Page 52 of Love You Always

A couple hours later,we’re all gathered at the Dark Horse the way we usually do after games, but again, tonight feels different.

With Ella sitting next to me and holding my hand surreptitiously under the table, it feels like I’ve won the goddamn lottery. My one goal was followed by a Renaldi hat trick that made me look like the minor leaguer I am, but I don’t even care. I’m the one with Ella Fieldstone’s hand in my lap, even if I’m the only one who knows it. I’m not letting her out of my sight.

“I was so nervous watching you, but it was fun!” She’s been chattering nonstop since the game ended and she raced down to the ice and fist bumped all the players. Only difference when it was my turn was the sly grin she gave me when she tapped my fist. “I’ll be back in a sec.” Wriggling off the bench, she trails behind two of my teammates’ wives toward the bathroom and I watch her adorable ass waggle until I can’t see her anymore. When I turn back to the table, I see Carson smirking at me like he’s just won a bet.

“What?” I ask, grimacing into my beer.

“You’ve got it so bad for her. It’s awesome to see, man.”

“Whatever. I was just checking to make sure she knew where to go. It’s her first time here.”

“Bullshit,” Ren coughs into his hand, making me realize for the first time that he’s listening. Looking up over my shoulder, I see him standing behind me, gloating.

I shrug. “So, I like her. Not sure why that’s so amusing to you all.” I need to curtail this conversation before any more of my teammates get wind of it. They’re always up in my business, asking why I don’t ever bring a date to watch our games. This, right here. This is the reason. I like to keep my personal life personal.

Ren pulls a chair over from the next table and wedges it in next to Carson, swinging a leg over the seat and leaning hiselbows on the table. “Because she’s engaged to another guy, for one thing.”

“That’s…not my story to tell, but it’s not how it looks,” I say, wanting to protect her honor but also let her handle how and when she reveals her personal life to the public.

He gives me a knowing look. “Okay, I understand ‘complicated.’ And I know Trix has been going nuts over the wedding, so I’m living with it too. I’ll let you sort out your own business. Just saying I like what I see.” He downs the last of his beer with a smirk and signals to the bartender to bring us more drinks. “On my card,” he instructs. “I’ve got this round.”

“Don’t think you can ‘I’ve got this round’ me into admitting anything else,” I say, burying my face in my beer glass.

“You don’t have to. It’s written all over your damn face.” He watches me, so I do my best to keep my face a mask of indifference. It’s a test of wills I intend to win. I reach for my beer, but there’s nothing left. “Nowhere to hide.” Ren laughs. “Be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt, man. And I won’t tell your sister…yet. I’m giving you time to tell her yourself. But if you don’t tell her soon, then I will. Trix and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”

I try to get my brain around the idea that the guy who’s been nearly single-handedly steering his team toward the Stanley Cup this year is acting like we’re bros—the kind he’ll protect from the wrath of my sister. His fiancée. It surprises me so much that I don’t have a ready response.

Fortunately, the bartender shows up with a tray of fresh pints for us all and starts clearing the empty glasses and replacing them with full ones. Ella has been sipping a glass of cider, which is still half full. I move it next to my full glass. Before I can respond to Ren, the women are back, and Ella reassumes her position next to me. She takes note of Ren, who is grinning like a loon.

“I don’t think we’ve formally met.” She extends her hand, which requires her to bend her elbow against her breasts. “I’m Ella.”

“Ren.”

“Nice playing out there. You guys all looked great.”

“Ren’s a real hockey player,” I explain, filling Ella in on his career highlights like some kind of hockey groupie. “He’s captain of the Oakland Otters,” I finally conclude, noticing that Ren and Ella have the same bewildered look on their faces. “What?”

“Just that I already knew who Ren was before your greatest hits lecture, but seeing you blush over hockey stats is freakin’ adorable.”

“And I was just thinking you should be telling her about your own stats, not mine,” Ren says, turning the full wattage of his smile on Ella with a wink. My fists ball and I nearly take a swipe at him before I realize he’s still talking. About me. “Archer here is a lefty—he’s got a slapshot that’s as good as some of the pros. Did you know a lot of Canadians shoot left-handed because they grew up playing hockey and they use their stronger right hand on top of the stick, which makes them natural lefties. But here in the US, Archer has the advantage.” Ella listens, attention fully focused on him like he’s telling the most absorbing bedtime story. I can’t help but sit with my jaw hanging open, wondering why he’s bothering to talk me up.

I never get the chance to ask him because a bunch of my teammates ambush him and drag him to the middle of the bar for a series of selfies. “Just please don’t post these on your socials, guys. My coach’ll have my head if he knew I just risked injuring myself in a non-league scrimmage.”

Ella leans her head against my chest, and I see the weight of her eyelids fan her eyelashes over her cheeks. “You tired, princess?” She nods.

“I can rally, though, if you want to stay out with the guys.” She can barely keep the yawn from her voice and it’s all I can do not to bundle her up on my lap and pet her hair until she falls asleep like a kitten.

“I don’t want to stay out with the guys. Not when I could stay in with you. Let’s go.”

I follow her to the door of the bar without saying goodbye to anyone. On the off chance anyone notices, I turn and give a salute to the bar as a whole before I ghost the place. They’ll either chalk it up to me being grumpy or they’ll realize that for the first time in my life, I have somewhere I’d rather be than in a bar talking about hockey plays. And someone I’d much rather be with.

CHAPTER 25

Archer

Ella’s foottaps nervously on the floor where she sits in an armchair in my office. At least I think it’s nerves. Maybe she’s tapping the beat to a song only she can hear.

“I don’t want to tell her. Is she going to hate me?” she asks, her forehead etched with worry. Nope, nervous.

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