Page 8 of Hockey Boy

He settles a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Okay.”

Instantly, some of the tension eases from my body, and a relieved breath slips out of me. “Okay.”

“You want to talk about it?”

I roll my neck. “I only want to say it once. So call the guys. Let’s get this over with.”

Hall perks up. This is where he shines. Social situations. He pulls out his phone and gets to work summoning the guys who are still in Boston for the summer. There aren’t a ton of us. Most skip town as soon as the season is over and head back to their families, the small towns where they’re treated like heroes, their wives who miss the shit out of them while they’re playing hockey for ten months out of the year.

Brooks and I grew up here. Boston is our small town, and we are gods here. Hall too. He grew up nearby, in a small town in RhodeIsland where his dad still lives with his new wife, Lake Paige. She’s one of the biggest pop stars of our generation, and though it sounds bizarre, she used to date Daniel’s brother.

I suppose it’s about as bizarre as showing up to a wedding planning appointment with my fiancée, only to discover the love of my life on the other side of the desk.

I cough out an uncomfortable laugh, garnering Daniel’s attention. He shows me War’s response. My left winger says he’ll meet us wherever we want.

Tyler Warren—also known as War—is an absolute beast on the ice and in person. Though he grew up in Canada, he moved to Boston when he was in high school and played hockey with Brooks there and in college. He was first drafted to another team, but after a couple of years, he made his way back to Boston. Pretty sure the man has more Boston swagger in his pinky than the rest of us have in every cell combined.

I give Daniel a nod. “Where we meeting?”

“The Pad?”

I shake my head. My family owns Boston sports, and with so many players under their care, it made sense to purchase an apartment building for the guys to reside in. Both Gavin and Brooks live there, but Jill wanted a penthouse. Since the penthouse unit at the Pad, as Hall and so many of the guys lovingly call it, is reserved for the coach—now Gavin—that wasn’t an option. Though my building is arguably nicer than the Pad, I would have killed to live with all the guys.

Normally, I’m more than happy to hang out there, but seeing as how Sara sublet her apartment to Lennox, it’s not a good idea.

“Ground Zero?”

With a nod, Daniel focuses on his phone again.

Ground Zero is honestly the coolest thing my two oldest brothers have done since they took over both teams. The bar is located below the Langfield corporate offices and can only be accessed from theunderground tunnels that connect the stadium, the arena, and the office.

The best part about the bar is that it’s a players-only place. So the only people getting in are those we invite. That’s what I need today. Privacy. Shelter from the media, strangers, and my ex-girlfriend.

I don’t know who’ll show up or what I’ll tell them, but when Daniel stands, I follow him, unwilling to fake it any longer.

Since the Boltsare in the offseason and the Revs aren’t playing today, the bar is closed. As luck would have it, I have a key, so Daniel and I step into the dark space and flip on the lights. The brick walls are covered in sports memorabilia, and the space is filled with dark pub-style tables, along with ping-pong and pool tables. A large bar spans the back wall.

I suck in a breath as I pass last year’s Stanley Cup championship photo. I proposed that week, and in that photo, I’m wearing the biggest fucking smile as I hold up the cup with my guys surrounding me.

Even then, I searched the crowd for Lennox. Though I didn’t find her, I knew she was therewith both my brothers’ fiancées, Sara and Millie.

“Want a beer?” Daniel asks as he rounds the bar, ready to play bartender.

I shake my head, not interested in numbing this empty feeling. I need to feel it. Need to let it bleed out. I’ve been faking happiness for so long. Today, I’d rather sit with my real emotions, even if it’s uncomfortable. “Just club soda.”

With a nod, Daniel gets to work. I settle at the bar and am taking my first sip when my favorite seven-year-old appears in the doorway.

“Bossman,” he hollers over his shoulder. “Why have we never come here before? This place is awesome.”

“Huck, don’t run so fast,” my brother yells from the tunnel.

Finn, who Beckett lovingly nicknamed Huckleberry Finn when he met the kid three years ago, is technically his stepson. My brother married Finn’s mother Liv, and in addition to Finn and his two sisters, they have twin baby girls.

Finn ignores Beckett and barrels into the bar, a big smile on his face. “Uncle Aiden!” he cheers. Halfway to me, he stutters to a stop and eyes the pool table. “This place issocool. Wanna play with me?”

It’s impossible not to smile when this kid is around, regardless of how bad my day has been. I hop down from my barstool and am holding a fist out to Finn for a bump as my brother enters, a car seat in each hand.

With a nod to me, he sets his daughters down on either side of him. “Huck, sit over here. You can play a game on my phone while I talk to Uncle Aiden.”

---