Page 5

5

T onight the Storm celebrated me and Bradley for both breaking the record for most goals scored within a single season, and it’s not even the end of the season yet. We are labeled “Dallas’ Dynamic Duo” and this night just validates everything we’ve worked for since college.

“How long are your parents and sisters going to be in town?” Bradley asks me.

“A couple more days. They fly back to Canada on Monday.” I slide on my shoes and begin tying them.

“I’d like to see them. Are they going to meet us outside?”

“Yeah.” I am actually excited to see my family. It has been a bit since they have come down to Dallas to watch a game. I try to go back as often as possible during the off-season, but it’s definitely not enough. My goal this year is to try and get up there more often. I don’t have a wife or family yet. Nothing is really here for me other than my job and I guess The Becketts, who have really become my surrogate family. They have always welcomed me with open arms. Well, everyone except Brooke.

“So is my family, and Jen of course. It’ll be cool for our parents and siblings to finally meet.”

Oh good. Brooke will be there. I haven’t talked to her since she accidentally texted me last week. That was one of the best texts I’ve gotten in a while. I cannot wait to give her crap about detailing what I apparently did to her in a very steamy sex dream. There is a little tug in my gut at the thought of seeing her face get flushed and annoyed at me. I pull my clean shirt down and throw on my newest hat from my brand, Lawson, turning it backwards.

“Hey bro, that design turned out great. I like that it’s clean and simple with just your initials.”

“Thanks man. Yeah, we have another one that is just going to have Lawson sewn across the front. I think they want to make the thread green. I get to see a prototype in a few days.” I was strongly encouraged to create my own brand since I am basically the face of the Storm and they knew it would be beneficial to me financially. But I insisted that if I were to create this brand, fifty percent of the proceeds would go to charities that help fund cancer research. My grandmother died of breast cancer and I want to do everything I can to make a difference and help find a cure.

We both stand up and grab our duffles and make our way out of the arena, where as expected our families are waiting. My mom, whose blonde hair is starting to turn whiter every time I see her, holds out her arms and has a huge smile on her face. “There he is! Congratulations sweetie. I am so proud of you.” I lean down and embrace my mom, who has always been my biggest supporter. She would drive me to every practice, every game, every tournament. I owe her everything.

I feel a large hand pat my shoulder. My dad says, “I am proud of you, too, son. Okay, Jo, you are suffocating the boy. Plus I want a bear hug.” My mom finally eases up on her hug and I turn toward my dad. “Seriously, I am so proud of you, Tristan. All your hard work has really paid off and you seem like you still love what you are doing out there on the ice.”

“Thanks, Pop. I really do love it. It means a lot that you all made the trip.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Then I see my sisters, Andi and Nora, who people always assume are twins because of how much they look alike. The only difference is that Andi has dark hair like me and my dad, and Nora has blonde hair like my mom. But otherwise, their faces, – down to the shade of their icy blue eyes – are exactly the same. I am the only one of the Lawson children to inherit my mom’s hazel eyes. Save for the eyes, I am a dead ringer for my dad, who also played hockey when he was younger. He never went pro but he passed down his love for the sport onto me. The nice thing about my dad is that he never pressured me to pursue hockey or even want to make it a career. He is not haunted by his past and in turn, never made me follow in his footsteps because he wants to live out some sort of lost dream. I always had the choice to play or not to play. My dad was perfectly happy with his life as a regular old dad who provided financially for his family, while my mom stayed at home with us and took care of basically everything else in our lives.

Busy shamelessly ogling every single one of my teammates that walked out of the arena, my sisters didn’t notice me approaching them. “What the hell are you both doing?”

They finally notice my presence and both give me a hug at the same time, practically knocking me off my feet.

“Ahhh! I am so excited to see you, big brother!” Nora says.

“Me too!” Andi says. They both loosen their grip on my neck. “Oh and to answer your question, checking out your teammates. They are all extremely hot.”

“Ew. Don’t talk about my teammates like that.” I grimace.

“Why? I am single and ready to mingle,” Andi protests. Then Andi looks over my shoulder at Bradley, who is practically making out with Jen. Those two are nauseatingly cute. “It’s a damn shame your bestie has a fiancée. I would be all over that.” I see my little sister’s eyes devour my best friend.

“Talk to Nora about what you want to do with men. Do you think I want to hear those things? I am your brother, Andi.”

