusement? ”
“Hundy P.”
Additional shock keeps him stunned silent.
“The boys’ll be glad to see you.” Casually dropping the spatula on the island is attached to a small grin. “Probably even wanna get a brewskie but-”
“No brews. No booze. No drugs.”
“Ballet is still an option.”
He nods at the fair point as Trent investigates, “You’re into the ballet?”
“Slang for strip club,” Carson casually informs.
“And why would it not be,” mirthfully snickers his husband on a shake of the head.
“They’ll give you your seats when you check in, but if you need other accommodations – end seat or no stairs seat or closer to the exit – just let Katie Hardwick know – petite blonde, Kindergarten teacher voice – and she’ll get you rearranged. We have an entire chunk sectioned off specifically for family night, so it shouldn’t be that hard if necessary.”
“Where will I be sitting?” Trent politely asks prompting my brow to furrow. “On the opposite side? In the highest section? One of the empty boxes?”
“You will be sitting beside your husband in the family section,” I announce without hesitation.
“But-”
“You are Tanner’s father. You deserve to see him and support him in his career, just like he deserves to be seen and supported.” Sliding my hands into the back pockets of my jeans is mindlessly done. “You are his family. And the fact that that may make other people uncomfortable, isn’t a you problem, it’s a them problem; however, what you decide to do about that – caring or not – is ultimately up to you .” A tiny shrug bounces my shoulders. “You are welcomed to sit among the rest of the dragon clan, or you are welcomed to sit in the Slayer box we use for regular games. You are welcomed to stay for the game or go after the bakery event. Again…it is completely up to you after he initially sees you came.”
Rather than give me the enthusiastic war cry I wanted, Trent simply offers a single nod of dismissal. “I understand.”
Okay.
That’s not quite a rallying response but not not one, yeah?
Getting from Tanner’s apartment to the employees only parking at the stadium takes about the amount of time expected. Once parked – only the boys get their vehicles parked for them – I swiftly swap my cooking-stained tank for my black Dalvegan Dragons polo that’s stretched out in the passenger seat. Post putting it on, I grab my work bag, loose rubber ducky scrunchy, and signature sharpie that I instantly hook onto my lapel.
Unfortunately for me, closer to the doors, the caitiff cloaked in Coach perfume – shout out to Tanner’s last crossword search – swoops in beside me and dry heaves. “Gross.” She tucks her phone into her tiny white handbag. “You smell like sugar and sadness.”
My fingers don’t stop their task of collecting all my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head. “You look like a Parisian prostitute.”
“I look classy.”
“You look like what you think classy should be.”
“I look like I’m about to meet my future in-laws for the first time,” she declares while adjusting her rose pink off the shoulder sweater dress. “And I want their impression of me to be high society welcomed in their social circles not ice slut who wishes they were.”
“Except you are an ice slut who wishes she were,” I sassily snip when we arrive at the door.
“Yes, but they’re going to love me instead of whoever Frosky’s supposed shadow whore is.”
“Slayer.”
“Ew,” she sneers yet again. “I would never be called that.”
“You’re right.” Opening the door with a sharp tug is accompanied by my own snarky smile. “You never will.”
The eye roll I’m given barely beats her stomping her white ankle boots covered feet into the building.
LMC sponsoring hot chocolate or coffee or tea for the players and their families was actually my idea.
Joey came up with the theme; however, I suggested that it could be a good press event if we paired it with our biggest donor, to which she squealed with excitement over the possibility.
Or maybe that was because I was taking “Slayer initiative”, a thing that apparently, I should be doing given that Tanner wears an A.
Bringing it up to Mom had her giddily agreeing without even bothering to ask Dad who instantly saw what a great opportunity it could be for the brand, the team, and of course them meeting my boyfriend’s parents who would be in town for it which has been arranged to happen post-game, post-family skate at a private lounge to aid in keeping our relationship hidden.
Yeah.
Having my parents on the assist does feel pretty fucking good.
Gotta give them glory for that.
“Those balloons look hideous,” chirps the pucking nightmare while strutting through the area currently being set up.
