Page 23 of Rafferty

I laugh, shaking my head, touched by his gesture for Cooper. Turning to Farren, I find her watching me with an amused expression. “He’s not so bad, is he?”

“No,” I admit, my heart still fluttering from the wink. “Not so bad at all.”

Farren and I chat while warm-ups continue. I find her very easy to talk to and I love her free-spirited nature, although she proudly owns that she is recklessly impulsive. Apparently she got into a fight with her live-in boyfriend who was also her boss—at least I think that’s the gist of the story—and hopped a bus to Pittsburgh. Just quit her job, gave her ex the middle finger, and landed on Rafferty’s doorstep. She’s fascinating, the type of woman I could knock back a bottle of wine with while we dished about everything and nothing.

But the game starts and conversation chills significantly, only because we’re all screaming and cheering. Being this close to the ice, and to Rafferty, is a bit surreal. Nowhere on my bingo card did I have a professional hockey player would kiss me out of the blue, hire me to be his fake girlfriend and then give me tickets to a game.

The entire game is one big rolling ball of energy and I’m clutching the edge of my seat the whole time. Farren’s obviously been to a ton of her brother’s games over the years and she’s incredibly knowledgeable about the sport, taking the time to explain things to me.

On the ice, Rafferty and his line are in constant motion. While I’ve researched the roster some, it’s Farren who clues me in on the third line. Pointing out to the ice, she says, “Anders Blom is the center and he’s known for his incredible puck handling. And that’s Evgeny Denisenko. He’s their right-winger and he’s a lot like Rafferty… big, but super light on his feet. Even though he’s a finesse player, he can scrap with the best of them.” She points to another player. “Dillon Martelle’s on the left wing, and he’s a robust power player.”

“And Van Turner is the other defenseman on that line with Rafferty,” I say, proud of that piece of knowledge. I went down a rabbit hole when I was reading up on the team and Van Turner has by far the most interesting story of all of them. He’s recently out of retirement but what makes him so unique is that his father was a serial killer who recently died in prison.

“Very good,” Farren says with a nudge of her elbow against my arm.

Midway through the second period, the game’s intensity escalates as the score is tied 2–2. My favorite parts are always when Rafferty’s line is on the ice and I watch, breath held, as Anders takes a hard check against the boards right in front of us. Rafferty’s reaction is immediate and fierce. His usual calm demeanor on ice shifts visibly; his body tenses, and he skates swiftly toward the player who hit Anders.

“Watch this,” Farren murmurs next to me, her tone a mix of warning and excitement. “Raff’s about to do his thing.”

Before I can ask what she means, Rafferty drops his gloves, a signal clear enough even for a novice like me. The crowd erupts around us, some cheering wildly. Danny and Cooper are on their feet, screaming encouragements.

Rafferty’s fists connect with the opposing player’s helmet, the sound sharp and shocking. My stomach twists. I’ve never seen him—or anyone I know, for that matter—fight like this. It’s brutal, deliberate, and yet there’s a technique to it that speaks of practice and inevitability in this sport.

Farren leans over, calm amid the chaos. “He’s protecting his center and wings. It’s part of his job. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing.”

On the ice, the referees intervene, but not before Rafferty lands a few more punches. The crowd roars as Rafferty heads to the penalty box, the Titans fans thrilled by his display of loyalty and strength. Gonna guess that player will think twice before messing with a player on Rafferty’s line.

I’m on my feet with the rest of the crowd as the fight is replayed on the Jumbotron overhead. Rafferty’s head is tipped back, chest heaving, as he watches from the penalty box and periodically squirts water in his mouth. Cooper is jumping up and down, cheering for Rafferty like he just scored a game-winning goal, while Danny looks a mix of shocked and thrilled, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

Watching Rafferty right now, completely nonplussed by what just happened, I realize there’s so much more to this game than I understood. The physicality isn’t just about aggression—it’s about defense, about camaraderie, about standing up for your teammates in the most literal way possible.

As the game resumes, my heart still races, but now a newfound respect mixes with my nerves. This sport isn’t just about skill with the puck; it’s about passion, protection, and pride. And seeing Rafferty in this new light, as a protector, adds a layer to him I hadn’t anticipated—both thrilling and daunting.

It’s a nail-biter to the very end, but the Titans pull out a win with an early third period goal that puts them ahead and then play excellent defense for the rest of the game. When the final buzzer sounds, the crowd is so loud, I can’t even hear Cooper next to me as he shouts. I have to read his lips and I think he’s saying, “That was freaking awesome.”

Yes, kiddo… it was.

They announce the star players of the game who each take a short skate around the ice, sticks raised in gratitude to the audience, Penn Navarro being the last one for the Titans since he scored the game winner. Farren turns to me as the crowd starts exiting the rows. “It was really great to meet you. Any interest in getting together for drinks one night?”

“Um, yeah… that sounds great. But my schedule is so busy. I’m not sure if Rafferty told you about my mom.”

Farren nods, expression sympathetic. “He did, which is why I’m offering to bring a bottle of wine to your house anytime you want. You just say when.”

Laughing, I think that might be the nicest thing anyone has offered in a long time and I’m compelled to hug her. She returns it with an affectionate squeeze and then shuffles out of the row, melting into the crowd.

I turn to Danny and Cooper, chattering animatedly. “You two ready to head home?”

“No way,” Cooper says. “I could stay here forever.”

Laughing, I loop my arm around his shoulders. “Pretty fantastic, huh?”

“The best,” he exclaims. “I’m so glad you met Rafferty.”

And he’s not wrong. Of course, my brother doesn’t know exactly how we met or the ruse that we’re perpetuating, but at this moment, the only thing that matters is the smile on that kid’s face.

CHAPTER 10

Rafferty

---