“Oh and you are such a saint, right? You’ve never seen someone and wanted to pursue them? I know you, Tristan. You are no saint. Far from it, if I recall.”

“Who is that behind Bradley?” Nora nods towards the Becketts, and then I see her. My arch nemesis, who apparently decided to venture out of her introverted cave to come to one of our games. I almost didn’t recognize her since she is wearing Bradley’s jersey. The only thing that acts as a classic Brooke identifier is the knotted pink headband she always wears.

Brooke catches sight of us looking over at her and we lock eyes for a second. Her face suddenly matches her headband. She flutters her eyes and looks back at her parents, trying to actively engage in their conversation.

Without looking away from Brooke, I answer, “That’s Bradley’s little sister, Brooke.”

“Wait. That’s Brooke?” Nora points toward Bradley’s feisty little sister. “The same Brooke you evidently hate? She’s hot. I’m surprised that you hate her, Tristan.”

“No, it makes sense. Brooke’s not even close to Tristan’s type,” Andi pipes in.

Before I can delve into the comment “evidently hate,” Andi and Nora make their way over to where Brooke is standing. Jesus Christ. Once they lock in on something, they are impossible to stop. I run after them, but before I can intervene, they are shaking hands with Daphne, Bill and Brooke.

Dammit.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Brooke. Tristan has said nothing but great things about you!” Andi exclaims.

“He talks about you all the time,” Nora adds. I feel myself starting to turn the color of Brooke’s headband. Jesus, get a grip. If I did ever talk about Brooke, it was to comment at what a pain in my ass she is.

Nothing else.

Brooke crosses her arms as I approach. “Oh really? Well I promise you that I am not as bad as he makes me out to be.”

“He told us that you drive him crazy. I can see why. You are stunning.”

Brooke shoots me a wide-eyed look and her lips part slightly. And a weight the size of Texas drops in my stomach.

I nervously laugh, but before I can explain anything, Brooke plainly says, “I guarantee you that’s not why I drive him crazy.” Her face is still flushed and I don’t know if it is because of what my sisters just said or because of the sex dream she had of us. I am eager to find out. There is a heated gaze between us now. One we never had before. This weirdly doesn’t feel like hate.

Andi and Nora purse their lips and back away simultaneously. They really are like twins. “Okay, well we will be over here talking with Bradley and his lovely and lucky fiancée,” Andi says.

Once they are out of earshot, I say, “I am sorry about my sisters. They have it out to embarrass me any time they have a chance.”

“They are my kind of girls,” Brooke says with a smirk. The color has not left her cheeks. Maybe it is out of habit, but I desperately want that color to deepen.

“So, that was a pretty spicy dream you had last week, Cupcake.”

I can already tell I am getting a rise out of her and making her skin crawl in a good way. She is flustered Brooke, and I love flustered Brooke.

“That text wasn’t meant for you, Hot Shot. Forget about it. It was just a dream. There must’ve been a fluke in the cosmos or Neptune must be in retrograde or whatever for me to ever have a dream about you in that way.”

I step closer to her and lessen the gap between us. “But you did.”

Her eyes are ablaze with something other than annoyance. I can barely make out the shade of green because her pupils are dilated. Is she thinking about the dream right now? It sure seems like it.

She notices my hat, clears her throat and tries to detract. “Are you wearing your own brand? Seriously, Hot Shot, who does that? Aren’t you a little full of yourself?”

“Well, it’s pretty standard for people to have their own brand, especially when you are the face of the franchise like I am. It’s been in the works for a while now, Cupcake. Where have you been?”

“Avoiding you.” Crossing her arms again, she walks away from me. “Mom and Dad, I’m heading to the car.”

They acknowledge her with a nod and continue their conversation with my parents, who at some point started talking with the Becketts. I watch as Brooke walks away, her long dark caramel hair swaying back and forth along Bradley’s number and their last name. My stomach clenches again for some unknown reason. Actually, there is a reason. A little piece of me wants my number to be on the back of her jersey.

For the rest of the night, I wonder why I want it so bad. I don’t want to see Brooke in that light, where I am aching to see her wear my jersey. I know what that will mean. There is so much weight to that possibility that I need to bury it deep inside. Should be easy enough. When it comes to Brooke, I am an expert at keeping things under lock and key. Except I never throw that precious key away, and I am not sure if I maybe want to use it.