And having her on the opposing bench feels like a migraine that can only be healed by a skate executed lobotomy.
“ Ohmygod, these signs?!” Her hands are thrown up in exasperation. “They look like they were made by kids.”
“That’s because they were ,” hisses Marigold Blanc, Coach’s wife.
“Oh.” Audrey does her best to save the situation. “Then they look great!” Her forced smile hurts my face as much as it hurts hers. “Where is LMC setting up?”
“That’s a question for Hoss,” she gestures. “She’s in charge.”
Groans of irritation precede her pouting at me. “ But whyyyyyy… ”
“Could be because I’m in charge of getting and posting this footage or it could be because it was my idea to have LMC come in to begin with or it could just be that Joey, the team’s very pregnant, very close to popping HSIN, cannot handle stressing over another thing.” Sassily smirking happens once more. “ Pick one. ”
A deeper glare is the most she can conjure up.
“I know this is just a photo op for you, so until that moment arrives could you please park your Sherrif of Rottingham ass on the nearest bench, so that the ice girls can finish putting up decorations.”
Giggles from the dancers along with some of the other Slayers sparks a second round of stomping along with fresh squeals to escape during her disappearance.
“She sounds like a squeak toy,” Khurana teases from over my shoulder, pulling my attention to him. “And you smell like a bakery.” He makes an innocent point to my forehead. “Is that flour?”
Most likely.
Baking cookies from scratch is a bitch.
Next time?
I’m going Tollhouse.
“Probably just dog treat dust or whatever,” I casually lie and adjust my bag.
“Burt, right?”
“ Bear. ”
He slightly cringes prior to apologizing, “Sorry.” I prepare to walk away to find Tanner’s table to slide my bag under when he gently grabs my arm. “Hey, would you or you and Bear be interested in grabbing a drink tonight? Technically, the Slayers will be posting family skate footage, so we’re off the hook early.”
Add that to the list of things I hate about being a secret girlfriend.
Having to get creative in order to stick around all the fucking time.
“Right…but I’m not.”
His eyebrow lifts in confusion.
“I gotta capture some raw footage for his docu thing.”
Khurana nods his understanding yet doesn’t hide his irritation. “Can’t wait for you to be done with that. Done with having to be around him all the fucking time. Done with Boss rearranging our schedule together for you to be with him. ”
“Sameskies,” flees my lips in a mumble before I find an excuse to dart away after an ice girl, “Hey, Hu, can you actually move Peck’s table to be beside Frosky’s and then Cap’s table to be on the end so Joey can pee whenever?”
Saydee Hu adjusts the collection of name banners she’s holding and happily nods. “Yeah. Easy fix, Hoss!”
“Thank you.”
For the next forty-five minutes, I’m moving around nonstop with Khurana not far behind. Grabbing fun footage of the dancers laughing together as well as the Slayers bonding is PR gold that Hot Rocket – er – the owner has been thrilled to see mixed into the feeds, claiming we currently not only have one of the highest followings in the league but have some of the highest video viewings by fans along with the most positive player reportings.
Which is a good fucking feeling.
Reminds me I really am good at what I do.
And why I don’t want to give it up…even if I can’t fight the feeling that I’m going to have to.
Due to having to work the room, I miss when the Froskys arrive with Becks; however, the second I see Tanner’s blonde hair, I dart that direction, insisting Khurana go the opposite way because I’ll be documenting on my work phone.
My appearance at his table that has a glittery poster – glitter that was a bitch to get out of Bear’s fur might I add – of his name and number on the wall behind it as well as a snowman tablecloth and rubber ducky snowman occurs just in time to capture the genuine excitement over seeing his parents waiting.
“ No bloody way! ” Tanner practically shouts, purple suit frame bouncing in place. “ You two came?! ” Disbelief further soars through his expression as they laugh and hug. “ How did I not know?! ” He squeezes his father a bit tighter than his dad. “ How did you manage to keep this from me?! ”
“They had help,” Becks informs on a greetings fist bump from where he’s still sitting.
“You knew?!” Tanner continues to loudly exclaim. “You bloody knew?!”
He nods again prior to proclaiming, “Your Slayer really came through on this one.”
It takes every ounce of energy he can conjure to not glance in my direction where I’m filming.
“She arranged all of this,” Becks continues to explain knowing damn well I can’t. “That ugly poster…”
I cleverly flash him my middle finger.
“All the snowman décor…”
Just got it during Christmas.
“Texting your ‘rents.”
“She was so thoughtful,” Trent sweetly states, melting my frame. “She actually inspired me to bring you this.” He extends the tiny, winged hussar figurine to his son who instantly accepts. “She expressed how it is your ritual to have one in your pocket prior to the game.”
My better half enthusiastically nods, slides the new one into his other pocket, and reveals the one he’s currently toting around. “Tonight is King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone.”
“I got you that one upon your pro contract signing.”
“A reminder that I was destined for greatness.”
“You have achieved greatness, Tanner.”
Both blue eyed blondes exchange warm, heartfelt smiles that threaten to turn me into a literal puddle of gross, girlish mush.
“Your Slayer certainly thinks so,” informs Carson during their reseating behind the table. “Gotta admit. Chick’s sweet but more importantly hilarious .” He chuckles to himself while folding his hands in his lap. “The… specific shape of some of these cookies was absolutely intentional.”
Maybe…
I mean…it wasn’t not not intentional.
He needed to have at least one dickish shaped.
“I um…” Tanner doesn’t battle his smirk, “I can see that.”
“She also went out of her way to bake you three types of cookies,” Becks precedes to be my spokesperson.
Yet again he strains for our gazes not to meet. “Any particular reason?”
“She baked you a starter,” Carson points, “a backup,” he moves to the next batch, “and-”
“An ebuc!” excitedly claims Trent. “Which I learned is a hockey quip on-”
“An emergency backup goalie,” my boyfriend smoothly finishes. “Clever.”
“We thought so,” his dad agrees.
“Father,” he pridefully acknowledges on camera the parent he’s used to hiding, “are these…” one of the spicebush treats is lifted towards his lips, “gran’s spicebush cookies?” The misshaped baked good heads for his mouth. “The ones she makes me at the start of every season?”
“They are.” Trent slowly nods, his own gratitude for getting to be a part of the experience plastered plainly on his face. “Your… Slayer… is it?” Both Tanner and Becks bob their heads. “Truly put in the effort to make this family moment special.”
“I…” the struggle increases exponentially prompting me to tighten my hold on the recording device, “ feel quite special.”
“Anddddd,” Becks interjects once more, “these are chocolate orange cookies, orange being the state fruit of Florida, a place where she looked into being in athletic communications at some university if you were ever traded there.”
The announcement widens both of our stares.
“And then these are oatmeal apple and raisin because both Michigan – where she’d work as a radio analyst – and NY – where she’d do something with makeup? – are both known for apple ‘ish, so she made those to remind you if you were ever traded there , she’d still follow.”
His puppeteering confession causes Tanner to finally surrender to his stare meeting instincts. “If that’s true…”
Unable to verbally reply leads me to curling my fist and executing an almost knocking motion, which is yes in sign language.
“Then I hope she knows I’ve spent the past couple of weeks doing everything I possibly can to prevent that from happening because the last thing I would ever want is to rip her away from her life here. ”
Realizing that we’ve practically been doing the same shit for the same reasons has me shaking my head in amusement.
ForCiccarellisake , should we have just talked to each about this instead of going to these lengths to prove it?!
Though.
We both tend to do better with actions versus words.
“Is there um…” a second unnecessary adjustment to the phone is made, “anything you wanna say to your Slayer before I end the feed?”
He kicks his chin a bit upward at the same time he instructs, “Can you lift it a little higher so that it feels as though I’m looking her in the eyes?”
I do.
The second it’s there, he unexpectedly states, “ I love you. ”
How I don’t immediately drop the phone is a miracle.
We’re talking game seven of The Cup, six seconds left, five-hole score level of spectacular.
Rather than risk my response accidentally caught on camera, I end the recording, lower the object, and mouth what it is he knows I can’t speak, “ I love you too. ”